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Best Poems Written by Deric Barry

Below are the all-time best Deric Barry poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Deric Barry Poem

It's Broken

With no computer tying me down
I'm at a loss just what to do.
I've tried reading, crosswords, gardening
writing poems and stories too.

I've done woodwork, painting and cleaning things
the home shines like a new pin.
I've swept the paths and cleaned the windows
and given the hedges a trim.

When the computers been repaired once more
I'll cut back on its use.
No more hours of wasting time for me
No more of that abuse.

My nerves are in a better state
My blood pressure's been reduced
There's been no shouting at the screen
with a face that's coloured puce.

I can actually talk, so I've been told,
in a calm and peaceful way.
No bug eyed bellowing, sounding off
or ranting through the day.

I think I'm cured of computer sickness
I'm human once again.
So when that computer comes back home,
I'll leave the thing alone.

Really!

Details | Deric Barry Poem

The Pearly Gates

At the pearly gates, I was categorised,
with all of the others waiting to enter inside.
The questions were many and searching, too,
but if honestly answered, rewards were for you.

Have you ever been unfaithful, to your spouse,
was one that was easy, because I'm no louse.
The number of times that you said that you cheated,
was the decider as to whatever transport you rated.

If never you'd strayed, a Rolls Royce it was yours,
If once or twice, a Ford Escort for tours.
Multiple times and it got a lot worse,
depending on how many, you could end up with a horse.

I collected my Rolls and I drove it away,
waving to others and feeling OK.
But then I espied a man who was crying,
so I stopped and I asked him, what it was that was ailing.

Between sobs he explained that his dear wife and he,
were both dead from drowning in the North Sea.
And while he was driving his Rolls, he was floored,
When he overtook his wife who was on a skateboard.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

Marriage Contract

My goal's to reach a hundred
my friend he said to me.
What, runs in cricket, drinking pints?
No years you dope, said he.

I want to live to be a ton,
a century I must reach.
Why on earth do you want to live that long,
you always say life's a beach?

Yes, well I used to think that way,
I was a kid and not mature
I've got a different outlook now,
since I'm married and secure.

Aha said I, I smell a rat.
She's begun to turn you round.
She's put ideas into your head, 
where before not one was found.

No, no, he blustered, going red
My new wife knows her place.
Yes, right behind you with a stick
I thought, like a racehorse in a race.

Well why this idea that you have
to live to be that old?
That's another seventy years away  
three score and ten all told.

I know all that and I'm afraid, 
that it's just got to be.
For the mortgage that I've taken out,
will be just paid off, you see.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

What a Way To Treat a Fruit

Grapes are gorgeous little fruit
black, red, or white, any one will suit.
These luscious plump and juicy mites,
will tingle taste buds day or night.

The harvest is gathered when time is right,
not a day too soon or a day too late,
Precision's the word they must obey,
or risk a spoiling of the sweet puree.

The princely fruit is piled up high,
with countless bunches in swift supply 
Bare feet and legs march round and round,
squeezing juice from the skins of the fruit they pound.

Like the vandals of yore, they destroy the treasure,
but the outcome they serve is one of great pleasure.
For once the fermenting over time has drawn nigh,
That glorious wine will, without doubt, satisfy.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

Book of Poems

I've been so busy lately
there's not been time to dwell,
among the poems and people,
the Poetry Soup clientele.

To the friends I've made, I apologize,
my excuse, I'm sure well known,
I've been writing and publishing a poetry book,
but the editing had me thrown.

I'm too anti to use MSWord,
they hijack everything written,
so I use Wordpad with all of its faults,
and suffer greatly when I get bitten.

To move a line down, to take up a gap,
is fraught with a terrible trait,
as everything moves, then days of despair,
as I sort and I try to collate.

A title appears black and bold on its own,
with the text shifted to the next page.
But bringing the text back to meet with its mate
is a practice that could bring on rage.

For everything below the text now has been moved,
upwards, confusing the order,
so its juggling and sweating and biting of nails,
red faced, as I try to re - order.

Laying out a book is a fearsome task
I could get it done by a pro,
But where's the fun in doing it so,
and the cost is a place not to go.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

Day Dreaming

The time spent thinking up these rhymes,
could be put to better use.
I could learn a language, or DIY the house.
Maybe learn to fly a plane, or sail across the sea,
or walk across the Gobi, and drink Mongolian tea.

I could learn to play piano,
it can't be all that hard,
after all, I used to play tin whistle,
when I was just a lad.

There must be lots of activities,
I'm not too old to learn,
like playing tennis, keeping fit,
I've got some fat to burn.

But, Hey, you're no Spring chicken,
my dear wife likes to say,
Sit in your chair, put the blanket round,
and balance this tea tray.

I suppose I'll just keep dreaming,
of things that I could do,
or maybe write ideas down,
and make a rhyme or two.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

Plastic Madness

Please bring back paper bags,
I cry in genuine pain.
Those tight wrapped plastic covers
are driving me insane.

With scissors, knives and razor blades,
I hack and cut and snip,
trying to get the product out
from its clinging, shroud like grip.

I think I'm there, its giving way,
I've made a little tear,
I put my finger in and pull,
it jams, its a rabbit snare.

I cannot move my finger,
and worse it starts to bleed,
its got me trapped inside the thing,
but I will not concede.

I wave it round, I give a shake,
I slam it on the bench,
then tighten it up in the workshop vice,
and grab a mole grip wrench.

I jam in a screwdriver, 
to ease the hole a bit,
and force the mole grip jaw in,
and wangle it to fit.

The grip now covers my finger,
but I'm too stressed out to see,
I use all my strength to lever the tool,
and shriek when the grip squashes me.

The plastic wrap is still attached,
and I think I might use a saw,
but my fingers are very dear to me
so the idea I quickly withdraw.

My neighbour comes running to aid me,
when my screaming hits top note,
and he sizes things up in a moment,
and fetches a length of rope.

He rigs up a block and tackle,
that he uses on his boat,
and with seaman like knots and rigging,
to the task his skill he devotes.

After greasing my finger all over,
and fixing a hook to the pack,
he calculates the angles and distance,
and on the rope he takes up the slack.

With the rope's end tied round his body,
a shanty he started to chant,
and he heaved as he sang out those stirring words,
that sailors of old did chant.

The rigging was working its magic,
the packet was starting to shift,
and with one final plop I was freed of the thing,
as the pack could no longer resist.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

Lockdown

We can’t go out so what to do?
How do we spend our time?
Imagination, racing thoughts
My brain on overtime.

There’s gardening, painting, DIY
Non urgent jobs to do,
They’re boring and predictable,
I need stimulus, tried and true.

That lazy dog could do a bit,
He snores his life away
Maybe I could combine some things
And make him earn his pay.

The veg patch is so overgrown,
With weeds and grass and such,
It needs a plough to turn it all,
To dig is far too much.

I contemplate the problem,
Ideas are coming fast,
My engineering side comes forth
To help me in this task.

A rotary lawnmower
With motor burnt right out,
I’ll take off all the spinning bits
And modify throughout.

A blade made from a shovel,
That I found lying around,
I built a wooden structure
And fixed it facing down. 

A harness formed by ropes,
Tied to doggies walking brace
Then fixed back to the plough
Would keep the mutt in place.

I could steer it by the handles
While the dog was harnessed in
Then turn the garden over,
Job done, that’s it, we’re in.

I put the dog’s brace on him
And he thought his luck was in.
It must be walkies he seemed to say
As he looked at me and grinned.

I led him to my work of art,
And he sniffed at it a bit, 
Then he looked at me and shook his head,
Raised a leg and peed on it.

I tied the ropes to his dog brace
And I told him what to do,
But he sat down in front of it,
His labour he withdrew.

I cut a long and whippy stick,
And urged him to get on,
And when I smacked him on the back,
I thought my end had come.

He shot off like racing hound,
Yelping all the way,
The plough was going sideways,
Gouging on its way.

He headed for the rose bushes,
The wife’s most treasured bit,
Then smashed them down to matchsticks
In a horrendous, swathing hit.




I was yelling, he was yelping,
The noise was quite insane,
As he cut a huge wide furrow
In our lush lawn’s green terrain.

The plough got stuck fast suddenly,
The dog wrenched off his feet
And he landed, winded on the ground
Like a hundred yards athlete.

I dismantled the plough
And scattered the bits,
No more projects from my thinking cap,
As I surveyed the garden wreckage
Of my lockdown’s worst mishap.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

Birds Fitness

My wife thinks the birds need to balance their diet,
so when she puts food out, she mixes it well,
She puts apples and orange peel, nuts and raisins
with fat balls and breadcrumbs to clean their blood cells.

But the birds don't play ball, leaving what they don't like,
no apples or oranges or raisins they take,
That doesn't deter her, leaving things like fruitcake,
hoping one day they'll take it, for their health's sake.

I say, take it further, try to spice up their life,
try salads and tuna, maybe curry and rice, 
give them roast beef and yorkshire,apple pie, double cream,
or a bottle of wine with strawberry supreme.

She laughs as she says, you can joke all you like,
but those birds will be fit and well, not pale and ghostlike,
I grin at her humour, her ways so dreamlike,
and think next thing she'll do, is get them an exercise bike.

Details | Deric Barry Poem

The Great Singing Bash

I'll tell you a tale that's full of intrigue,
of a great singing contest that is in the first league.
Hosted by Sweden, the teams all appeared,
and the music and vocals were loved and revered. 

Countries had voted, their acts were the best,
and they carried the honour at this musical fest.
Glitter and glitz was the name of the day,
and the ladies excelled themselves, I really must say.

Each act did perform, watched by millions, agog
and each sang their heart out, trying to be the top dog.
Some songs were great, and others not so,
but diversification is the name of the show.

Australia was leading being way out in front,
'til the peeople's vote changed, the whole battlefront.
Positions were moving with frightening speed,
as countries spoke out what their folks had decreed.

The favourites were lagging, the outsiders stormed through,
and poor Britain was left towards the end of the queue.
Russia was beaten, against all the odds,
as the mid europeans went against them in squads.

It's over again, for another long year,
but the joy of the winners brought many a tear.
Ukraine had the song that's the new figurehead, 
But politics again, reared its ugly old head.