ordering biscuits

meeting

however superficially

then parting

feeling a loss

suggested

understanding vaguely

the value of

day-to-day relationships

an inkling

that ordering biscuits

and coffee each morning

was more than that

an intuitive dream

a transcending reflection

that we may know

far more than we understand

Barry DeCarli

©2014 Barry DeCarli

willow blaze

winter waits to steal this flame

home fires will soon be burning

we will have to

trade this illusion

barter memory

to recall such beauty

no weeping willow

this year

but a

blaze of punctuation

ending this

bland sentence of

late fall

fiery yellow exclamations

holding on

easing us toward winter

no weeping willow

the life of the party

the

     last

           one

               

 to

        leave

celebrating in color

bright torches

mocking the brown, drab loss of green

laughing, shouting

here I am, here I am

lighting the way home…

Barry DeCarli

Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

a bridge

there are things

to reconcile

to redeem

to reclaim

and to lose…

the past is racing

to overcome

its own memory

surging recollection

daring today

reach back, reach back

but there are things

to risk

and reasons not to

to stay here today

is the bridge to burn

or to cross

the life we spend is on the span

are we crossing

or going back

Barry DeCarli

Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

just two men talking

the bottom of his hood came

with a trapdoor view

hardwood?

nah, laminate, smooth finish

cleans up nice

but plywood

might have sufficed

9 square feet

steel hinges

6 feet 5 inches to meet his fate

doesn’t seem like a long drop

too long for Eva Dugan in 1928

but mostly humane

thank god for that

those short drops were torture

just ¾ of a second

a short hurtle towards earth

to snap vertebrae

without that last torturous dance

the classic hangman’s fracture

ever dream you’re falling?

Oh, yeah, I hate that. Don’t you?

hemp coiled seven times, American style

waxed, soaped and greased

knot positioned near the left ear

a black cotton or denim hood

kindly placed to shield witnesses

from emotional pain

physical distortion

Saddam Hussein refused the hood

to further scar his detractors

the Honorable Isaac Parker sent over 100 men to end of their rope

can you believe it

I did read about him

at least I know the end is here

yeah, there’s that

when one door closes, another door opens 

the heat of her touch

her breath salted

steamy

papaya and mango

just as her nose and lips

nestled

near his left ear

offering

a sensuous gentleness

then the sudden lightness

a dream of flying

Barry DeCarli

March 01, 2010

©2010 Barry DeCarli

Tapestry

 for Finley and Evan

 

there can be no greater sorrow

than this

with its cruel edge tearing the threads

of a tapestry just begun,

but our tears will weave new threads to those cut short

to hold Finley’s place in our hearts

as we remember the brightness of her smile,

the symphony of her laughter,

the clarity of her eyes. 

her beauty and brilliance

will not pale under today’s shadow.

Finley’s memory will be shared as

part of our own stories,

with her dazzling colors running through,

shining light back into our lives.

the threads of Finley’s life

will be woven into the tapestry

of our lives.

there,

her blaze of purple and pink

will shuttle through the fabric of our souls,

lighting our way through this sorrow 

brightening moments of the long days ahead

 

Barry DeCarli

January 6-8, 2014

©2014 Barry DeCarli

 

Barry DeCarli: golden

Barry DeCarli: golden: mostly we bury the body, the bones hair and sinew whether we believe or not, but wanting to that the soul has gone on is not there in ...

ice symphony (draft)

Christmas morning’s first dim light

brought  a thunderous welcome

or frigid warning as the pond sang out

its frozen winter song

like the recorded symphony of whales

this primordial music of ice’s

tectonic meandering

woke man and beast

with its release of energy

 

the sleek icy surface seemed to struggle

to keep water and sky apart

the low hum and staccato notes were witness

to the cracking, the fracturing

that spread erratically like lightning

against a background of twinkling candles

across the pond and back again

 

Barry DeCarli

December 25, 2013

Goshen, MA

© 2013 Barry DeCarli