risk

I’ve always feared the pressure cooker’s

relief valve stem

imagining that bolt of stainless steel blasting

into the ceiling or maybe ricocheting

off the light fixture

into my left eye

killing me dead

the slow cooking crock pot seems so safe

the easy alternative to worry, anxiety and pain

but life is not all about staying safe

some of it is risky

doing or daring

after the pressure cooker didn’t explode

after those slow cooked pork chops

fell apart with the touch of a fork

a belief may change

some things are just too easy to find fault with

or are they just so easy that it’s hard to find

fault with them

the path of least resistance is like that

going with the flow

along for the ride

but who respects that

really

why can one offense last a lifetime

a momentary glimpse of truth

of condescension

a temporary lapse of tact

an apology never tendered

sometimes a simple ingredient

can sharpen senses giving you a chance

to see who is in front of you

to refocus some old, waning energy

like a can of Campbell’s Chicken with Rice soup

like a smile, a question, a poke in the arm

to overcome the pain

to cross a divide of misunderstanding,

the shivers of hurt, the growing number of years

to take a risk

just to make amends 

Barry DeCarli

November 25, 26, 28, 2011

Ferrisburgh, Vt

Copyright 2011 Barry DeCarli

noise

bulldozer blade bullying rocks
out of hard-packed ground
grinding a fresh surface
steel against stone
blade against boulder
restlessness against rock
a cacophony of stone against steel
boulders tumbling across
a dented tailgate
the dull groan of stone against dirt
echoing off water and sky
the chalky muted growl of rock
against rock

what if these sounds could form a foundation
a place to stand
to hold back the next mudslide
the next descent
what if this noise alone could deliver sanctuary
to protect us
decibel by decibel
from the silence we’re afraid to hear

would we still block our ears

Barry DeCarli
August 25, 2011
Goshen, MA & Ferrisburgh, VT
Copyright 2011 Barry DeCarli

parents

back then
they were the big people
who could cast a shadow
over my spot on the kitchen linoleum
for only a second
as their strong, warm hands
lifted me up to the light

now that memory seems hindered
wider shadows are cast
over my place in the diminishing years

I find myself
still hoping for that light


Barry DeCarli
June 2, 2011
Copyright 2011 Barry DeCarli

what we need (for Debbie)

once in a while
he got a glimpse of her grocery list
his margarine
tissues
unsalted-top saltines

sometime
he just noticed
that they hadn’t run out of milk
like he worried
they would
she knew how long things lasted
her inventories always one step ahead

he imagined writing an item
on her list
like bananas but it was already
there
maybe he could write something
they never bought
like frozen pizza
but he knew that his scribble
in the wrong spot
next to her easy script
could throw off the balance

of letters and categories
mixing the unseen map of aisles
as she rushed to fill the cart

with everything they need

Barry DeCarli
April 22, 2011
Ferrisburgh, VT
Copyright 2011 Barry DeCarli

a death in Pakistan

who cringes from the clamor of this wild chant
that treats this Special Ops killing
like a long sought World Cup victory

USA
USA
USA

who is unable to kindle enthusiasm
for this death
while agreeing he should be dead
knowing that some justice had been exacted
who is uncomfortable with the clamorous shouting

USA USA USA

who is repulsed by the bravado, the machismo
the in-your-face, bring-it-on arrogance
who can conjure an image of college students, waitresses and firemen
parading in the street, swaggering with his bloody head on a stick

who can not feel relief
in this death or in this display of frenzied pride

while girding for the explosive aftermath to come

U
S
A

Barry DeCarli
May 4, 2011
Copyright 2011 Barry DeCarli



.

Help Promote Katie Thompson's CD "Impossible"

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 the cold damp ground

who chooses the season to die in
when the ground will not be broken
by pick, shovel
or sorrow
but the time for waiting is gone
we carry home the remains
the gravely grey bits
of charcoal
the dust of bones
not to be buried under heavy earth
but scattered in the winds of days
and places gone by
spoken words that matter
the release of substance and spirit

mourning and rejoicing
witnessed by sun, clouds
wind and sky
true friends

seeking
promising hope
the quiet inkling of something more

Barry DeCarli
April 3 & 29, 2011
Ferrisburgh, VT
Copyright 2011 Barry DeCarli