ring less true

there's more to truth
than just right words,
and so much less
to lies.

yet, a lie
seems the stronger
of the two,

as truth so often dies.
when disbelief

can cloud the eyes,
there's little
we can do,
but hang on to some wispy hope

that the lie will ring less true.


Barry DeCarli
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli


 (...and, to keep speaking the truth, loud and clear)

afterwards

scientists say

matter

or energy

cannot be created or destroyed

only conserved

or changed

is there a physics

a chemistry of memory

a weight or worth

to some spiritual commodity

when remembered

but when it’s

irretrievable

unknown

forgotten by all

is it nothing then

or matter stored for another time

is there more of it

after sharing

can it change in the telling

the turn of the tale

after words

does memory matter

waiting to be retrieved

there in the soil

beneath the stone and grass

Barry DeCarli

September 23, 2016

On Hammond Pond

©Barry DeCarli

church

where is your church?

mine is a medieval hilltowns

of Pienza and Montepulciano

along the quiet dusky

cobbled paths on the limestone ridge

tasting its namesake wines

marveling

in amazement

looking up to the risky parapets

the muted bell towers at times

still heralding the misery

and the joy from here

to Montalcino

my church catches the sunset

and the shadows

through the stone gate

at Monteriggioni

and cools the Tuscan piazza

below the city walls

it is a museum

where paintings of Caravaggio and

Michelangelo hang frozen in Florentine time

forever at home with the Medicis

so near Savonarola’s bonfire of the arts

and then of his flesh

mine is where our souls meet

recognizing

understanding

and knowing

wherever

I can feel

see or hear

true genius

or the unlikely reconciliation of adversaries

where  making one of opposites

light and dark

hate and love

death and life

brings tears to my eyes

Barry DeCarli

July 10, 2015 & September 2, 2016

On Hammond Pond

Draft #5

©Barry DeCarli

the same air

we must all feel

the tremors of bombs

exploding

tearing lives apart

still unlived

the man-made quaking

of earth

the smothering weight

of dust, stone

and history

not unlike the Richter-measured

magnitude of horror

unleashed

upon the sleeping

the dreaming

of another ancient town

we must all feel

the walls around us crumbling

the floors beneath us

the ceiling above crashing

the air pushed from our lungs

the unyielding bed of rock

blood and dust

no one clamors to claim

credit for this tectonic terror

whose scientific explanation

lessens no pain

for this Act of God

(as if there could be one)

we must all gasp for

one more breath

on this fault line of

war and nature

to breathe in

the same choking air

of Aleppo and Amatrice

Barry DeCarli

August 26, 2016

On Hammond Pond

©Barry DeCarli

unsaid

parts of life
exist in the shadow
of truth
of openness
there in the fog of evening
a small secret lies
an undaring preclusion
concealed beneath the camouflage
of mist
the cloud of sorrow
the froth of promise

unrepeated stories
untold hopes and dreams
fleeing memory
atrophied
lost in the reluctance
to ration more than a hint

parts of life dying off
each melancholic year
dreams unable to find a future
in the unspoken folly
and memories unable to lift themselves
out of the past

this untelling of past lives
suppresses the need to share
that lingers like sweat
cooling on the surface of silence

Barry DeCarli
August 11,12, & 14, 2016
On Hammond Pond

©Barry DeCarli

no more prayers

I learned early

from my father

that alcohol makes a poor crutch

from the Catholic Church that

St Luke or any other saint

would not hold me up either

every day the world

teaches me that God does not exist

outside of another person’s imagination

or some religious doctrine

I’ve discerned as much from

superstition

old wives’ tales and waking dreams

as I have from attending mass

I’ve seen that looking for signs

I won’t recognize one

it’s better to learn from coincidence

than having faith

in some apparition

the ghost of someone else's belief

so where does that all leave me

today

when saying a prayer

can’t possibly relieve the pain I feel

for this society we live in

where our way of life

mocks us as a way of death

where more guns means less safety

more carnage

less courage

to do what needs to be done

when our tears will not wash away

the blood we shed in fear or anger

our prayers will not bring back the dead

where does that leave us all

Barry DeCarli

July 8, 2016

On Hammond Pond

©Barry DeCarli