breakdown

tears

shattering a stone face

carving canyons of crying

to the sea

savage scars streaking the sky

reflections suspended in the black

silver gods casting curses

screaming witches

slaying the stars

one by one

Barry DeCarli

(written sometime, somewhere in the 1970s)

Revised on April 3, 2015

©Barry DeCarli

taking steps in a stranger’s shoes

wondering whose shoes caked 

with pain or sorrow

he must lace up tomorrow

where that mile will take him

the burden is his to carry

millstone or milestone

albatross or golden fleece

a heavy talisman that does not

ward off but accepts

even a stranger’s feelings

the anguish, the dread

of someone’s sadness

who will never know

what makes him care

what presses him forward

blessing or curse

gravity or grace

Barry DeCarli

February 17-25, 2015

On Hammond Pond, Goshen, MA

©2015 Barry DeCarli

heritage

questions of potential

haunt the mourners of this boy

Snowflake Bentley's namesake

could he have produced paintings

that might hang in the museum of art

or design an airport internationale

a peaceful bridge too far

a launch pad to the milky way

who knows, could he have hit 800 home runs

after all, he was so much younger than Shelley

when the water pulled him under

what about such prolific possibility

Shakespeare

Lennon and McCartney

Solzhenitsyn

Marco Polo or Stephen Hawking

why question genius

while we hold the proof in our hands

maybe, to let us off the hook

so we could say

no one could have done all that

what could my father have done

had life been different

had his desire raged at another god

had his muse spoken with more promise

but he did not waste his life being who he was

he did what he could

no manuscripts, no tome to show his wisdom

no invention to ease our burden

no compound to ease our pain

no perfect poem

 (just three good sons)

here we are

this soup of genetics

different hopes, fears

and dreams

he left behind

lives lived with his imprint on our souls

that is no small thing

Barry DeCarli

March 05, 2010

Revised June 17, 2011 & March 7, 2013, August 1, 2014

Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

not at the table, please

eyes anchored

on empty beer bottles

amber sentinels separating

thoughts into fighting words

across a battlefield strewn 

with cheese curls, potato chips

cheddar and crackers feeling too thick to swallow

warm chardonnay souring on the tongue

a brother-in-law

volleys  “if Mo’ne Davis was white…”

leaving the rest unsaid

though apologies would come

the damage was done

one voice lost to the complicit silence of others

many more opportunities

to sit at some holiday table

together measuring appropriate topics

weighing platitudes against risk

a generational gerrymandering

of conversations clipped and

careful to avoid popes and presidents

wars and whistle blowers

and now, even Little League

what does that leave us

but to agree on the weather, I guess

though not on the science of its cause…

Barry DeCarli

On Hammond Pond, Goshen, MA

November 30, 2014

©2014 Barry DeCarli

panhandlers

must there be a gaping wound

with flowing blood?

must our cheeks be streaked with tears?

must  we stagger and fall?

then must we crawl before someone

reaches out a helping hand?

how obvious must the truth be?

how blatant the wrong?

when what is apparent is lost in the lie

we all become victims

of the desperation we seek to ignore.

for in making beggars of the desperate,

we become the ones truly in need.

Barry DeCarli

January 23, 1980

Charleston, SC

©2014 Barry DeCarli

similar wars

another war ending

more guilty feelings for not

being able to pick up a gun

grenade or flamethrower

or salvaging, saving

a photograph, a last letter home

some part of speech was lost

in this war

less protest than that one

where we may have put a daisy

in a gun barrel

and said “ make love, not war”

or as easily, cursed the soldier

surely the feelings are different now

my reluctance hardly balances

your willingness

my comfort weighs lightly

on your sacrifice

my desire for self-preservation

is too thin a veil to obscure your courage

my inability to know what I might die for

can not diminish your steadfast belief

that you were doing the right thing

yet, at the end, I am here alive

while you are a number

on another list of those lost to war

another name on a stone or steel memorial

who can say thank you, now

and have it mean anything

to your family, to anyone

conscripted or enlisted or not

does it matter whether this war

was any more necessary than that war

will it matter

if your death or my life was in vain

Barry DeCarli

Ferrisburgh, VT

December, 16-18, 2011

November 11, 2014

Copyright 2014 Barry DeCarli 

moisture molecules

are any of them signs

we see

or imagine we see

some color

or reflection

some shadow

are any of them signs

we look for, hope for

think are real in the atmosphere

of our dreams

or are they just

ordinary shadows

things mirrored

in sunlight or moonlight

on a watery surface

on some concrete wall

most likely

 a cloud formation is just that

moisture molecules on a blue background

and not some semiotic dervish

not some sign that no one else can see

Barry DeCarli

November 8, 2014

©2014 Barry DeCarli