Barry A. Lanier Poems

For practical purposes, my father was dreamer,
He'd be driving down the road, the suddenly turn around.
Did you see that?
'What! , I would reply.'
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In winter the trials of life have it ugly, bent, and twisted
Almost defeated struggling to survive the fig tree holds on
Spring comes, covered with green buds
Full of hope and promise, life renewed
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A quessential quiet classroom
Silent bewitching wind
Levitating in innocence
Looking to the right
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While sleeping,
He was there creeping.
This is my home, my refuge,
Has he come for my silver?
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Chocolate, or sex, in proper context,
So important we know indeed
So which shall we choose?
As we go on that cruise.
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I really don't want to die,
Just to become famous.
Wait until last prayers,
Recited over me just to let the world know,
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Only gaps in tangled fencerows,
Where pomegranates stood eighty years.
Gentle potholes laying monument,
Where heartpine posts stood firm.
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Shiny strands of moss beards,
Limping down slowly to rest.
Steamy sod placates the earth,
Like a mother lark on her nest.
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So many faces, as much to love,
All to do, is gaze above.
Silky kisses from satin beams.
Pierce the curtains of my dreams.
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I dare not summon them,
Though so special to me.
At times I've shed enough,
To fill every vast, vast sea.
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