halloween

trick or treating just here in my mind

hoping for more than toilet paper streamers

in the trees outside my window

or soaped and waxed window panes

like in the day when things were simple

and safe

no razor blades in apples

or needles and pins

when the worst I could get was a corn ball

or some home-made cookies

and now, behind closed doors with all the lights off

who will come stumbling down the stairs

 to disturb me

old, in my pajamas almost before dark

for just some dark chocolate

half gone on the kitchen counter

whose loss will it be

to get nothing

to give nothing

to see no witches, zombies

Princess Elsa

no lonely old man

at my darkened door

Barry DeCarli

Goshen, MA October 31, 2014

© 2014 Barry DeCarli

carnival

unable

to will himself young

again

yet he imagined

his reflection

in those laughing eyes

as her contemporary

language was

no impediment to this conversation

with eyes telling where words were too timid to go

as heartbeats, palpitations

of emotion, of discovery

crossed continents like crossing a street

but once he saw

his own warped reflection

in the curve of a wineglass

like a laughable distortion

in a carnival mirror

the razor-sharp teeth of reality

stripped this dream to the bone

Barry DeCarli

October 4, 2014

On Swiss Air Flight #052 Zurich to Boston

©2014 Barry DeCarli

in passing

waiting at a crosswalk

just near the morning-rushed

Minzoni chaos

Bus #1 pushes by

the faint aroma of exhaust

mixes with the sight of tempting dolci

beyond the shop’s plate glass

a face in the bus window

turning to view a waiting pedestrian

both delving for just a second

the eyes of youth and age meeting

one past, now growing

with the promise of tomorrow

one future, receding

as possibility fades

a universe of space between them

across the changing autumn air

the reflection on the heart’s fragile prism

yesterday in the mirror of today

a glimpse of everything

momentary glitter

and darkness

the beginning and the end

Barry DeCarli

September 27 + October 1, 2014

Florence, Italy (at Casa Iris)

©2014 Barry DeCarli

the meaning

keep a pen and notebook

next to the nightstand of your life

be ready to record

the scent of emotion

a fleeting  idea

the tears of trees

an inkling of a dream

the whisper of leaves

scribble down

some crazy thought

the wakening of a sunrise

the song of the sky

the promise of dawn

the grey light of evening

milk the darkness

squeeze the diary of your mind

for just a bit of sense

to find some sequence

of wonder and worry

laughter and love

truth and tale

observe something

or anything

below the surface you’ve only been scraping

so you can write down

the  part you remember
some vestige of hope

that glimmer of meaning

so someone else might see

Barry DeCarli

Goshen, MA

September 11, 2014

©2014 Barry DeCarli

warning signs

warning signs

for Stephen Huneck 

Dog Mountain gave up

her saint, her soul today

the headline read

Artist Huneck takes own life

oh, no

I cried to no one in the kitchen

as the paper unfolded

feeling pain again from the deaths of each

dog I ever loved

knowing some instant sorrow

sensing some loss

that would not be

explained

had some warning gone out

a signal too weak

to reach us where we all live here

on earth

no tower

no satellite

no transmission of urgency

emergency

warnings don’t always assault us

like a 4 X 8 fluorescent danger sign screaming

bridge out, take another route

some warnings are like a turning away

a silent, secretive tear

maybe sent out as a prayer

a dim beacon for rescue

we don’t all build a 32 square foot notice

of our pain

sometimes, we only look away at some view

we really don’t see

sometimes there is no reading of this language

few can hear

or even imagine

yet who has not headed into a time

and space appearing from a distance

in control

but instead careening toward some lonely hell

but

please

don’t blame

yourself

for missing the signs

sometimes

as we try to make our own way

other concerns won’t allow for

inconvenience

empathy

insight

and sometimes

one voice seems

too small to matter

when the same mind’s made up

who could have heard the whisper

the shout

or the even scream

so long past warning

but like a light that travels across the universe

or an impulse across a synapse

his warning

still may come in time

to save someone else

Barry DeCarli

January 15-17, 2010

Ferrisburgh, VT

Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

whispers

whispers

prima che sia troppo tardi

listen to the whispers

before the shouts come

hear the silence

before the noise

hear your heartbeat

the song of your soul

before you forget to hear

before the shouts leave you deaf

listen

ecoutez

ascoltate

udari

entendez

hear

the whispers may say something

you need to take in

this sound of secrets

for everyone, to everyone

pour tout le monde, al mondo

listen to the whispers

écoutez les chuchotements

ascoltate i sussurri

before it is too late

Barry DeCarli

March 12, 2014

Goshen, MA

©2014 Barry DeCarli

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