it does not matter what your discourse
lost in the marble folds of la pieta
mother holding her son
rises above mere human differences
the sorrow of a mother holding tragedy
mauled as a common animal
the fruit of her womb
it began in the encounter, his road to calvary
her vigil as he passed
watching her son forced to abandon life
the outstretched arms, hands bleeding
the wound in his side, feet anchored with nail
Simeon's sword has come to pass
no matter the discourse herein, a mother's sorrow
she is not alone, a plethora of mothers
know too well this aching heart
as the smoke clears and cannons rest in silence
across the bodies now motionless
we hear a desperate plea
mother, mother, no cry dearer
9/15/26
there is tenderness
in each dab of the napkin
slowly arriving upon her lips
removing the aftermath
of the meal he had prepared
remembering now, Cupid's bow
that drew him in countless times
memories he holds dearer each day
as those azure eyes now vacant
disappear into the cloudless existence
he now must care for
gone are those moments
when she could recall a moment
they long ago shared
now he holds an abyss
a deepening that will eventually
claim all the life they shared
there is tenderness
in each dab of the napkin
slowly arriving upon her lips
there is no mourning in his smile
knowing in the band of gold upon his finger
this is the nascent of their forever
and at this point in their eternity
simply grateful for the moment
to gaze upon her Cupid's bow
and steal another kiss
Oregon 2/2025
("Little Things Mean A Lot"
Kitty Kallen 1954)
If you think God tallies
in His columns of +'s and -'s
how many times man gets
to the moon or mars
you are really mistaken -- Little
things mean a lot. Like, personally
cutting the nextdoor old lady's grass
instead of just hiring someone
is more profound than 10 successful
rocket launches -- little things mean
a lot. The rescued kitten, the stray
dog fed -- the breaking of bread with
family and friends, this is how one's spirit
is healthily fed (little things mean a lot).
God pours all his wisdom as potential
into the hearts and minds of newborns
that they may do amazing things with
their lives. Little things mean a lot. Maybe
everything, far exceeding all our
imagined big things. Better to stay
grounded than to reach into the infinite
(wasting precious time) only to find what
was already within your near grasp from
the very onset. In our speed world
Big Things will always get their fair share
of attention...while far more slower dearer
little things can be lost forever. Little things
mean a lot.
late on the night preceding Christmas Day
I glimpsed a ghostly shimmer on the snow
and though the moon was shining in its way
'twas something more compelling in this glow
deep in it, I could see the course of years
the strains and pains of humankind thereof
to search the dearer christening of tears
and change the flow of time to render love
my eyes were sore afraid at such a sight
and so too in my heart there grew a doubt
and yet, the beautied power of such light
had placed its peace within me and without
for there, above - redemption from afar -
the grace of heaven, shining … from a star.
(edit)
Soldier of the past, your spirit is now far above, your head was laid to rest, and you are given much proud praise and laconic love.
They once saw the innocence in your eyes, buried amongst other mentioned young men your body now lies.
How could it be understood or made clearer that to them close no one was dearer.
Now years have passed, and we still shed poignantly a tear for you.
A brother killed in battle; we’ll remember him too.
Death in trying to win a battle in much vain, where with such bloodshed who was to victoriously gain.
Today, we mark the grand momentous occasion, to enter your realm of glory is without much persuasion.
We seek to give our gratitude and thanksgiving with all the admiration it is bringing.
We will never forget for us the hardship and woe you endured.
With utter respect your silenced soul will never be ignored.
S/He walks in bias
As s/he thinks not of himself.
S/He has many a vice
By which s/he does more to others than to himself
As s/he feels his/her disservice to others
Makes him/her nearer to Himself/Herself.
The Modern (Wo)Man.
Full of knowledge
Sans wisdom
Lacking the tryst of self image
For s/he nourishes the advanced sciencedom
Which brought Moscow, Mumbai and Madrid nearer
But a cleavage, so dearer of minds.
So comes the external prejudice
Which reins the seminal minds
With a little or no vision.
Today has all to say
Not anything for tomorrow
The Modern (Wo)Man,
The most civilized and
The most savaged to protect
Her/Him and the burden which
S/He has promised to be obliged,
Is the confluence of
The venomous Chemistry of the mind
And
The meanest mundane of Biology
Short of Historicity and Epistemology of Time.
My mom looked in the mirror, It made her face clearer, She forbaded me to go nearer, The mirror had become her dearer, Her act was fun for hearer.
Cat was very nice to mice:
If asked for cheese, replied,
how big a slice?~ My honor to
please! --
Was also fond of backyard
birds: Wonderful! Marvelous!~
his admiring words.
Now dog, was a bit more ornery...
he barked a lot, even at the laundry --
protector of all, in that way true~
a tinted greyhound, who answered to
Blue --
Though some may doubt, lower critters
can actually speak! Perhaps, likewise suspicious
of my Chattering Creek….
--------------------------------------------------------------
There once was a Chattering Creek,
Mostly happy but sometimes bleak;
for the rains would come, and stir
such a clutter, causing the waters to
ripple and stutter; the edges would leak --
voice, more a holler! A vociferous flow~
Splattering! Splattering! Splattering!
Till a breathless slow – dearer klatsch-like
chattering~~chattering~~chattering~~
Light seems brightest when seen in the darkest dark.
Yet darkness can be all but eliminated by the brightness of light.
When in a balanced contrast, each is often seen clearer.
Although their differences when compared are quite stark,
Both darkness and light have the potential to provide great insight.
Each has qualities that can make things seem dearer.
Once while meditating on a bench in the park,
I had a sensation of my soul taking flight.
Wisdom and Truth suddenly seem nearer.
Through space and time, I flew like a lark.
I tried to remain there with all my might.
Guided by the light, I wasn’t the steerer.
From darkness or light, the Truth we’ll still see.
Truth is at home inside both you and me.
Guiding us through life to our destiny.
I felt a lift,
a thermal high
and out the corner
of my eye
saw angel wings
recalling angels fly --
thinking myself to give
it a try; no halo, of course,
just arms and hands
nor feathers for glide,
yet sensed a certified
flying-couch on each side
offering me
a heavenly ride~
higher and higher,
into ever dearer
light – beyond our sun
we flew out of sight
zooming passed stars,
red, blue and white...
planets and moons
far smaller yet bright,
each one, its own guardian
of great mystic, celestial
might --
(seeming less to matter
which wrong or more right) --
back home, in my easy
porch-chair, the morning
dawn bringing our usual breath
of clearer fresh air – feathers
fading from my sleepy
morning inner sight
an old man, blind, rocker-bound,
out for a night --
When I am dead,
all the things I wrote,
all the things I said,
that made you criticize,
irritated and distressed,
made you uncomfortable
in your heart and the head,
will become dearer,
be the sorrow a real good measure,
will bring tears
if you let the thought stand nearer
and will turn into love instead.
The love that I wanted and you
did not understand.
(27.03.2025)
A moment of bliss, a secret seductive kiss of flesh, where the jealous eyes couldn't bear witness, for the bowl of stew he accepted as he watched her, he pledged to her the protection of his sword, his very honor and to her and only to her, his immortal heart ever to her to be true.
He stared into her eyes so brown with hidden gold flakes as they warmed and echoed her smile so bright
Not knowing that he would be the reason for those same beautiful eyes to turn fearful and fade from his sight
Because of the one who spied the moment of pleasure and told the Queen of the tenderness seen in a moment of kindness
To fall in love was never his plan
It was the Fates that wove his heart to hers in a way that even the Queen could not destroy
He may have been a Guard of the Queen, but this Healer held more power than a simple command
She held a treasure dearer than gold, yet she was a healer simple yet bold
She had been turned away by the village but kept close enough to do what the church elders could not
She was a Dame without the rank and yet she would be the reason for his eternal heartache.
I came back weary from the distant road,
Yet I returned singing, calling it "homeland."
Golden plains, stretching into the blue sky,
I longed for the scent of your wormwood.
Soft, dusty earth, swirling in golden clouds,
From this dust, your child weaves verse aloud.
To my eyes, it’s dearer than fire itself,
The remains of earth huts, the village I’ve felt.
The hearth stamped flat, the yard a perfect round,
To me, this expanse is sacred ground.
The embers where my mother brewed tea,
Held me pondering the glow of eternity.
The wind stirs crimson coals into a gleam,
On the coals, a white kettle softly steams.
In the earth hut, the wormwood's scent is strong,
Outside, the sheep chew cud, humming a song.
The scorching heat slowly fades away,
Stars crowd the black sky in their array.
My parents sip their tea with delight,
Holding sugar cubes, soaked just right.
Time flew by, laughing, as if in jest,
Leaving embers of hope from the hearth at rest.
Though my parents are gone to eternity,
The scent of wormwood lives forever in me.
FADING PHOTOGRAPHS
Once I thought those sepia tones
Belonged only to a different era
Now, images are on our phones
As quality paper is much dearer
I have albums still gathering dust
With snaps taken many years ago
Always keep them close as I must
Yet how was I supposed to know
Some blurred, and become faded
As memories can also go that way
Over time, quality gets degraded
If only they were right here today
feathered …
moony beams daub your lips -
the irregularities
shaping little cornflower thorns
but oh, how supple the
pliant press of those luscious fruits
(savored like honey) …
I touch them delicately with the
back of my finger
then move lower to your
daintily-dimpled chin, and down …
I follow the blue beams
with my fingertips
dancing across your surfaces as
little bumps form and
your flesh jumps here-and-there
telling me I’ve found the
sweetest spots,
though I’m winding my way to
an even dearer dermis
and warmer intent …
what is the enchantment of
these moments -
this magic of moonlight that
makes me want you so?
there is a mad mystery to why such
time stops and waits for us,
and were it not for
the responsibilities of morning,
we would hold this moment forever -
painted in dreamy shafts of blue
trading touches like truths
swimming the rill of each other’s soul
and haunting a wonder-world -
whimsical, immortal
and ours …
alone.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden
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