Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Salvation


Salvation

I am spirit, I am wings,
I bring terror to tyrant kings.
I am here, I am now,
I am everywhere that I vow.

I am storm born, lightnings glare,
I am the soul’s protector n’ heir.
I am prophesized with a mark,
I am fire in the dark.

I am the watcher of the skies,
the oracle of the wise,
I am the hush of screams,
the voice in dreams.

I carry the future, and a warning,
empathy to the mourning,
I am the end to damnation,
I am your Salvation.
--------------------------

About this Poem: The World inches closer to global war and annihilation but as 2016 came to an end, the lies of the west were laid bare in front of the global community…mainstream news was exposed for willfully spreading the sins of their government. All over the World, by virtue of the internet and independent thinking, the people have awakened from a spell that was cast over them by media propaganda. We now stare truth in the face…the lies have fallen, morals will be chosen as time closes in on the tyrants…Salvation is in the peoples grasp…it speaks to you in times of silence, and great upheaval to awaken you at the right moment, to fight for your freedom…and your Salvation. 

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Little History Book


Little History Book

What words the victors’ gather for their coronation;
the lies of their illusions and nightmares, with title,
taught in little schools, by little men, from little books.
----------------------

About this Poem: ~ History is written by the Victors and not by the truth.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Uprising



Uprising

Roaring fires dance with defiance in the eyes of determination, while muscle, bone and conviction harden to pleas for release in the last days of Rome.

Slaves of industry, now thrust upon the alien shores of rebellion, unite as a fist to combat the tyrants who rule them...Tyrants who command allegiance by their nefarious elitist disposition through fear and violence; who permeate the faces of children with horror, hunger and terror…Fury has driven the oppressed to the edge of madness! Rage fuels their anger, resentment and resolve as they race forward to drive out the vile and corrupt patrician class.

Ruthless centurions obey their god commander and march forth to quell the uprising in the capital. Saturated and drunk on psychotic illusions that they are supermen. These belligerent mercenaries, unaware that they are destined to drown in a sea of humanity that is intent on their demise.

Truth, honour and resolve has forged the steel of rebellion and blessed the masses with courage, who now stand united in defiance, before the gates of the capital city.

Panic rides the brow of the falling regime as their victims rise to shatter imperial illusions with each rock of truth thrown at their glass castle.

Elitist arrogance and supremacist conviction, laid waste by vintage karma. The realm decays in its own rot, and brings the finality of its own extinction…

The hunter now becomes the hunted in foreign lands where empathy was slain long ago by a ruling elite that are ever barren of forgiveness…

Evolution and chaos wait for judgement on the edge of desolation.

Will the oppressors be treated with the empathy they lack, or will the face of oppression harden in the image of a new tyrant?

The search for reason takes pause in judgement and ponders with the stone-cold stare of emptiness…
----------------------------

About this Expression: Uprising is about the end phase of an empire, as all empires end and usually very badly…of course the current empire is the United States, and so this expression is sort of a warning to the people there.

When people are oppressed and pushed too far, they will rise up and take back what was denied them. Sadly, what often happens after popular uprisings is that the masses go back to sleep after giving up the reigns of power to a new group of tyrants. Thus the cycle repeats itself over and over again.

We have not yet seen the end of this greedy power cycle, which is fueled by a private monetary system…but it is possible to change once the illusion of money dissipates and spiritual reality takes hold. When we collectively decide to change the way money works, we will evolve into a better world. Otherwise if the status quo continues we will in effect repeat a cycle with predicable consequences…

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Where Ice Winds Blow


Painting By: My Great Aunt "Phoebe Harney" (Circa 1916)

Where Ice Winds Blow

A mighty forest once graced the dell,
so green and lush, the lungs would swell,
birds, so many, were full of vigour,
the skies back then bright blue and bigger.

Our home of grace built long ago,
saw harmonies dream and spirits grow,
along the mighty river Grand,
where crystal waters blessed our land.

In life we toiled in rock and earth,
our blood and sweat, our death and birth,
destiny ours, belonged to none,
and everyday came moon and sun.

Alas, the darkness brought its weight,
outside the barn, the post of fate,
trails in snow, so crimson black,
animal’s sacrificed, hung out back.

A child sobs his curse for food,
with eyes so flush his grief imbued,
outside the evening’s cold and damp,
while oil wick Flickers in his lamp.

Despondent howls sing through the night,
wolves in chorus under moon’s light,
sleep is restless, while nightmares surge,
drowning in fears, where guilt’s converge.

Haven crackles with fire and heat,
bungalow kept so warm and neat,
canning done, jars waxed and sealed,
packed away, our autumn yield.

Through winters barren lifeless thatch,
bundled with care behind the latch,
fields desolate, covered in snow,
whistling gusts, where ice winds blow.
------------------------------


About this Poem: A photo struck me in a Poetry contest I entered recently, called “Outback Shed”. The Photo prompt in the contest was of an old homestead in the Outback that conjured up a memory of a painting my great-aunt made and gave my grandfather in 1916 (100 years ago.) The painting, depicted above, is of a farm at night, where outside, clearly visible is a trail of blood leading into the barn…the painting left an impression on me for a long time, that I’ve just now expressed in this Poem. Life and times were very different 100 years ago but this painting will always remain chilling with a reminder to me that all life is precious…

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Warning Hubris Halls



Warning Hubris Halls

To those in power in hubris halls,
around the corner destiny calls.

Your laws of division are about to fail,
and soon you’ll see the Justice scale.

I don’t imagine you’ll do so well,
for the place you created, is a living hell.

Considering all the damage done,
don’t be surprised or look so stunned.

Truth has born the people awake,
pray for mercy, in their quake.
--------------------------

About this expression: A warning to dictators, Oligarch’s, and the hidden majority shareholders in Mega corporations and Private Banks…beware of the informed masses, for the crimes you have committed will be judged in the court of morality...your end is near...

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Economic Fall


Economic Fall

The clash of steel and iron plays on foggy screens, as raging economic fires consume every town and village across the land with echoed screams. Empty homes ablaze on smouldering markets of greed, now just a pile of embers, ash and shattered illusions.

Desperate fingers point at created enemies, scribbled on leaflets and dropped on the starving by patrician thieves. Desolation notes, delivered by Trireme commanders to man the oars and destroy the rebellions abroad.

Ship of fools, rowing in madness towards the jutting rocks of truth on the raging seas of insanity; Woe to them who are chained to the oars of empirical delusions…

The stores are empty onboard tall illusive dreams, where shell-shocked rowers fall by the weight of the chains they have come to depend on. Leaky ships eastward steering, sink to the bottom of the sea, while their cannons are fired in all directions…

The mirage of recovery fades in the pangs of unfulfilled promises and broken dreams. A generation crushed by debt, left smouldering in the ashes, has lost its hubris…the empire is dead.
----------------------------------- 
About this Expression:

Mankind’s destiny has arrived at a major fork in the road…one path leads to extinction, the other to freedom and salvation. However, the choice is blurred by the noise of propaganda and parasitic elements that drive a sociopathic leadership towards chaos and destruction…the decision has already been made for us, as we are blindly led down a road by the directors of greedy addiction, desperate for its next fix…they have chosen war instead of peace…

Monday, July 11, 2016

Mob Boss Hillary


Mob Boss Hillary

There’s nothing she can’t handle,
that’s why there’s Scandal after scandal.
A butcher by trade, in a trail of blood,
her stories are buried and covered with mud.

Extortion, theft and murder her bag.
Little Rock’s Hillary, the mafia hag.
Now the sociopath has a nation to loot,
With slush funds hidden to cover dispute.

From Travelgate, war crimes, those still to commit,
this Presidential psychopath is truly unfit.

Whitewater schemes and real estate rafting,
crimes she patched by special grafting.
All sails down that memory hole,
along with the money that she stole.

Cattlegate, filegate, Chinagate too,
How many fiasco’s did Hillary do?
Extortion murder, blackmail and theft,
How many people has she bereft?

Here comes the Clinton’s Defence Fund,
her accumulated bribes have left me stunned.
But power is corrupt in all the bribed places,
now paying dividends in her electoral races.

Millions hidden with IRS abuses,
Offshore accounts, billions of excuses.
Pardongate me, are those your FALN thugs,
Why the smiles? Why the shrugs?

Election rigging, senate rules violation,
the law of the land, now on vacation.
FBI clearance continues the fraud;
Who the hell is it, that’s backing this broad?

Warmongering slut of the US M.I.C.,
a Pentagon whore and oil slick.
This plea for sanity, do not ignore,
because a Vote for Hillary, is a vote for war.

--------------------------------------------------------- 
I was interviewed by Press TV today and shared my thoughts on the US Presidential election. Here’s the Link.

US presidential election system corrupt, farcical
https://www.presstv.ir/Detail/2016/07/10/474563/Clinton-Trump-Stein-Johnson-US-Brennan

Monday, May 16, 2016

Upheaval


Upheaval

Perceptions in the world have changed,
imprisoned minds unblocked,
eyes are quite wide open,
no longer closed or shocked.

September brought the earthquake,
October brought the war,
November brought insanity,
by December we were poor.

The global coup came creeping,
every nation on the block,
with twists n’ plots so evil,
economies held grid locked.

The world’s been set on fire,
arsonists are in charge,
raging fires that burn our homes,
insanity by and large.

Demons run the country,
with more of them in the wings,
all trained to spin the chaos,
and the turmoil that they bring.

Heaven help our children,
their futures are not so clear,
but on the world keeps drifting,
in panic and in fear.
-----------------------

About this expression:

I’m appalled and outraged by all the violence, greed and destruction that the US establishment has imposed upon the people of the World…I simply cannot accept it, nor can I live with the reality of it, therefore I write to express my disgust of it...

Friday, May 13, 2016

Death of Empires


Death of Empires

Old-world fades, the empire dies,
in forgotten books filled with lies,
barren promise, empty platitudes,
hubris lurks in hollow attitudes.

Malevolent empire, on your knees,
burnt out quick in the breeze,
embrace the world of ash and smoke,
now rest eternal your evil yoke.

Pass away, pass away, we hear no more,
of evil deeds on foreign shore,
nor thieving twists or crimes of hate,
we embrace your fall, embrace your fate.

The Arch of history, has your name,
inscribed, the truth, your endless shame,
now fade away with sands of time,
unforgiven for all your crimes.
---------------------------

About this Poem: One Might call this a prayer for salvation...

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Reality Mask


Reality Mask

Awareness arrives by first breath heard…
eyes open, imbued with confined realities,
choices offered from a box of masks,
one that I must choose.

Consciousness diminished, I’m awake,
reality plane unfolds in a world shared with others,
where patterned movements repeat in rhythm,
by occupied masks, and choices made.

Beings surround me,
clothed in white flannel,
cautiously walking invisible tight ropes,
confiding in their manuals.

Do not disturb signs around their necks,
they walk silent in all directions,
lost in sequential patterns,
as operational programs.

A mask,
I do not choose,
but instead sit down
watching wasted time,
by a thousand mimes on aimless paths,
all working to feed the machine god,
that gives them light to do so…

They have chosen,
as have I,
...and so, 
I get up,
and look for the door,
to find my way out.
---------------------
Edited: April 23rd, 2021


About: “Reality Mask” is about being born into a world that expects us to choose from a limited set of choices, a path that serves only the corporate machine of Industry and its banking master.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Erdogan: The New Sultan


Erdogan: The New Sultan

He claimed to be on Palestine’s side,
promised an escort with Turkish pride,
yet freedom flotilla sailed alone,
Mavi Marmara left on its own.

Israelis had the passengers list,
hitmen with photos strapped to their wrist,
betrayal was flush by Erdogan’s sort,
before flotilla set sail from port.

Ten people murdered, nine on the spot,
by Israeli soldiers boarding the yacht,
while western silence refused to judge,
and mainstream media refused to budge.

Erdogan says, “I’ll take them to Court”,
buys Israeli weapons in support,
now several years on, the court case ends,
all charges dropped, and they’re back as friends.

Fake messiah and Ottoman king,
Erdogan grabs for the Sultans ring,
Palestine burns by Erdogan’s nod,
while his smile reveals the demon god.

One by one Arab nations go down,
each one a jewel in Erdogan’s crown,
the Judas sultan betrayed them all,
and destroyed their peace as they did fall.

War on Syria proved Erdogan mad,
backstabbing neighbour, Bashar al Assad,
with NATO’s approval, U.S. shield,
Erdogan plundered Syria’s yield.

His family swims in Syrian spoils,
a neighbour to loot and strip of oil,
tanker convoys, that stretch miles long,
bleeding Syria is Erdogan’s throng.

Turkey furrows as terrorist bane,
terror camps built in Erdogan’s name,
they arm and train the terrorist thugs,
that rape and pillage and run the drugs.

The Turkish soldiers transport the scum,
yes, there and back again, to and from,
caught on camera by Serena Shim,
her death then ordered by Erdogan.

Freedom in Turkey does not prevail,
all who criticize are thrown in jail,
his crimes not covered by mainstream news,
unless the news is Erdogan’s views.

With his wars at home, many have died,
there’s another Turkish genocide,
Kurdish citizens all live in fear,
their cities attacked throughout the year.

The U.S. and Europe arm the Turks,
who butcher Syrians for their perks,
all do suffer Erdogan’s wrath,
a nefarious stain and psychopath.

Bloody dictator on murder spree,
sending millions to panic and flee,
expelling victims to E.U. shores,
extortion paid; they promise him more.

German Poets express their revulsion,
feelings expressed by their convulsion,
Erdogan freaks, demands their arrest,
Merkel obeys, to appease the pest.

Freedom of speech now against the law,
for the German’s it’s the final straw,
while apathy now spells Europe’s doom,
division and promise will consume.

It’s high time to hang the tyrant’s ass,
the dictator, monster, piece of trash,
here’s a middle finger for the Turk,
a poem of truth about the jerk.
------------------------------------

*Notes: The poem was written in April 2016 after watching Recep Tayip Erdogan take the lead in so many unforgivable crimes over the years as he backed the terrorists destroying Syria while also invading, occupying and destroying all the bordering Syrian communities. The plundering of the Syrian nation and their oil was done from terrorist held locations and all the thousands of oil tanker trucks led back to Turkey with the whole operation caught by Russian’s satellite surveillance. An interesting note is that the USA has over 100 military bases in and around Syria and a state-of-the-art satellite surveillance system and yet they remained quiet and purposely ignorant of the oil trade between their N.A.T.O. partner Turkey and the terrorists. There is no way they didn’t know about it and in fact backed their terrorist supporting N.A.T.O. partner.

Today, the U.S. is directly involved in the oil theft which was confirmed by Donald Trump in October 2019 when he said that the USA was in Syria for the oil…the theft still continues in 2021 and the Americans are STILL committing a war crime by illegally occupying Syria.


US Complicit in Terrorist Oil Trade with Turkey – (Dec 2015)

Military Build Up on the Turkey Syria Border – (Dec 2015)

Upheaval in Turkey: What Comes Next? (Aug 02nd, 2016)


In 2010, Erdogan made a promise to lead the Turkish Navy as an escort for the Mavi Marmara and the freedom flotilla to Gaza Palestine. The freedom flotilla was trying to bring humanitarian aid to Gaza in an attempt to break the harsh starvation blockade that Israel imposed on the coastal strip. When they set sail, there was no military escort. Erdogan lied and then became suspect when the Israeli’s attacked the flotilla of ships in international waters, murdered 9 people in cold blood execution style with a tenth that died later of his wounds. The Israeli’s had all the information of who was on that boat before they illegally boarded the ships. Everything on board the ships including the people were documented at the Turkish Port, yet the Israeli’s had all the info on who was on that boat including pictures of the activist when they invaded the boat…The Israeli’s murdered 10 innocent people, one of whom was an American.

Erdogan’s actions and involvement in the destruction of oil rich Libya in 2011 was, for me, the telling sign of what was to come from him because he also gave the go ahead to the US & NATO to set up military installations including their missile shield, which of course was pointed at Russia.

The poem is also in memory of Lebanese American Press TV reporter Serena Shim who was killed on Oct 19th, 2014 by a Turkish Military vehicle a few days after filming Turkish soldiers ushering terrorists in and out of Syria in World Food Organization trucks.

Erdogan’s actions have proven that he’s deeply involved in terrorist activity and the turmoil throughout the Middle East and surrounding regions with military occupation forces in Iraq, Syria, Libya, and Armenian controlled Nagorno-Karabakh.

Erdogan even seized his own country in what appeared to be a staged coup in 2016 as it allowed Erdogan to seize absolute power and remove all opposition to him in Turkey. Hundreds of thousands of people were arrested, while he seized control over the Army. However, Erdogan had been purging and arresting opposition members since 2013, cracking down on judicial, bureaucratic and military positions while also jailing hundreds of investigative journalists.

Anyone who criticizes this tyrant, is arrested as we saw with two German poets, Jan Boehmermann and Bruno Kramm in 2016. Back then, at the Turkish president’s insistence, Angela Merkel the leader of Germany obeyed his command and arrested the two poets, thus eliminating free speech in Germany for a time. So, this poem was also written in solidarity with those poets at that time.

In essence, Erdogan is unstable and a ruthless dictator.

Turkey’s ongoing backing of terrorists and their continued occupation of Syrian land today in 2021, must end. The people of Turkey need to stop this dictator but it is more important for the International community now to condemn and isolate him before his uncontrollable rage engulfs the world in a major world war.


Monday, April 11, 2016

Evolution


Evolution

Life evolves by the planting of a seed...an idea...
resonating into light, to become a sea of profound changes.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Truth and Lies


Truth and Lies

Brought up to be truthful, honest and fair,
and told that the answer to life was in prayer,
we made our start with endless giving,
and when assailed, we were forgiving.

The promise in life would come down the road,
but things got strange when the economy slowed.
Oil costs went up and inflation appeared,
the tale of life became very weird.

Things didn’t make sense as I grew,
the more I questioned, the less I knew.
All we had was what we were told,
and no internet for minds so bold.

The bully emerged, then came nine eleven,
criminality surged, and released building seven.
we watched it all unfold on our TV’s,
collusion of media, government, insanity.

The systems governance and media cries,
expect you to believe their pernicious lies.
While society bubbles around the World,
begin to pop as their sovereignty unfurls.

People the World over, awakened by events,
research the internet till their energy is spent.
Building seven fell, in its own footprint,
takes months to wire, should give a hint.

War was launched from that moment on,
economy is worse and the jobs are gone.
Fifteen years later, ignorance resumes,
criminals still free in corporate boardrooms.
------------------------------------------

Architects and Engineers: Solving the Mystery of Building 7 - w/ Ed Asner


Video Source: ae911Truth

About this Poem: We want a REAL independent investigation into 911…! Millions of people around the World have paid with their lives because of a story that was covered up and continues to be unresolved. The evidence against the “official story” is overwhelming and so we owe it to our future generations to conduct an impartial independent investigation into 911.  


If this investigation is not conducted, the direct result of 911 will lead us to World War III…that path is already in motion…

Match Day’s End


Photo Credit: Artist Bob Barker Painting “Secret Messages”

Match Day’s End

Winter furnace, row on row,
chase away the evening’s cold,
lights are out, the days at end,
half past twelve, as night descends

Match day fest has come 'n gone,
the derby, cup and the song,
all is quiet, town asleep,
save two boys still on their feet…

Backyard friends so delighted,
they’re joined by wire and cup,
message sent to each other,
two boys that shouldn’t be up.

Brimming joy n’ happiness,
excitement still fills the air,
game replayed by their voices,
in detail and great flair.

All seemed lost, all seemed over,
biting moments in the game,
seconds remain with a corner,
last chance for glory 'n fame.

Moments held in pensive thought,
their defense was bullet proof,
Teddy banged the header in,
eighty thousand raised the roof.

Euphoric moment caught in time,
that includes two boys of eight,
electrified emotions,
being part of something great.

Stadium’s roar still lingers,
when the match resumes again,
the ball in our possession,
by our captained side of ten.

Ref looks down to check his watch,
reds solve their tight formation,
a forty-yarder tally,
sending all into elation.

The Bench and stands do empty,
pitch covered at Wembley way,
players aloft, paraded,
everyone carried away.

Shining smiles replay the game,
well on into the night,
reliving glorious moments,
two friends in red and white.
-----------------

About this Poem: Some magic moments in sports stay with us forever especially when experienced in our youth. All our worldly problems with their daily strife falls away to ecstatic feelings that embrace moments of hope and divine thought; and so this poem depicts the lingering euphoria of that moment by youth, having won the championship.

Visit: Artist Bob BarkerOfficial Website
Bob Barker Art on: Facebook



Sunday, March 20, 2016

Caesar Inc.



Caesar Inc

When Caesar Inc had won the war
their vets came home to mind the store
while Patricians ever busy
put the people in a tizzy
through controlled illusions and lore.

All seemed right until the economy slid
as the age-old monsters no longer hid.

Judgements made, the disaster looms
shipping jobs to foreign stockrooms
unemployed are now so nervous
vets in rags are called to service
poverty sounds like sonic booms.

Tempestuous exit, jobs down the drain
national pride in economic pain.

Monetary cards now all played
world’s new autocrat plan is made
a proxy picked; monsters slated
foreign dictatorships are created
backed up by military aid.

Sinister plans in action, red lines drawn
both sides supplied before wars dawn.

War unfurls that’s fought by fools
recruitment pushed by broadcast tools
loopholes covered all bets are hedged
for nations future has been pledged
criminals still create the rules.

Tempestuous exit, life down the drain
economic slavery comes round again.

Nation’s fight. Conflict appalling
one in growth the other falling
new economic powers rise
with propaganda in disguise
from creep control to power sprawling.

When Caesar incorporated wages war
the cycle resumes on another shore.
--------------------
  

About this Poem: The United States and its OECD friends are controlled by an international economic crime syndicate that has come full circle since the end of World War II. The empire has now been hollowed out by those in control who are well on their way to establishing their final phase of ruling the World from a new and final economic empire…but before that can happen, they need to take the World to World War III…

Monday, March 7, 2016

Cardinal Spirit



Cardinal Spirit

Cherry red, in snow covered tree,
Cardinal spirit visits me.

Social bird, sadly alone,
Perched in tree behind my home.

Winters mourning, with twilight’s birth,
In cold he sings, all puffed in girth.

Throughout the day, he bides his time,
expectant wait, for song in rhyme.

Conscious whispers, find my ears,
from father gone, so many years.

Visit your mother, was his plea,
Empathic feelings, whispered to me.

Never knowing what life brings,
I visit mother, with heartfelt things.

Arriving early, mid afternoon,
surprised to find emotions strewn.

Her spirit appeared so far away,
Though a pleasant time we had that day.

With tears in eyes, yet very caring,
though why she cried, she was not sharing.

Ninety years old, tired and alone,
All she wanted, was to go back home.

Empathic nod, I understood,
as memories flood from childhood.

Our visit ended, we said goodbye,
She smiled at me with tear in eye.

Arriving home, deep in thought,
I watch the birds, and Cardinals spot.

He flies to me, on window’s bay,
The song he sings, soothes my day.

The evening reigns, his vibrant sound,
Chasing blues and sorrows crowned.

When sunset casts its evening shroud,
Cardinal sings, return is vowed.

Night brings sleep to weary eyes,
Old dreams pass, with greying skies.

At three AM, I’m suddenly roused,
It’s chateau place, where mum is housed.

The news is sad…mum passed away.
I reflect on time we spent that day.

Pain and sorrow bites with grief,
My systems flush with no relief.

Mourning gathers, Cardinals return,
on window sill, emotions churn.

Eyes meet mine, understanding fate,
for there behind, his new found mate.

She hops to window, looks inside,
Chirping brightly, old soul and bride.

Together they sing a hopeful song,
bestowing strength, to keep me strong.

At that moment, memory recalls,
the story she told me at Twin Falls.

The spirits of loved ones will visit you,
and appear as Cardinals, to see you through.
-------------------------------------------

About this Poem:

It is said that the spirit of a loved one comes to visit through the guise of a Cardinal. The Poem “Cardinal Spirit” is dedicated to my late mother and father.


Saturday, March 5, 2016

A Mid Night’s Walk


Photo: Wet Feet Warm HeartBob Barker


A Mid Night’s Walk

The blue grey flicker of theatre’s twilight,
pales and recedes to red velvet curtains and end credits.
Fright night is over, and just begun,
for worried faces with no way home.

Movie house ushers left behind,
two boys barely nine,
unattended left in mid nights darkness, alone,
walking empty streets, they plan their journey.

A mile to go,
roads devoid of life, dead,
young audacious intellect no longer composed,
agree upon the shortest distance to sanctuary.

Autumn fog floods the air over cobbled streets,
leaving atmosphere crisp with biting chill, swelling panic,
and two young boys attentive to surroundings,
ready to bolt on the faintest sound.

Evenings haze billows on nights breeze,
absorbing lamp light, voice and vision,
to mirror strange reflections in pools of water,
on stone roads and imagination.

Shadows lurk on silent streets, trailing,
provoking image, form and being,
by young omnipotent minds,
creators of tales, myths and legends.

Dragons breath emerges from sewers and moorish fields,
ringing alarms heard by two quickening hearts.
Foul stench and fires steam,
shed the weight of cumbrous legs.

Eyes of the beast zigzags the nebulous fog behind,
Spreading panic in the marrow of its prey, fearfully running.

The screech of the dragon is upon them,
Enticing one last blood curdling shrill of life before their fall,
Adrenalin pumping, blood flowing, lungs inflate larger,
Speed and pace faster in guarded rhythm, accelerating…

The glaring whites of the beasts eyes close in,
Nooooooo! Therrrrrrrlll…

“Who you running from? Get in the car ya dumb kids!”
Arriving at the right moment, our champion slays the beast,
and drives us home with much relief.
----------------------------------------------- 

About this Poem: Two young boys walk home after a late night horror show.

Photo Credit: Bob Barker Official Website
Bob Barker Art on - Facebook

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

The Barnsley Boat


Photo "Joy Riders" Credit: Artist Bob Barker 

Short Story By: Stewart Brennan

The Barnsley Boat

Stonefield, the home of my precious guarded memories and immortal youth; its been so long since I was home, so the first sight of the long row of tenements today, gave me a warm feeling with a little shiver as if I had gone back in time.

All my youthful memories came flooding back as I passed by the homes of friends and families I once knew, calling out the original owners by name as I drove by. They’re still there in my mind as sure as it was yesterday.

Down a small side street within our little village of row houses, was my destination and the place I called home, Barnsley Street.

Barnsley was on the outskirts of town and descended into a marsh that served as a young child’s hunting grounds for frogs and pollywogs but also for our tree forts and games of hide and seek.

The voices of children’s laughter and merriment echo back to memory and paint the scenes of a street I grew up on in the mid 1960’s as I emerge from the car and look down the road.

The long row houses on either side of the cobblestone street had small yards just big enough to hang the laundry to dry so most of our time was spent playing on the back street that declined into the marsh. When it rained, the water would pool at the bottom of the road, which is where the undefeated Barnsley Boat was. An old rusty 1939 P8 Plymouth automobile that was our unsinkable ship, a boat that won every battle it faced.

The old steel and aluminium garbage cans across the road served as the enemy ships and sounded lifelike when we made a direct hit with a rock. Many times the old Barnsley boat was hit by subs that silently snuck up on us with their torpedoes, but we always stayed afloat by the brilliant and magical engineering of our crew.

We played outdoors, morning, noon, and night and never came inside until family would call us in for supper.

August would bring the fireflies, an alien invasion by night that we and old Barnsley held off to eventually save the world…and at wars end, we decorated ole Barnsley for the victory parade that passed by an endless row of people on either side of the street and waved until our little arms grew tired.

The old boat belonged to Peters father, Mr Wing, who left it parked outside his gate after it broke down for good. That is, until one day, Peter who had just been in the marsh with his rubber Billy boots jumped onto the hood of the car and slipped off hitting his head on the road. I saw it all unfold as I had just closed the gate to my front yard when Petey called to me and slipped.

I quickly ran towards Pete but was beaten by the lightning quick strides of Mr Wing who scooped Peter up and brought him inside his house.

I stayed outside on his back steps worrying about my friend when a lime green station wagon ambulance pulled up, followed by all the neighbourhood kids running behind it. Concern was shared by everyone as I relayed the story to them…we all stayed there in Pete’s yard waiting for word…

Within fifteen minutes, which seemed like an eternity, the ambulance attendants and stretcher came out of the house with concerned expressions and a reply to our questioning faces, “Don’t worry boys, Peter will be alright, he just has a slight concussion.”

Relief ensued then as the group of us waited for the ambulance to pull away, and as it did, we all ran behind it to give Pete a protective send off as any good Barnsley crew would for their shipmate.

A week later Mr Wing had ole Barnsley towed away to a junkyard, a sad ending for our old boat and stalwart champion…

Old memories give way to the grey skies above and drizzle falling on Barnsley road. Our marshland now turned into a cemetery holding stones with the names of people I once knew, including Mr Wing and Petey, who sadly passed away last year in a car wreck.

Here now, a crowd gathers with black umbrellas in the cemetery, with a priest waiting for the last few of us to arrive. Tom Fisk, Dave Fallen, his brother Mike, and Sylvain de Bruit, whom I hadn’t seen in years till today…no one had changed, it was like we never parted, the spirit within each of them remained so recognizable…as if it was yesterday.

A melancholy atmosphere pervades the murmur of voices gathering as another soul from Barnsley Street is laid to rest. Ashes to Ashes dust to dust, we will all meet again here, to revisit our guarded memories.

The mourners slowly dissipate and walk from the graveyard onto Barnsley Street and pass by two young saluting boys standing on top of an old rusty 1939 P8 Plymouth automobile…”another successful burial at sea captain!” “Eye first engineer, prepare to take the ship into battle!”
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Story Summary: A Man revisits his childhood home with vivid memories.

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