Dancing with Memories

Dancing with Memories

My favorite song is playing again,

a music that shifts back years,

to faces and places that bring me home,

to the days we had no fears.

I travel back to be with you,

by lyrics of alluring tether

evenings filled with American Pie,

in the days we lived forever.

There was nothing then, we couldn’t do,

when all of us got together,

the world at large our modeling clay,

was ours to mold and weather.

Those roads, exciting, we traveled far,

our energy fast and strong,

those are the days, I remember well,

that come back to me in song.

Thoughts a brim with wine and roses,

eternal promises meant to keep,

the times of smiling faces,

and youthful days without defeat.

I see you there, shining bright,

defying time to end,

old memories made I embrace,

when this song plays once again

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About this Poem: Music is a most giving experience that also has the power to transcend time. Songs can take us on a trip as if we just stepped into a conscious time machine where we go back to moments long ago to see faces and places while feeling the ambience of the time…moments that seem like yesterday.

Don McLean – American Pie

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.

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

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.

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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 Barker – Official Website

Bob Barker Art on: Facebook

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.

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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.

A Mid Night’s Walk

Photo: Wet Feet Warm Heart – Bob 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.

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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

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.

Please Visit the extraordinary Artist "Bob Barker" @ the Following Links:

Artist Bob Barker – Official Website

Bob Barker Art on Facebook

Dan’s Return

Dan’s Return

Daylight crests the dawn, as clouds scurry across the bay, the country’s in midwinter, and filled with anticipation.

Horse and cutter clears the snow, mail sleigh is a go, lifting hopeful spirits, with letters replied in tow.

It’s been weeks since Dan returned, but today the mail cart is coming, and Phil’s reply should relieve concerns, that all is well and running.

Dan’s thoughts go back to wars end, when they said their goodbye’s, they made a pledge to redress old times, carry them back to Maine, and open up that damn wood shop.

Phil’s ship left port, two weeks ahead of Dan’s, as he recalled the singing, the excitement and the boat filled with brimming smiles. Life was in celebration and the future was ours.

Clopping hooves and sleigh bells break the frosty air to ring in mornings excitement, as the postman shakes guarded memory, places a single letter in the box and slips away with his team.

Bandaged hands excitedly waving his thanks, Dan moves swiftly towards the letterbox. “Damn these dressings, my hands don’t work. I can’t open a simple letterbox, how will I tell Phil the shop will have to wait? Here’s my Martha now to help me with these tricky things.”

“These darn hands don’t seem to work with these bandages dear Martha, could you open up the letterbox dear, so we can both take a look?”

Bundled warm in coat, boots and sweater, Martha retrieved the postman’s delivery. Eyes round and glowing, she turns with letter in hand and makes for the house.

“Yes, let’s go inside to read it, it’s too cold out here, we’ll certainly catch our death.”

Inside the kitchen, with woodstove all alight, Martha opened the letter to read Phil’s writing.

Dear Martha,

…the letter wasn’t for me! What’s that devil up to, thought Dan…and so behind Martha he stood to read Phil’s words…

When I left your Dan in France, his wounds were healing, the Great War was over, and the future was all ours to build. Dan spoke of you often with such love in his eyes, and was heading back to ask for your hand.

I went to greet his boat a day early, and booked two tickets to Maine. Dan wanted to introduce me to his future bride, so I waited at the station in great anticipation for news on his arrival. I waited long, but was truly looking forward to the reunion when the news came…Not one day out, their ship was hit by a mine, the ship sank…and all aboard was lost…there were no survivors…I’m so sorry…

Martha broke down in tears, and tossed the letter aside. Dan looked down…”but I made it home, I’m with you here, now…”

Martha, distraught, got up and ran from the empty room, leaving the letter behind…

Dan sat down in his usual spot and stared at the tear filled paper on the table…

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About Dan’s Return: Phil and Dan were comrades who survived World War I and on Phil’s departure pledged to meet up back home in the States. Although Dan’s return is not as expected…

Free at Last

Free at Last

Freed from bondage, you broke my chains,

Lifted my spirit and removed the pains.

Setting sun melts earthly planes,

And plants the ground with my remains.

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Eternal Light

Eternal Light

Come to me…

You my child, who toils in light and darkness,

I am here in brilliance, as a reminder of our bond.

Remember me, when you are weary,

when confusion blocks your way.

You are of me, and I of infinite fire,

our light is one, the candle of all souls,

light never extinguished,

that lives in thoughts and dreams.

I am the father of life, and the son of eternity,

the well of souls, replenishment of mind and spirit.

I am the light that glows, and creator of shadow,

the conscious energy of our essence.

Come to me…

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James Yuill – No Surprize

Video Source: World United Music

James Yuill Artist Profile and Music

Lost

Lost

Misplaced compass,

coherence gone,

obscured vision,

spirit withdrawn.

Listless ship,

mind astray,

stormy seas,

burdens weigh.

Cumbrous keel,

sails fall,

identity vanished,

in the squall.

Ballast sinks,

essence tossed,

emotions plunge,

all hope lost.

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About this Poem: Life presents many challenges as we walk the path in front of us. However, sometimes we become lost, lose our way and fall into depression. Something that I’m familiar with. There is good news at the end when treated, as it comes in the form of an awakening.

Program Crash & Repair

Program Crash & Repair

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Programmed mind,

life and soul,

decent job,

all systems go,

kids and wife,

car and house,

credit card,

active life,

debts to bank,

television,

more distractions,

mindless visions,

alcohol,

interactions,

Internet,

interruptions,

strange events,

and disruptions,

nine-eleven,

direction changed,

events unprocessed,

wife estranged,

anxiety builds,

unresolved,

anxiety builds,

systems failing,

imminent crash,

arguments,

marriage crash,

employment crash,

family crash,

housing crash,

economy crash,

bankruptcy,

falling, falling,

mind overload,

confusion,

lost in space,

undefined...

in the dark,

floating lost,

echoed thought,

dripping light,

paths less travelled,

dark and bright,

imprint scripting,

dots connecting,

coming to,

intersecting,

old roads closed,

time on hands,

mindful walks,

nature’s plan,

system re-boot,

vision clear,

world wide web,

lights appear,

a billion voices,

conscience flow,

different history,

now I know,

revisit programs,

adjustments made,

up and running,

connections weighed,

new tasks started,

vision clear,

repairs complete,

end of year,

purpose found,

creative strands,

light embraced,

political stands,

projects started,

at my pace,

all recorded,

all in place,

one last push,

one last sprint,

what comes next,

through my imprint,

new foundation,

connecting those,

in preparation,

to disclose,

time is short,

close to end,

conscious journey,

where I transcend.

End transmission…

For more details, see The Activist Poet Volume 1…

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2nd Edit Sept 15th, 2021

About this Poem: I wrote this poem for a poetry contest in 2016 which asked, “If your life crashed and burned today, what would we find recorded in your Black Box?” I thought the idea was brilliant and so having graduated the Electrical Engineering program in Dawson College, I decided to start and end the poem by using my first name in ASCII code.

ASCII, is abbreviated for "American Standard Code for Information Interchange" and is used as a character encoding standard for electronic communication.

Since my life did crash and burn with the continuing collapse of the North American Economy, the poem came naturally especially as society moved from the radio and television program age into the internet era of communication.

The poem reflects my life from the early 1990’s to today (2021) where I was trying to operate within the establishments economic program but as time passed everything just fell apart, especially after 911, which coincided at the dawn of Internet communication as the old programmed world died in the economic consolidation and continuing collapse of the North American economy.

The internet age became an awakening of sorts since information came with alternative news, views, music and chat groups that connected people around the world, which in turn freed them of the old rigid programs of national indoctrination and propaganda.

The lies of the established political, economic and military power structure became more and more obvious as information became public and accessible online as we were able to see for ourselves what was really happening in other nations around the world which conflicted with our government and mainstream news narratives.

There were also more spiritual and alternative views of life that emerged during this time, for how we were all connected to each other and the universe.

The conversations of consciousness, ancient history and ancient places that were once considered taboo, started to rock the unshakable religious narrative which claimed that our civilization was only 6,000 years old, began to take root and change people’s perceptions of life in general. All of which fed my insatiable curiosity and need to know.

Included in my second Book: The Activist Poet – Volume 2

Shadow Empire III

Shadow Empire III

Long shadows of night descend on cities of broken dreams,

Where supremacists seize power in a coup revoking rights of existence.

A perverse, wicked neoteric Rome rises in the west,

Empowering its faithful greedy hordes, with promises never meant to keep.

Battle lines reach antediluvian empires, as Imperial malevolence is unleashed,

Ancient cities have been set on fire, for a pocket full of gold.

Yet, awareness flows through empathic vision,

filling passions of those who uphold morality, freedom and justice.

The army of righteous now rises, to the last lines of defence,

We rise, we rise and stand on guard.

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About this Poem: Current world events reflected in 100 words...It's part of a longer write I made a while ago called ”We Stand on Guard”. This one was for a contest with the subject line, "World War III" in 100 words or less. 

Love is not a Waste of Time

Love is not a Waste of Time

Wagging tails and soulful eyes,

rising sun in morning skies,

Gibbous moon with its embrace,

a child’s giggle and smiling face,

The passing hours here with you,

all the things we had to do,

Patience with a heart of gold,

always mindful growing old,

Slower walks in memories made,

singing songs that never fade,

All within our life’s assent,

treasured moments, time well spent.

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Poem influenced by Phil Common's song, "Love is not a Waste of Time"

Video Source: Stewart Brennan

Music By: Phil Common

The Light of Life

The Light of Life

Life awakened

in captured time,

spirits brightly shone.

Tempus formed,

ego rose, battles raged,

I was alone…

Then you came,

removed my shell,

oh brilliant light!

Reality Looking Back

Reality Looking Back

It’s all so clear to me now, as I sit here thinking,

How the world went to war, without blinking.

If only we had protested more, and raised our voices,

Raised our fists and insisted! We’d have more choices.

Now it’s too late, for an ill wind is coming,

Death arrives, even for those now slumming.

Inside this rickety building, our time here will end,

No time for new projects, or our minds to mend.

What is money good for, if there is no life,

When a world is made empty, and filled with strife.

No power, food or water, no escape, hope is lost,

Within the ruined city, darkness, a modern holocaust.

If only…if only we had challenged the media way back when,

Fought for 911 truth, things would have been different then.

The Road to Endless war, could have been stopped,

Reversing the trends, so no bombs would have dropped.

Too late, I hear it coming, sirens wail, heart is drumming,

sitting here, in last reflection, reality builds its final numbing.

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About this Poem: 

“Reality Looking Back” is a poem about looking back from the future…It’s a bit gloomy but there is important info contained within that drives hope from it because there is still a little time left...

I'm reminded of the lyrics to one of my favourite songs by Supertramp, "if everyone was listening". Today’s world is reflected in this song…Here’s the full set of lyrics and the song.

"If Everyone Was Listening"

The actors and jesters are here

The stage is in darkness and clear

For raising the curtain

and no-one's quite certain whose play it is

How long ago, how long

If only we had listened then.

If we'd known just how right we were going to be.

For we dreamed a lot

And we schemed a lot

And we tried to sing of love before the stage fell apart.

If everyone was listening you know

There'd be a chance that we could save the show

Who'll be the last clown

To bring the house down?

Oh no, please no, don't let the curtain fall

Well, what is your costume today?

Who are the props in your play?

You're acting a part which you thought from the start

was an honest one.

Well how do you plead?

An actor indeed!

Go re-learn your lines,

You don't know what you've done

The finale's begun.

If everyone was listening you know

There'd be a chance that we could save the show,

Who'll be the last clown

To bring the house down?

Oh no, please no, don't let the curtain fall.

Reflection of Heaven

Reflection of Heaven

Reflection of heaven, mirror of souls,

Umbral hue, and magnetic poles.

Sky cloned seas, morning wonder,

Essence in awe, emotions asunder.

Bereaving blues and blacks a sway,

Gold and orange cover the bay.

Chameleon sunrise, coloured shrouds,

Weeping spirits, commanding clouds.

Natural wonder, rides the dawn,

Twilight moments, captured, gone.

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First Day of School

First Day of School

Alien born,

late to class,

all eyes beam in my direction,

air of sharpened pencils and lead,

I cannot breathe.

Teacher salutes,

extended finger,

military daycare,

first order, sit in back.

cumbrous weight,

caught in a trap.

Face burning red.

eyesight blurry,

thirty beings watch my steps,

surveillance born in scrutiny,

their lasers burn my warlock soul.

appointed little space,

Sanctuary!

essence hides behind closed eyes,

Crack!!

Now awakened,

follow the dotted line.

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About this Poem: My first day of school 1960’s.

Looking Back

Looking Back

Across the universe, looking back,

All Earths history, revealed, gone.

Consciousness is all that’s left,

Harmonic memory, eternal song.

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About this Poem:

In the end, there is only consciousness…there are no borders, no countries, no wars, no enemies, no famine or diseases…only consciousness…Now, what will you have on your conscious?

The Fractal King Has Fallen

The Fractal King Has Fallen

Sad news finds the morning

our sovereign has passed away

despair ascends the spirit

my essence in disarray.

Welling fills despairing eyes

an aura of rain descends

memories fill a canvas

reflection of time and friends.

The fractal king has fallen

his brilliance passed to light

solemn grief is deafening

the memories very bright.

Inspirations lay silent

in rooms where a king was crowned

somber moods in the waiting hall

memories are filled with sound.

Waves of followers gather

red flushed with eternal grief

somber ocean filled with tears

paying tribute to their chief.

Bonds of empathic tether

union embracing his lead

remembrance here together

by his music we were freed.

Creative independence

a master in provision

we lift out from the darkness

embracing sound and vision.

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David Bowie - Sound & Vision

Video Source: David Bowie - YouTube

Rest in Peace David Bowie

1947 Jan 08^th – 2016 Jan 10^th

About this Poem:

A big part of music is the magic that it creates as it connects us spiritually and socially with the past...the memories, stories, people, and the way it was back then, all comes racing back. Every song holds memories and contains a small piece of our time with each other here on Earth. All of these memories, that connect us to our youth returns with all the emotions, experiences, and vibrancy from the days we thought we would live forever...

Today we mourn the loss of someone who was a big part of our collective memories…all of us, on a personal conscious level, connected with him in thought…he is still there, and he will always be a part of you and me.

David Bowie changed the way the world thought about many things and defied a rigid establishment, leading the way by creative example. He was a creative pioneer that connected with humanity and pushed the envelope of creative independence…The best thing we can do in remembrance to David Bowie is to be ourselves, by expressing who we are through the Sound and Vision that defines us. Today a new journey begins…

David Bowie – Official Website

David Bowie – Career Profile

David Bowie - Facebook

David Bowie - Twitter

David Bowie - YouTube

David Bowie – YouTube VEVO