Barry A. Lanier Poems

All the hour,
The Southern hardline preacher.
Ranting and raving about morality.
Third person, second row on the left.
...

When I see the Spanish moss and mystery,
Across the seven mile bridge.
Crystal clear aquamarine waters call out for me,
Placating the blue coral and seaweed.
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Reluctant, twisted, then released,
Twirling then fluttering to the ground.
First colors of green now have left them,
Surface soon as orange, tinted brown.
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A thousand ages, known to He are gone,
In peace I'll never, be alone.
Time, oh time, just a slow running stream,
Yet I know that He, is not a dream.
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Palpable ice in my veins,
Chilled by the grip of it's reign.
Release my spirit and these chains,
Consecrate all of my pain.
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With stylus in hand and passion of soul,
Adulations in light of the stories they told.
Glimpse O' life but in motion, from the young to the old,
Exact just one feeling from a heart or a soul.
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The tenacious spawning salmon,
Swimming upstream against all odds,
Dogged determination toward her destination,
To lay those fifty thousand eggs her job
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If our love is just a story,
That somehow never gets told.
If what we have is just a dream,
We somehow never get to hold.
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I must pick the last fading flower,
Before it comes softly falling down.
I must pick the last fading flower,
Before the next morning dew.
...