Speared Poems

The Rain and Vanished Fishes

The rain came down,
The pond overflowed through village paths.
The fishes, reared with patient care,
Swamed to freedom.

They darted through rills and drains,
Caught in casting nets,
Some speared in the yards,
Where rushing streams swept by.

The farmer, with hurried stride
Through drains and rills,
Tried to catch fish,
Casting his gaze with weary aim,
Pondering where the fishes gone.

Glimpse

   A glimpse of leaves trembling in the wind.
   Shinning waters glistening.
   Shadow bird singing.
   Devil Stick crawling with Virginia Creeper.
   Buds speared by humming birds.
   Rabbits thumping in waves of green.
   Breezes changing the view.
   A glimpse into something new.

Mystery of death

Knowing not who in truth we are, death is feared,
since we are attached to this decaying form,
so we are through life by myriad fears speared,
with God’s law of love unable to conform.
Surrendering will, we are by God’s hand steered,
stripped of attributes, yet feeling His love warm.
In a realm outside space-time, we yet exist,
living light eternal, a divine bliss mist.

We are in duality to feel contrast,
that we may grow in love, wisdom and power,
so though the life of feeble form will not last,
each immersion in earth life does empower,
irrespective of how die of fate is cast.
Oh hermit, discard fear and do not cower,
for made in God’s image, we are living light,
beholding which, unending is heart’s delight.

The Bittersweet Paradox

On sleepless nights, down winter's road,
A lonely knight in silence strode.
He raised his drink, a golden hue,
And bellowed deep, as sorrow grew.

A sudden quake—his soul it stirred,
And through the haze, strange voices heard.
He counted souls with trembling hand,
Each one like grains of dying sand.

The night grew cold, the stars grew dim,
No cheer nor warmth remained for him.
But lo! A ferryman appeared—
With staff in hand, four holes it speared.

Aghast, the knight beheld his face,
Time had worn it—left no trace
Of youth or mirth, just aching bones,
A mirror held to silent groans.

And then his glass—now slick with mold,
Slipped from his hand; he felt so old.
“Au revoir,” the stranger sighed,
To charred-eyed knight, whose heart had cried.

Then toward a light from darkened skies,
He went—no fear, no need for guise.
A star, perhaps, or something more,
A beacon to a distant shore.

And thus the tale, now soft and thin:
A knight finds peace from strife within.
For he may rest, his journey done—
A life well lived, a race well run.

Is-ness of being-ness

Divine Mother implants Her loving kiss
on any random node in feeble form,
infusing magnetism suffused with bliss,
imbibing which, as God’s light we transform.

With no earthy agenda on our shelf,
for tempests of life, God Himself does tame,
the music of spheres plays on by itself,
as we become the flame that bears no name.

Are we body-mind or are we vast space,
is now a question that has disappeared,
since we hold strobes of light in close embrace,
allowing ourselves to be by bliss speared.

Treading softly on earth in contentment,
we delight in what is, in wonderment.

Gratification of Senses Adagietto

His tears faded away
with the most concerning
image of tommorrow ever
seen
modern usage of a Jollux
man. Spearing to victory
or so he seemed
as he speared up
 meat and cabbages
for the supper he
had planned.
It would exclude his wife
who wished him
to look to something more
healthy
as he would only smile
at the sight of fat and richly
savoring treats.
He used the term
Beef-witted to decribe her
as she only liked to
shame him
might she find support against him
with snoutflairs
aannd consorted people
"those who wished us apart:
mind you they seek tresure
and lack the concern for your
well being"
he told his wife as she
looked lustinhly at the folk
on the hot busy beach.
" might a need to be apart
from me find you with the studs
here watching you
My Darling?"
She frowned and spoke of his
wonderings as trival and him
as crazy: knowing that he
only wished her to
trusted and true to him

I breathe bliss

I breathe bliss, borne by divine magnetism 
and as is with me, the same is with you
but due to head-heart chasm in body prism,
these sublime mists are felt by but a few.

I stand erect, as a pillar of light
and as is with me, the same is with you
but to cognise this needs spherical sight,
allowing bliss ignition to renew.

I, as in my ego have disappeared 
and as with me, the same can be with you,
in time stretched stillness, whence by bliss strobes speared,
soul’s transfixed in love and light, each hue new.

God dwells at my very core and yours too ~
He’s seen when heart is pure like morning dew

Zen mode

why would we negate the form we live in
for therein bliss ignition does begin
moment by moment, all moments entwined
we are by Holy Spirit, wined and dined

soma nectar drips, heart eagerly sips
throb of magnetism, our attention grips
the seeker who sought, has since disappeared 
through each pore we have been, by bliss mists speared

our heart lotus blossoms in slow motion
inhaling scents of love’s magic potion
and as we are thus being breathed by God
our vaporised soul is amazed and awed

immersed in this lucid dream, where we dwell ~
given what is, why would we break the spell

Wounded Sigh

The soldier let out a wounded sigh,
And tried hard not to cry.
The battlefield was now bloody,
And thanks to a torrential rain, it was quite muddy.

It all started with his deployment to Iraq.
Everything he needed was in his green sack.
He knew he had a job to do,
And that's when he met Jerry and Lou.

Jerry and Lou came from the Netherlands,
And soon, the three of them were the best of friends.
The soldier was chosen to be a guide.
He led them down brown, dusty roads, narrow and wide.

They participated in plenty of drills,
Going up and down the hardest of hills.
One day, their troup got an unexpected surprise.
The enemy was staring them dead in their eyes.

After the battle was over, it was just as the soldier feared.
Jerry and Lou had both been speared.
The soldier's mind was now somber and sad,
As he attended to all the wounds he had.

scoundrel -

so many smiles have pierced my passions
speared by dazzling white
so much dear flesh resolved to warm me
midst those moonlight nights
for ne’er should once I take for granted
dreams that madness might …
but I have been a scoundrel
and I broke a heart … or two

with aims quite chivalrous and kindly
pride worn on my sleeve
I stumbled through the bracken blindly
bound to hearts I’d thieve
and though I was quite oft’ forsaken
bared to break and grieve
at times I was a scoundrel
and I broke a heart … or two

I’ve never been the kind to tender
pain through keen intent
I’ve made mistakes and poor decisions
left rules broke and bent
but I have loved with gracious purpose
should my soul be spent
tho no doubt as a scoundrel
I did break a heart … or two

this blessing, life, comes sans instructions
we each find our way
while some folks stride unbent and narrow
fools like this one stray
but still we strive to do our very
best with each new day
and change that silly scoundrel
who did break a heart … or two

(for tho we’re far from perfect …
this ol’ world needs scoundrels, too).







Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, January 9, 2024

On the Crest of a Wave

On an early morning walk along the shore
I pondered thoughts about the ocean floor
What treasures are buried beneath its sands
Amid corals, anemones, orange sea fans
I wanted a key to unlock the seabed's door 

On the crest of a wave, what had been carried
bobbled and lobbed, back and forth parried
from shore and blown across windswept seas
Miles traveled by storms or a tropical breeze
on ocean currents, their journey never tarried

In a shallow tidal pool, a conch was stranded
A gift from Poseidon's hand, I'd been handed
I held the shell to my ear and then listened
awed by the sound while the sun glistened
Waves crested until on the beach they landed

With perfect rhythmic cadence they swelled
on a high tide until its last ripples were felled
Another always followed, close upon its wake
constantly flowing as if it had a thirst to slake
quenched by rushing ashore as if compelled

Buoyantly, bottles drift on the crest of a wave
Directed by the whims of tides, as if a slave
No ebbing waters have ever ferried one to me
I ponder how many notes drowned in the sea,
bottles speared by Neptune. Forsooth, a knave!

International Goulash

Italians make pizza
    Scotties bake cake
  Russkies drink vodka
    Indians bathe in the lake

  Swiss craft chocolate
    Germans craft beer
  Saudis play golf now
    Brittney's been Speared

The Shadow

I have a light within
that I've somehow curtained,
put something in its way.
I cast a shadow across
everything. It is no defect
of the eye but of the spirit,
a flaw I have in me,
a dimming I pass on to settle
the scene and rob color
of its intensity.

I've gotten used 
to the dull glaze I bring 
that now it appears 
the natural state of things. 
Even water speared 
by the sun bleeds a muted sheen, 
no bright splinters of light 
ricochet off to be caught 
by eyes having to hide 
behind a squint, I can take
my reflections straight.

There are moments 
when I can feel a tightening
and something within me
stretch and tear the stitching 
on a seam. Light pours out
and affixes a patch of life
in a blinding beam, too bright
to hold or keep except 
for the afterglow it leaves
on a page or lingering 
for awhile on the horizons 
of a dream.

Dragons

Dragons are fabled beasts of myth and lore;
and yet, some say they lived in the far past.
And they were noble creatures at their core;
or so said every mage I've ever asked.
They slept on every treasure they'd amassed,
and those hoards were oft-rumored to be vast.

They were adept at soaring silently
on magnificent wings, masters of flight.
And yet, Man treated them violently;
their beheading, the quest of every knight.
And thus, they were hunted and killed on sight;
until no more creatures were left to fight.

St. George once slue a dragon in England;
and He's still renowned for it to this day.
The last of dragon kind, killed by Man's hand,
was a leviathan of silver-grey
that once flew the skies of ancient Cathay;
only to be speared and left to decay.

Though long extinct, destroyed by greed and fear,
dragons were both magical and austere.

Solo Sax

She stood there almost unnoticed
One component of a musical layer
Until her riff came and showed 
She was a mean saxophone player
Her controlled notes lazily flowing 
Around that club room and bar
No restrictions on their going
As she slid them near and far
Wrapping them around and through
Each knowing receiving head
Notes that oh so sly could do
Miracles to stir and wake the dead

Her eyes were closed so softly tight
Legs akimbo astride that stage
Speared by that one spotlight
Playing a maturity beyond her age

You could feel for just a little
A jazz epic in the build
By a talent  more than brittle
As not a note was spilled
Then as the spotlight shifted
She stepped back into the band
And the standard she had lifted
Slipped back in to the bland
She stood there almost unnoticed
One component of a musical layer
Until her riff came and showed 
She was a mean saxophone player

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