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DR
CHRIS BARNES; INTERDISCIPLINARY EDUCATOR |
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Could the weather be controlled now or ever
see http://www.btinternet.com/~gmbarnes/WXCONTROL.htm
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OTHER CHRIS BARNES’ SITES CLICK THE LINKS! Scientific
consultancy http://www.drchrisbarnes.co.uk/,
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Poetry writing
service poetry for special occasions contact Chris by email at chrisbarnespoet@yahoo.co.uk |
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POETRY CONTEST for
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MARCH 2009 Pressures of work have been so great it
has been almost a year since I published anything new but today I have been
deeply saddened and moved by the passing of our family pet Labrador from an
undiagnosed splenic tumour. I hope I
have written a fitting epitaph Bye Sammy Old Girl Strong, silent and brave For twelve long years You lived your life, no fear Of howling gale, pouring rain Sammy you showed no pain; Yours was a simple canine life Lounging in sultry summer sun Chasing anything that moved, Mouse or squirrel, bird or boxer But rarely sticks what a bore You couldn’t talk or tell us Where or why it hurt inside Or why of late you couldn’t Wolf your lunch so much but still Sammy you showed no pain Simple Sammy, yellow
Teasing cattle in Tan Hwfa then Homeward bound covered in mud Mouthing magpies in Pen y Ffridd Sultry, sunny, Sunnyhurst now saddened by Your passing, fine strong but sweet Simple, ordinary yet special dog Devoid of brains or common sense Showing loving ‘till the end Silent as this late March afternoon I say my final prayers for you Wishing dog paradise is full of Cows and mud and magpies Wiping early April showers from my eyes. Chrisbarnespoet This is particularly poignant as her old buddy a lab/sheep dog cross died aged 20!! Almost 2 years before to the date. AUTUMN 2008 A few Lepidoptera have now sprung to life- whether
enough to maintain viable breeding colonies remains to be seen. So much trouble in the World beckons a
peaceful place, perhaps we should turn to the relatively close knit community
which is my garden!! A-Z
Gardening Poem by Chris Barnes. Antirrhinum, alyssum and azalea Bake in August sun basking beside Buddleias soliciting autumn fun Capturing fritillaries one by one; Crocus asleep and underfoot Daffodil a dormant door-mouse Devoid of life this orb on root, Expectant, awaiting vestigial shoot; Elder flowers long since fell Forming brazen berries first Fickle flavour last of summer wine Goading wary, wasps to party on Honeysuckle aperitif followed by Hors d’oeuvres of Hawthorne as Iridescent iris keeps watchful eye Japonica too garden spy, under shade of Knotty Ash this horticultural bash as Lilies languish in the sultry heat lest Loose and limp they should not notice Parading passion flower in their midst Rampant with excitement as residual Runners pass her by, pods swollen Soaking up sun and roots tongue earth Together with turnip’s tuberous girth Under fading fence full of grape and Vine, Russian advance ‘mile a minute’ Verily through this peaceful garden With wisteria draws it battle lines Xylem and Phloem unite waving Yellow ribbons rose of Sharon You and I ‘a gardeners’ goodnight’ as Zealous insectivorous visitors alight! Copyright ChrisBarnesPoet 2008
Summer has been well weird this year to date my
inclination is this could be due to intentional or accidental jet stream
engineering sceptics would just say
global warming, either way the lack of rare butterflies is a grave
warning!!! In 2004 WE STOPPED hearing
the Cuckoo here; there have been a few minor reports this year. However, Most
striking is the disappearance of several insect species including Many
attractive butterflies, grasshoppers, earwigs, beetles, ladybirds etc. I reserved judgment on this publication
hoping it was just poor weather but after a week of hot weather and no
improvement it is pretty obvious something is very wrong. The leaves of our Damson Tree and Roses of
Sharon are also seriously blighted; I sincerely believe an environmental
poison to be responsible rather than ‘simple’ global warming hence the poem
below: Butterfly lament; Poem by Chris Barnes. Summer heat
engineered late this year It hits now fear
is nearer More so than June
2004 When the Cuckoo
met befall The odd ragged
Cabbage White Meanders past
lonely Buddleias Longing to feel
tonguing Proboscis Tortoiseshell,
Admiral and Fritillary To no avail, all
insects’ life on the wane Garden doesn’t
even sound sane Blame Global
Warming convenient For taxation,
bleed the nation, name the game Played on high
jets in sky or summoned by radio from Alaskan Plain? So Clouds and sky
don’t even look the same Remember days
when aluminium meant window frame And Barium stood only or tummy X-ray fame Yes frame the
famous view when cloud was fluffy Flat bottomed
stuff God’s void between Deep heavenly,
dark blue, hue; pre –nineties Planet many of us
loved and knew Of soul and harmony,
divinity nearby Until men
entrusted with the geometry of sky Destroy
insectivorous life and will to fly Hearken to the
warning else they too may fall and die. I was thinking how Britain’s tradition’s have
changed since I was a child: Whatever your creed or religious persuasion or even
if you have none don’t you think it is a shame that there are no longer any
‘quiet’ special days left in the calendar? Boot-sale Britain by This Easter we drove to sacred the
site, This Easter we joined the
congregation, This Easter we gave to charitable
collection, This Easter we heard their many
ministries, This Easter we had collective
expectation Of sure rebirth and certain
resurrection, Not ours but theirs, all
their worthy wares Old clocks chimed and old pews
shone In weak vernal sun, next to faded
kids clothes After gambling good Friday, this
Easter We bought and sold on boot-sale Sunday. It has been a long hard winter, Spring is just
around the corner Easter daffodils and blossoms are early again in the UK
this year a sign of global change perhaps? Monetary markets and society
around the World is collapsing here is a humanist poem Emphasising my thoughts on how people should pull
together This Easter Poem by Chris Barnes (2008) This Easter I will pray Because research shows Those who pray are happier Than those who Don’t and God knows the news we Watch day by day by day Of a fucked-
up planet Pompous people and Degenerating society And like Christ on the Cross, this World at the Cross-roads in its crucifixion asks are we forsaken and why? Time then for transformation Take the bull by the horns Lay differences of race, Colour, caste and creed apart Feel the love of human hearts As caring consciousness imparts Bold, brand-
new transfigured start. Autumn 2007 Whilst out walking the other day I guess you could
say I had a mystical experience, like the weather, I felt calmer, more at ease, more at peace,
more content with my lot than for a long, long time. Since them some
amazingly good things have started to happen in my life. I wrote this poem because I wanted to
express how that positive energy might flow into others if they would accept
it, yet it ends with the expression of sadness that far too many people choose
to turn away from good and kindness and adopt warring or arrogant stances in
their Everyday approach to life. Autumn Day Poem by Chris Barnes. Let meditative connection
commence Let universal peace descend Let troubled minds make amends As we reap rustic autumn day Its gentle breezes’ random
caress God’s true caring, calming
breath Breathes overwhelming hope Upon troubled earth below Chaos silenced, storms subside Earthquakes end, wars replaced By peace, positively and
paradise From the brink we slowly slide By prodigy, prediction, elusion Karma thoughts fade, subside Since many choose the rougher
ride. Chrisbarnespoet September2007 EASTER TREE POEM BY CHRIS BARNES APRIL 2007 Christ Rise again Resurrection
of poet Resurrection
of plants Resurrection
of peace Resurrection
of plans Resurrection
of palms Resound Rebirth Reform Restore Recycle Rekindle Resurrection
of love October 2006 Poetry New students land in town!!!! Still on a skateboarding theme!!!! Skateboarders’ side-walk Scenes quite surreal suddenly take my gaze Poignantly intellectually awkward decisions Await expectant onlooker Which most captivates; subway or hyperspace? This alley so chic, brimming with
exhibitionist graffiti, Where a guy topped with head like cross Between pink Buddha and Easter Island statue, really takes me in! All and any onlookers sort of out of it Devoid of reality, abstracted from action Like a whiff of visual
super-skunk merging Backgrounds, then you glimpse him drawing
them in Top right, centre-stage and up a bit Neuronal perception scores the hit, While the guy in hyperspace beckons; Limbs now part company, board crisply cuts the warp. By Chris Barnes October 2006 Sidewalk O2: Lay-persons’ perception of routine skateboarding act. Alluring with Precarious positivistic poise This guy’s balance disrupts the Fulcrum Of my mind Which Hijacked gazes Upon board, angled legs, and, Arched spine While arms are Cantilevers, Skateboarders’ trait Or higher design? Board in foreground, railings behind, Both in curvatures Of warped Space-time Giving birth to Quartet of freely hanging wheels Ezekiel’s chariot blazes past In sheen easily Unseen, as Finally my head Removed From fantasy Cocks in heartfelt Appreciation Of fast unfolding scene Of
steps steeped in history Brave comrades rode Afore; Brash acts compliment Brash railings And Affluent glass tower block To rear, As you pray for present One’s survival Down helter-skelter route, Like all time Were A circle He will reach ground He will survive And live to see yet another hum-drum day. Chris Barnes. July Poetry
A little late again
due to pressure of work! We are all gripped by
the shock of terrible events unfolding in the Middle East In an appeal for both
sides to recall their real ‘roots’ and start loving each other we bring you Grief’s Duality Grief’s Duality: Poem by Grief is tragic- all
consuming Overwhelming life itself Yet grief has closure, mercy, Termination in transience Distorted for the un-dead
father Catatonic shell of former
self Cursed disaster lacking verbal vitality, Mind trapped –milked of verbal
wealth; Today when I
was ‘blue man’ Girded in
similar hue, dawned
truth Long since flown with frustration Fickle diagnosis now rampant whim While ‘purple men’
visited hospital ward ‘Snooker men and
professionals’ Nursed him homeward to ‘awaiting’ wife His former life condensed; years as seconds
–flash by Replayed
deja-vus in empty husk Recognised yet not
recognising A death mask prematurely smiling From eyes old-not yet
cold Outwardly channelling A-for Alzheimer’s Cruel reality, this is grief’s
duality. Copyright Chrisbarnespoet Poetry of the month
May 2006 Spring is finally
here in many parts of Britain now that sunspot activity has commenced again Some
believe poetry originates from a divine source The
universal divine source inspires all things Good ‘Good
crosses the boundaries of nations and unites those who ascribe to different belief
systems-good denigrates those who prophet
for profit’ This month
therefore (a little belated due to pressures of academic work) we bring you ‘Good
Poem’ Good poem by They can destroy God or discredit gods, Blame him or them for wars between nations, Make atheistic curses when food is rationed Or when plagues descend like aids or dengue. Damage Jesus’ reputation, reminding us coldly Galilee’s sea had special ice you see, or
maybe Lazarus was just doped not dead at some
historic party, Stealing hope or riddling resurrection With n-dimensional multiple regression As quantum science meets ageing theism, But they simply can’t take good! Good is our god, good in
all its guises Good binds husbands with
fidelity to wives Good saves lost souls and
little children’s lives Good gives love and
self-sacrifices Good gives caring, caress and kindness Good gives thoughtfulness and truthfulness, Good gives honesty, humility and intellect Good reconciles and
repairs So Jesus meets Buddha and the two agree That good is not a belief system manipulated By elders, clerics, rich and famous or
aristocracy Through good all religions and atheists see Good is inherently the best gift and free Transcending creed and colour- mere
mortality, Good ascribes its force even sub-molecularly. Good thoughts transform the face of water As life blood’s quantum icicles flicker bathed
in beauty, Because of good great things are possible Like peace and
tranquillity, travelling To all destinies devoid of evil and malice Mightily this world will drink from
new chalice. A cup called Good, a glass of everlasting
peace People will see true God of twenty first
century The same so simply good for and within every
person, The power of the internet will loosen the
food The poet has not given a puzzle to elude Good is a synchronous vibration, It’s yours or my now for the taking, Test it try it every
nation It’s just hunger, evil and war you’ll be
forsaking. .
Copyright ChrisBarnespoet The purer the Poetry the more balanced the symmetry when the Poem
is centered on the page I experiment
with this concept by channeling myself in an almost trance like meditative
state before I compose poetry , I always compose using standard left –hand
justification and then centre the text to see what happens Similar
coherent symmetry and pattern can sometimes be seen in the output spectrum Of an
ELF RADIO Receiver if a waterfall display is used Some
would say these are the natural Schumann Resonances of GAIA Or the
Calming voice of God soothing the madness of this seething planet as many have
come to know it Winter was crueller this year For plants in my garden Chilled by the snows For those out there Huddled in tents After earthquakes In Pakistan, For old ladies Bruised by ice In the name Of teen snowballing Oh such fun Oh so nice But stop Spoiling for fights. So we can Change the World if we try Can change it then If we care Enough to recycle And be People people And share And take the time To talk and understand Our fellow man Forgive the political Incorrectness Here but I didn’t Vote for that lot Anyway Having your Say takes Apathy away And lets The giver of hope Have a say As tiny coherent Bells of synchrony And people empathy Ring out world wide Soothing simple spirit An Easter Christ Crying curb war And madness Overwhelming sadness Such that we Wipe tears From the eyes Of the poor and Oppressed let them Share gladness with Us more blessed World History That’s just the rest March 2006 Logging Things are better now
there’s gas I oft look back on that
icy blast From our poor parochial past Days of a certain lower caste. Today I’d frown aghast At lunatic notions like
–logging Not in the flight of lumberjacks But nevertheless with a
nodule Of nostalgia in the knowledge That those were the days When bills got delayed But brought pleasure too As young son and I in Deep snow we sleighed and played, He not knowing how close
was dad To nervous annihilation, Physically prolapsed
crippled collapse As the sacks we dragged Broke my will and back, While windfalls were a
bonus Often meaning one less
stroke Of our ageing old bow-saw Smartly saving hands To sign cheques to pay mortgage bills Before eviction day. Those were the days certain snowy days March daffodils poked precarious Delicate heads on bent necks Sheltering ‘gainst
rotting wooden shed By crumbling Welsh cottage or old mill Days of winter chills
cruel and cold A common life with loving wife Toiling in equal strife stoking three fires Forever no real frills
nor forecast Of future freedom fame or fortune Nor
recalled crucifixion on a different hill. Copyright Chrisbarnespoet Children’s Poem of the Month Sale of the century poem by I’m an alien from planet
zog Don’t know the difference Between cat and dog I’m an alien from planet
zog Don’t know the difference Between toilet and bog I’m an alien from planet
zog Don’t know the difference Between jog and job I’m an alien from planet
zog Don’t know the difference Between Rosemary and Rob I’m a bitten old alien
from planet zog A soggy old alien from
planet zog A tired old alien from planet zog A tongue tied old alien from planet zog A clever old alien from
planet zog They just bought my spaceship Only ten bob!!!!!!! MORE POEMS Dried flower arrangement Poem by Your true soul spiralled
outwards Before it was trapped Now eyes
lock skyward, Besotted
by silver Resurrection, Shimmering above Like
diamond dust, While faces Dawn briefly Smiling anew As they did When orange
ripples Blew wild and free Haloes
round centres of ochre sun Cascading
Pollen rivulets Spiralling down Moist banks Of Lilly white freesias Over beaches
Into the sea, While the storm of my brain Shocks back to present For them only to be Stifled Confined Blistering Heads Rigid and Joined
Starving On Brittle Stems In Parched Dry bottle
below Smile Poem ; by For weeks or months it may persist Perhaps certain clarity of stare, A certain twinkle of eye below Thinly stranded hair; virginal
snowdrop White, mind’s initial pure coupling Spring
dawning new states gradual aware As you wonder aimlessly why That certain wryness of smile brings Facial
expressions that linger a while; You ponder their knowledge In awe where they are going Have been or went before. I’ve seen it only twice in yesteryear On faces far and near, that radiant gaze This uttered silent defiant lack of fear Their God was surely very near To Pope John Paul and my old Polish
Father-in- Law a good year after his NDE; And now I meet it once again In my demented father ‘on the mend,’ The steroids surely took their toll And in speech therapy classes Maybe he ought enrol; or was the light So
very bright it extinguished every single fright. For this elderly varied trinity and others of
like mind Fear takes leave in explanation plain to see,
way perhaps Quite kind; when old men simply want to slow
and die That certain twinkle glints in ageing eye Suffering ebbs and sadness calls goodbye as In waves of universal happiness they will
flow and fly. Copyright 22/12/205 Chrisbarnespoet. Further Studies of Alzheimer’s When to mourn poem by (A dark study of senile dementia) Humbled like fish in a tank Taking transient encounters Slumped and slobbering All that was sentient Slowly surely has sank Dirty dogs of
the street, Defecating and degraded
Squabbling in corridors
Amidst locked doors Like prisoners they meet Last semblances of dignity Leached from annals of Failing minds whose motor synapses No longer spark such viewer Sees afflicted gait an amble in the dark. By the grace of
Alzheimer Poem by Chris Barnes. They and their God at one Surreal hope clings subtly on As day becomes a thousand years And seconds of wiped memory gradually clear The smile they held for you through self
-psychotic inner fears You struggle and choke to hold back tears
torrents As your name becomes a colour or a chink in
the wall While perhaps their vacant moments merge In early meet with Saints and Angels A privileged perhaps most sacred call Their eyes bathed in astral light before the
end of all? Senile D……… It creeps up on them Like a grey mist The tortoise Passing the hair As demoralising state, Becomes inhuman unfair Perverse this affair When passage of time Tormenting nuances Of yester-year Become forcibly Yours and mine, Dreams and reality Blend as less and less They are able to fend; Finally they descend, And living husk utters A few repeated Garbled words or Phrases not knowing Your name or theirs; Embarrassed you’d Rather excuse yourself From their affairs As you pray for them Be given painless transit. Poem by Copyright Chrisbarnespoet Sky Poem by Chris BarnesSky without the sun: Poem by Chris Barnes. I was the sky without the sun Copyright Chrisbarnespoet The above poem is a true story dad did come
home for Christmas2005 and despite predictions of psychiatrists to
the contrary , continues to improve. I believe he was suffering mainly from Prednisolone induced dementia syndrome due to long standing
prescription of this sleazy drug by his sadly ignorant general practitioner . Another
year has passed us by Still
we seemed blessed under Gaia’s sky Seasonal Haiku March wind Blows in season Of resurrection Quenching
thirst Of long dead April showers, Rosettes
pinned On thorny wall
as May blossoms, Forest fires Barbeque hares In June heat. In heat of July August insects
have Dawn passion Michaelmas
apples Fall on mauve
rug Bruising
daisy’s head Sycamore
leaves Set sail
November To seed earth Blushing with Emotion Holly welcomes Christ child birth. January welcomes Return to solid hard work An earthy cold start; Relations soon thaw End to cold war heralds The peace of spring. By Chrisbarnespoet Other POEMS Education Poem by Chris Barnes. A famous?
Prime Minister once said ‘Education,
education, education’ English Dutch Urdu Cantonese Arabic Thai Israeli Other Nations Extol Disarming Unilaterally Calm Arguments Talk Other Nations Engage Deep Universal Co-operation Append Trust In Other Nations In
whatever language Remember
naturalised Welsh Educator
who prayed Peace. Copyright Chrisbarnespoet September 2005-09-21 Triplicate Poem by Some poetry has innuendo ,some double entendre, with
some you wait and see First sight craved nature’s
finest Looking her lovingly in the
face While wind, her breath, took
mine And hair, facets of finest
flax, Flew from baking fields of
corn Spread across the land as if Anointing sacred scalp Flowing locks teasing virgin
cheeks High- boned and inset with
comely Crystal eyes glinting in the
sun Smiling expectation Of explorer and country’s First embrace the former
apprehensive Surmounting two symmetric
hills Pausing on each, drinking in
the view Toiling with the freshest
taste Then descending, seeking Sweet scent of shallow
valley Glimpsed below, before Picking a way gingerly
through Delightful dense undergrowth Past a small rocky outcrop Where a single wild orchid
grew, Fluted petals seemingly
guarding Central cave and cavern below, Beckoned, the traveller
crawled in Pushing the curtain of reeds Aside a shaft of sunlight Lit up the depths’ interior
as if in Intimacy with its internal
structure of Slimy moist stalactites and
stalagmites; Standing now amazed, aroused
in awe, My thoughts transformed,
millions of Tiny particles, procreation
in the Making this scene afore me
as The roof got lower, sharper; I planned a hastened retreat Yet randomly my back seemed To snag the jagged ceiling
resounding With screams of pain mixed
with Pleasure, as creations’
secrets unfolded Clawing fingers loosened
their Grip as I slipped exhausted From their clutches, I lay
calmly Now where tears no more
touch us Lullaby breezes call yes,
that’s so good I answer yes in triplicate,
only my name. Copyright October 2005-10-02 Chrisbarnespoet. c ORCHID
POEM BY CHRIS BARNES Seated on sweet scented lap Your hand beckons me as Beauty becomes your face Eyes a million stars sparkle Long lasting love, your lips Teasing taste, your tongue tempts As your frilled petticoats Smile pointing pure symmetry Symbolic of most feminine place, In my dreams flower lady You long for firm embrace. Katrina Poem by Chris Barnes. The greatest of levellers Has visited her wroth Defenceless they stood Both ordinary people and men of the cloth; Awesome power unfolds This is not one nation Scoring national goals So respect mother Earth, save our souls Yes through the earthquake Wind and fire will speak Small voices, forecast foretold Human-kind united cheek to cheek Not waging vengeance Rich on poor, strong on weak West on East that must cease As we realise the havoc nature can wreak. Copyright Chrisbarnespoet 2005-09-07 http://www.chrisbarnespoet.co.uk PEACE POEMS : IN 2006 MORE THAN EVER HUMAN KIND SHOULD PRAY FOR
AND STRIVE FOR WORLD PEACE AS BEFORE HUMAN KIND COULD
IN FUTURE FACE WARS FOR SURVIVIAL WITH AN ANGRY PLANET THERE WILL BE NO TIME
FOR SQUABBLING AND IN-FIGHTING. REMEMBER THE VAYNOL WALL: ALL SHALL BE WELL
Middle East Poems by Chris Barnes(The tale of two mules: co-operation is better than conflict)Prompted by subliminal code In prophetic haze I scanned the wall of My local Quaker meeting house Where a tale of two mules attracted My heaven directed gaze yet; I’d never heard of Cohen ‘till
today Copyright Chrisbarnespoet 2005. Welsh Rose: Poem by (True life symbolism points way to peace) From Welsh kitchen window Two pure rose heads sharing Single proud stalk wing into view, Double the beauty, double the hue; Two thriving roses, one proud stalk Arab and Jew continue your talk Sunni and Shia continue your talk People of Ireland continue your talk. Combatants a whole World over Remember Welsh roses and stalk, Remember wily Welsh wizard Who wisely taught you to talk. Copyright Chrisbarnespoet SOME more POEMS A June Birthday A bright light shines in dark tunnel, now closes again wrap him up warmly Sunny days ahead good for growing saplings and nappies on the line Sunny ,sunny summer bright spark this little one good head control Shiny new infants school this one loves places of learning future ambition forged Autumn mists blow in Oh the taste of original sin! Life goes up and on. A trilogy of A’S: Avian Inquisitors. A brace of carrion crow furtively explore A sluice of moist sycamore leaves On a faltering, flat, Welsh roof In November In a trivial slice of space-time; One winks towards its viewer, Seemingly, collective agreement sought; Another swoops low, flight path Paralleling the sinuous curves of deciduous Larch straggling supporting wall; In transient resonance the bough tip On the wall wavers Leaf-mould festers underfoot; Aggravated by short burst of breeze, The birds alight, taking refuge immediately On another bough, from adjacent yard A group of children emit symbiotic screams Strange shrill then still Sympathetic purpose or grander design? By
When I survey a deciduous tree, I ponder on the Universe and me Is God the Gardner am I the tree And the cyclic nature we see The path that one day sets us free? The garden is the bringer of hope Hope of return of resurrection Hope of reincarnation religion prediction; Its plants cycle and grow and seed Never really to end, a status quo, a Universal trend, Pondering are plants The living dead, are they not whole? Do they have a Universal Soul? Or does the brain invent in vain Does the gardener really have a role? By Chris Barnes.
I ADORE WRITING POEMS ON ART THE MORE FAMOUS THE
ARTIST, THE BETTER! An
audience with Bassin Aux Nympheas, a Monet Print By Chris Barnes. My head slightly cocked, in pensive
appreciation Of an arched ivory spine, an inner
reflection The artist’s cunningly placed line; Hand rails on the bridge of time, No living soul has ever touched, Peter the rock, beyond peripheral
view, Beside Joseph’s coat, in
multi-coloured unimaginable hue; While laburnum rivulets, sun’s tears Rain down on the bridge’s steadfast
planks, and, The being they never knew fades slowly
into view, As if, ascendant, Zion-wise, from the
pool of pixilation below, Beginning some great meeting with
maker; Moments later I gaze upon bright blue, Fractal, fragmented azure, Circumscribed in iridescent emerald
and pearl Essence of Lake and Lily. Daffodil Resurrection Fearless force of vernal
trumpeters, stand erect ,be loud ,be counted wear your uniforms with pride ; endless shades of yellow, ochre
,tangerine and cream emerge beyond first leaves ,after
flaccid winter’s scene. Whether by neat garden border or rugged
Welsh landscape, nature’s loudhailers bark their message of salvation onwards and outwards
towards deaf –ears; silent as a dream , Mary wept her
first Easter tears . Chris Barnes . To enter the kingdom of heaven (a visit to OUR local dump) Bush and Murphy monumental in their pile, and a compact
water –tight box of mobile phones ‘specially set aside twenty -first century deities in a mud soaked compound where Salvation Army’s more muted
call resounds from a squalid, insignificant, corner, adjacent paper bank and beyond that rank
recycling skips in various guises timber , iron ,steel , push bikes devoid of even wheel and tyre , isoprene free ,compliant and ready for second birth, re-made
meet with maker, and last, not
least in stark isolation , fridge and freezers ,now scourge of
the nation, lest CFC
cause atmospheric abomination. Then two jets fly past painting the sky with cirrus aviaticus, a far cry from the crystal and emerald horizons of our childhood; while the silent screens of the
media emitting demi-gods look on , knowing they’re to lead
new life in a darker nation
, Africa they say? Chris Barnes. All creatures
great and small This morning I watched a female
blackbird take breakfast , six hawthorn berries . Then I dreamt of people with empty bellies , in a place
called Darfur . Chris Barne A
collection of Abstract Haiku (Based on Circular philosophies) Some
salt crystallizes So
does some copper sulphate Cool
thoughts are solid. In
the Springtime of Life
spirit and soul together unite, Time
passes quickly by. Food
and love satisfy Several
of the Senses Are
thin people lonely? Gold
carriage clock on A
large polished dining table Wedding
ring put on a finger. Repetitive
noise Sustenance
for both the ears Stillness
is reward for the brain. Reality
we know What
transcends where does it go? True
poets write in snow. Smoke
goes up chimney Spirit
and soul slowly separate Another
child is born. By
Communion
2004 Today I saw some Christmas smiles; First there was my own inner smile In my back garden after breakfast, just a while, I saw forget-me-not in full bloom And thought of global disaster, doom and gloom How its roots displaced its lesser chums To dominate its quadrant underneath my pear and plums; Then I thought it’s just the shelter they afford For at the front the vegetation is on the run Already a few night frosts have come. In the supermarket car park I smiled again., Blessed I seemed, a vacant parking place, I slid right in; The trolley pulled its usual stunt but its Christmas So I didn’t raise an angry grunt and pondering choice of
fruit Was bemused to be presented pears with purest skin Blemish free, fit for eating, fun for all my kith and kin; Up and down the aisles, smug faces slowly changed To embryonic smiles and I sipped the spirit I’d been
seeking And it lingered for a tiny while as the silver band outside Played carols and I thought of the tiny helpless Christ
child. Then sadly I remembered I live in secular, war mongering
Britain, With its dishonest lying leaders and Blair running for
Bush, the extra mile, So I prayed for judgment and retribution, Old Testament
style. Chris Barnes. Things I thought would never go The first mobile classroom I ever taught in The chapel in the village I spent ten years Of my life , the Parish Church as well , The ‘City Cinema’ patched screen and all The ‘all shall be well’ quote on the Vaynol wall, My great uncle Frank, Granddad Wilf , Grandma Ivy Dunstan, Mrs. Archer, Fred Archer, Frank Caladine , The Twin Towers. Snapshot of a School Examination Heads and faces tell it all Rise and succeed, be doomed or
fall ; Body language fails to mirror
invigilator’s furtive glance, Like their all zombies in
catatonic trance; Serious serenity, surreptitious smile,
fixed gaze or glaze, Sleepy yawns, ape-like pouting,
lips of dismay; Discontent, disbelief, facts and
figures in scrambled haze, Heavy breathing focuses mind, or
is simply of the adenoidal kind? Hands swept through hair, facial
features of despair, Pens poised ready to write,
wishing bodies could just take flight; Flushing cheeks, inner tension,
body heat Desks rattling, papers ripping Inner minds praying, lots of
inner cursing too; ‘Invigilator please release me
from this hellish boredom’ ‘Student if only you knew?’ Chris Barnes. Violas Garden’s hippy guys and dolls, ladies in vivid lemon With bright purple bikini tops soaking up the sun in some
Rock garden, Gents with sun glasses and full face beards could have
just come in by Harley Davidson. All very uniform
gawping at the sky, fertilized by occasional fly, Well spaced out man, row by row no knowledge of his chum. Lads and lasses when you’re both baked and done,
motorcycle helmets go back on Seed head swells might make the ton. Chris Barnes. In his own image Is it all mirrored I and thee? Parallel courses thine
and mine? Violent beginnings, birth interplanetary Tornadoes with tales so stinging; Is it all mirrored I and thee? Volcanoes erupting like people with bad intent Following Tsunamis surging Debris, tormented souls
clinging; Is it all mirrored thee and I? Freedom of choice, violence or virtuosity, Breeding infinite intellect, brain death and sadness
benign Essences travel through eons of your time. By Poignant
Contrasts I sit in admiration, awe inspired, marveling human co-operation, all races ,creeds,
and colours peacefully co-existing, quietly beavering away Confidently safe in the knowledge that this is my
classroom, Then I drift on and away and ponder poor Bigley covered in
shit and scared half out of his wits or some Iraqi kid being
blown to bits , trying , failing miserably , to think
why God allows contrasts? Chris
Barnes in Aesthetica magazine vol 9. FARMHOUSE
KITCHEN WORKTOP Ordered jumble, jumbled order, everything in its proper corner? TV angled discretely, neatly pointing sweetly at our
table Phone behind on functional wall; power outlets large
and small Ready to grab, lead and all! Papers neatly piled and stacked? Others randomly wildly racked with antique scales
bearing curious loads of Photos, envelopes and ten pound notes! Fruits bowl
bearing, I think, proper attire Bananas with oranges do conspire to gloat on densest corner where Cup racks hem in Rolling Pin! Lone tea cozy with cherry deco, kettle
spout pouts to Anticipate yet another day on the go. Yet within a stone’s
throw sits sink implicit Mirror clean, bear by comparison, devoid of steam in
finely polished silver sheen; The right cramped corner balances the left where
bread machine, bins and knifes are kept, There’s the cooking hob, with its fold away top,
lone pad and ladle, no mess to mop. And now I must close I’m twisting my neck too much
to view the rest of these fine fettled farm curios. By Chris
Barnes Squirrel on a rainy day; a small mammal’s
universe felt from the heart. Take a pooling, puddle- filled Felted roof, let the action unfold. Its visit to this plane is fleeting and quite
transient, yet sufficient to
wet its feet, as ours the
appetite for life; empathy and paradox rattle through the annals of my mind; in that random, ripple of
time, that short ,stunted
squiggle , that sudden
,sinuous wriggle moves along a tiny silky body, the sleek russet mirror of the warped ,woody bough beside; With a wary, wink of a shiny sentient sentinel
eye, and bipolar twitches of two tiny pointed ears at receiving pitch beyond mere human limit, detection ,contact ! Instantly it exits with a tangential dart, next, oblivion, just a grey mizzle, screen. This was a small mammal’s universe felt from the heart. Chris Barnes . 7/7 It’s more than a week on Since shocking seven –seven; All those innocent commuters Now each one’s gone, Last lonely stop Their special heaven. It takes even a poet A while to ponder on Such an evil act, Even in a World Where it’s sadly often So much matter of fact. Whether you believe In God or even if not You try to forget or forgive They all had a right To share this Earth They only wanted to live, Fifty some lives Blown away at nine Families won’t see loved Ones, only photos Another day In the album, line by line Four young men So terribly mislead From Yorkshire through Luton to London so cruel, Crave I THEIR
BRAINWASHERS WILL BE THE TRUE DEAD. Chrisbarnespoet. A for Alzheimer Destroying Every Memory Every Nuance Truth In Absentia Copyright Chrisbarnespoet SOME
CHILDRENS POEMS FACTS AND FICTION Are facts just fiction written more concisely? Has fiction just more diction ? How do you play on words , precisely ! Plexi Plexi we've called him , he’s big black and unsightly and really we're not sure if he’s a he or she; Could be glass or plastic with a name like Plexi But I'd guess something distinctly fishy! Several inches of thick black fishy muscle that’s our Plexi, sits on the bottom all of a guzzle And all that strength, mighty Plexi! From simply a diet of fish food and green
algae . Big rubber lips like a plunger always on the go, Rhythmical suction you could set a clock to and I'm So glad we didn't call him Joe! King of the tank our Plexi and he always lets it
show . If you're not a catfish you’d better watch out! Get too near Plexi it could be your last shout ! For with a gaint swish of his mighty tail sail He'll stir up the bottom , in an enormous mud cloud ; Or he can move very subtly without you even knowing Movement much more like a mini submarine So he has another
nickname our Plexi , its the Stealth ! Slow and subtle or fast and furious a distinct danger
to Piscean health ! He's a good old age our Plexi , hopefully a good few years
in him I'm sure they grow very slowly to very thick from very
thin ! And with a name like Plecostimus who can blame them Sounds more like a Greek god then a fish causing
mayhem . He'll always be my entertainment when there's nothing much on telly, for the tank's where I can see both, he'll
clutch the glass or plastic plants with his rubber like sucking
pad and on a boring night old Plexi does so much to keep
the wife and I glad! A lifelong pal and pet and entertainer I'd miss
him ever so If he died and left us to the big aquarium in
the sky he'd go I'd wail and cry and wave bye- bye and hold an
outstretched hand And then I'd think and smile and look for his little
brother wiggling in the sand . BLOOD SPORTS Where do you draw the line? Some say fox hunting’s just fine But what of hair coursing And badger baiting is that divine? Where do you draw the line? Cocks fighting with spurs Or Pit-bull terriers ripping furs Pitched pet cats, until no more purrs? Some ask if there be a moral to this fable Is it just OK if it keeps the population stable? But lets not go overboard, not Uncle Jim and Aunty
Mabel Slaughtering each other on the kitchen table! Mud
Bathing Oh babbling Brook, or raging torrent Do you hold in your memory dear? That heartfelt mutual affection as I
for thee Embracing your sticky, slippery banks,
no iota of fear! Brookside , Crieghton Woods, Swinton ,
West Riding In my heart of hearts a place I still
embrace, Entertainment without expense in thy
bosom, old oak woods, Just kids, and piles of sticks, deep,
dangerous dams and lots of mud!! Every child’s dream was your life
blood, To change thy path, oh stream of proper
name I never knew! Mother’s curses still resound upon
first sight of my fetid, festering raiment soaked in your stolid mud, long flown the nest
, I ponder is it still like sticky,
stodgy brown glue? Best
friend My best friend’s my wife, ‘Cos I’ve been with her A good part of my life, And with her I my troubles share For a trouble shared is a trouble halved And boy, oh boy, she’s my better half! When I’m in a strop She knows just how to knock Some common sense back into me! And I come boldly bouncing back Because she has that knowledge and knack Those others long for yet absolutely lack. That special sort of character That makes a life long partner This poem my friend and all my strife Might never ever end, were it not for A very best female friend, eternally mine for life She’s a treasured, trusted special friend and lady wife. Chris Barnes. A
Toddler’s memories Who’s that ultra blond little lad, aged three or four,
always looks so glad? Not now ever so sad, tanned and on his little trike Soaking up the pre- sixties golden sun from deep azure
sky, suitcase packed, up the garden path, Going to Scotland, he’s on the run; or was it really dad’s greenhouse at the North end of t’
garden I liked ? All the above
poems remain STRICTLY COPYRIGHT of CHRIS BARNES. (Chrisbarnespoet) Below Some
Modern Poems I like by other people I
have painted a picture of apples and pears poem by David Michael Jackson I have painted a picture A Study in David Michael Jackson #1 Balloonman All day he felt it coming on like sleep, only lighter and less sure. More like a slow awareness of gravity, a certain cessation of will that allowed his feet to graze the top of sidewalks despite his wet and weighted shoes. Even his thick hands took on the shape of shiny webs Pulling the high, light bones of his torso toward the sun. His mind was a wing; he rose like helium. Anne Spollen Final
Autumn by Annie Finch Maple leaves turn black in the courtyard. each time your traces come past the shadows Come-I'll trace you one final autumn, Marriage Poem by Andy Derryberry we don’t agree on much of anything How long do Zen masters ...........................................live, I asked. "The oldest was Master Pang," Mother said. "He lived past nine hundred, but his mother was pregnant with him for sixty years. He was a graybeard when he was born." Mother had many stories about Zen Master Pang. When he was hungry, fish jumped into his hand. Fish in his pan flipped over to fry their uncooked sides for him. How do you become a Zen master, I asked. Mother said, "Zen is only a hair's separation from madness. Leave it alone." Hilary Tham IN TRANSIT Coming from somewhere else your feet touch the soil. or fat dirigible, fearful You hang in there, up there, or forever challenge your passport, could you survive as a stranger? Here, the air is dangerous, cold,
Christina Rossetti (1830–1894)
Remember me when I am gone
away, Christina Rosetti
R.S. THOMAS. If you like any of the poetry you have been reading, particularly if you are a publisher and want to publish any of mine or simply want to compare notes and experiences then drop me an e-mail . webmaster@chrisbarnespoet.co.uk CHRIS BARNES LIST OF POETRY PUBLICATIONS The following are
published as single poems in forward press anthologies
The following are poems in my
first shared anthology ‘Spotlight Poets-The Wisdom of Life’ ISBN
1-84077-124-0 pp24-38 inclusive.
I have the following in Aesthetica
Magazine, Volume 9 page 40 ‘Poignant Contrasts’ which is a poem expressing the tragedy of the Iraq war. I also have a large collection of Poetry at Artvilla.com thanks to a wonderful Introduction by David M. Jackson. See http://www.artvilla.com/wordplay
Site
last updated July 31st 2008
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