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Denis Barter Poem
Angels come in a variety of sizes,
often unexpected, full of surprises.
Times when we’re in direst need,
without fanfare or showy parade,
they’ll comfort us with timely aid,
being sympathetic, they pay heed.
Possessing no halo that can be seen,
they’re often someone who has been
a familiar face in the neighbourhood.
Maybe an acquaintance living near
who helps us vanquish doubt and fear.
At the onset, it is clearly understood
they seek no reward nor compensation.
Showing no bias or dogmatic persuasion,
Angels are there when ill fortune overtakes,
and we feel cornered; the future bleak.
Bolstering our resolve, they’ll quietly speak
to restore optimism, and relieve heartbreaks.
But to see Angels we must first open our eyes,
as they favour no stereotype. We must recognise
they come in varied sizes and temperaments,
displaying no signs, such as halo and wings,
nor playing harpsichord, as a heavenly choir sings,
being plain folks, without musical instruments.
Nonetheless, they restore our peace of mind
when our need is greatest. Ever welcome, we find
their presence alone, exerts a becalming effect.
Without Angels to ease times of deep despair,
our burden, could prove impossible to bear.
Such Angels are ones we love and respect!
Rhymer. June 1st, 2016
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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Denis Barter Poem
I’ve an anger which cannot be hidden!
A burning passion that comes unbidden!
My Soul desolated with grievous rage,
reacts with furious justified outrage!
Occasioned by the offences of ignorance,
bigotry, discrimination and intolerance!
Though evil are the ravages of vandalism,
they pale to the magnitude of racialism!
Colour, creed, even the shape of the eye
is little enough to make bigots cry:
“He’s not of us! He’s a different breed!”
“Watch him close or he’ll do us an ill deed!”
There is no cause for remarks such as these,
but pestilent views are like a disease!
Some ill chosen words expressed in vague
terms, insinuate like a fatal plague!
Ethnic slurs in the guise of humour, fester!
With but one angry response one protester,
can incite more slander, which raging out of hand,
foments a backlash! Runs rampant! Inflames the land!
But racism is a sword with a two edged blade!
It cleaves not only those on whom it’s laid
but those who scorn to curb their vicious tongue
from whom such defamatory words have sprung!
Can we not accept those who are not as us?
Must we blame the innocent for the fuss
instigated by such biased perception?
Let us quash ignorance at its inception,
or by default we shall be guilty too!
By using diverse conceits we construe
to make imprudent acts lawful decrees!
While disregarding all impassioned pleas
for tolerance! Unless we denounce this blight,
or take a stand and with fortitude, to fight
and end disharmony, discord and dislike!
Racialism and hatred will flourish alike!
Rhymer April 1st, 2017.
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2017
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Denis Barter Poem
Deep in our forest woodland,
where white tailed deer roam free,
I thought to take a moment,
to listen quietly,
to the whispered sighing,
of breezes in the trees.
As pleasant a sound as I have ever heard,
for my senses it doth please!
There I came upon deer grazing,
they showed no sign of fear,
the moment was endearing,
as they watched me standing near.
Silently I stood watching,
twas heaven sent for me,
until a Ruffed Grouse drumming,
disturbed my reverie.
Like a painted pastoral scene,
captured by an artist’s eye,
it was a moment frozen in time,
though time itself flew by.
Then with their white tails swaying,
they trotted down the glade,
which ended my encounter,
with a moment heaven made.
It’s often I remember,
that quiet, forest scene,
when Nature’s generosity,
with pleasures seldom seen,
offered me an insight,
into her hidden realms
where her favour was revealed.
A delight that overwhelms.
Rhymer. May 22nd, 2016.
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Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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Denis Barter Poem
Deep devious thought is requireD
On writing an acrostic of twO!
Under such circumstances yoU
Best take great care not to fluB
Lines or fail to follow a logicaL
Evaluation. Doubtless you’ll believE
All I say, should you try to write A
Competent composition and pedantiC
Research is definitely needed, foR
Only a few words will be fitting tO
Select, for you to achieve succesS!
Take care writing your attempT.
It’s needed for a good result. Perhaps I
Can help, to avoid an Acrostic catastrophiC!
Rhymer. April 25th, 2016.
(A Double Acrostic is one where the ultimate letter of each and every line, matches the first letter of said line. Not the easiest of acrostics to write, if a sense of continuity and logic is to prevail. The next step of course, is to have a rhyming sequence added. I shall leave that for another day!)
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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Denis Barter Poem
May your life be merry, may your load be light:
May your joys be many, and your future bright.
May the road be smooth, for the friends we know,
And may you make many more, wheresoe'er you go.
To all of you - grand folks to know - we raise a glass
And pray sincerely, that Peace soon comes to pass.
So to achieve this end, may our voices be raised.
As for Internet Folks? Heaven be praised!
Let's keep the postings coming and let the rhetoric fly;
Be it solemn, comic, or inane? We'll either laugh or cry
When we read such opinions or indulge in idle chatter,
But all discussion should concern us, so let's natter.
While there's the InAternet, and we can keep in touch,
Whether we write frequently or not very much,
The camaraderie enjoyed here, is second to none!
So to One and All - and I'll bet you're glad I'm done?
May everyone enjoy A Very Happy, Prosperous and Peaceful New Year .
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2018
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Denis Barter Poem
Lazily musing on the bank of a gently flowing stream,
I mulled upon life: was it reality or naught but a dream?
Then at the moment I pondered, what and why?
I heard a musical chorus from somewhere nearby.
Though immersed in reverie, I became aware,
it was Nature, I could hear borne upon the air.
Firstly the drumming, of a Woodpecker’s tattoo,
aroused me to ask of myself - what, where and who,
chose this peaceful, summer afternoon to play
harmonic rhapsodies, on this warm summer's day?
Next came the low humming of swarming bees
seeking a new home, in the overhanging trees.
With low-key droning, they enhanced the melody,
and provided basic fundamentals, to the rhapsody.
When a flock of songbirds, added their melodious tune,
I knew I was favoured by nature, that afternoon!
When frogs in chorus added their courting song,
to join Blue Jays shrilling, I knew it would not be long
before others would arrive to add their melodic call
to bestow talents, which would be welcomed by all.
Next Mourning Doves, singing of love in a soft duet,
gave cause to wonder, if perhaps I'd hear a minuet?
At this moment Skylarks, performing an aerial ballet,
reached new heights, in a brilliant, aerobatic, display!
This latest addition to the fast growing choral group
was the ultimate perfection. As members of the troupe
continued unabated, suddenly a clap of thunder heard,
brought the chorus to an end, and every beast, bird,
bee, insect and even the breeze was stayed!
As they all left, I was saddened and dismayed,
for Nature's orchestra that I had heard this day,
was possessed of talents, seldom heard this way.
It left me wondering if it had been a dream,
that I had enjoyed as I dozed by the stream?
But further thought was cut short, as the hush
was a reminder rain approached. So left in a rush!
Rhymer 26th August, 2016.
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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Denis Barter Poem
A Coffee Merchant was the first man to find,
The corpse as he started off on his daily grind!
What he saw filtered through, so he had grounds
To send for the Police, to investigate what he'd found!
He’d found the corpse lying by the side of a well,
It didn't look too good, which was not hard to tell,
For it showed no signs of life. In fact looked dead!
We have a grave situation here, the undertaker said!
We must lay out the facts so all can see,
How to solve this man's death, shrouded in mystery.
Let's uncover any secrets that might be buried,
He's dead, there's no cause to be quick or hurried.
First there are several litres of blood by the head.
But no regular marks of shots! No lead!
A young attendant said he was likely gassed,
For by his pumps, earlier, he'd driven past!
A gardener, wondered if he'd forked over money for "weed"?
And spade work from the police, this case would need
If Junkies had planted him here as they passed!
Maybe they’d dug up, that the man had grassed?
Next a plumber ventured the man had been plugged.
Or with a piece of lead pipe, fatally slugged?
And the facts were fitting, for his elbow
Had been trapped in the drain below?
A chisel faced carpenter, who was getting bored,
Next hammered at facts and saw dust others ignored.
Thought it was plain, to nail the culprit down
They shouldn't rule out all footprints found.
A shoemaker with a brogue stopped by at last,
But quickly turned right and left again fast
Showing a clean pair of heels, well polished.
So the case against him was demolished!
The cloth maker next, said he couldn't believe,
The twisted yarns that people could weave.
That they were warped and cobbled was clear,
And a pattern was surely beginning to appear.
The boat maker then came and put in his oar,
Said it was not plain sailing, then keeling o'er
Gave a sigh and collapsed on the deck!
Submerged in grief, the man was a wreck!
The clockmaker came next. They'd had to wait.
His hands were on strike, and so he was late!
He was old. He'd seen his Spring long ago.
But to wind it up, this man he didn't know!
A fisherman they netted, was caught on the fly.
Had a terrible cast, in his one real eye!
Speaking with barbed tongue, he spun a line to state
His views. After weighing the facts, they rose to debate.
So one after another, the artisans came through,
With their own pet theories, convincing and true.
Until the truth emerged later, when his wife came by,
And told those gathered, how her man came to die!
That he never died of natural causes is a fact.
But he's only himself to blame for this dreadful act!
His death came about by his continual persecution
Of the English language! "It is fit retribution!"
The cause of death was extreme paronomasia!
For he lived in a world of literary dysphasia.
After murdering language for years in fun.
With alliteration and rhyming, then bad puns!
His end was coming for all to see, it was clear,
And although I loved my man, and held him dear,
The end results of all his atrocious punning,
Was a blow to his intellect! Fatally stunning!
You my friends, who are gathered here today,
Please remark upon what I have to say.
If you make puns of the language you speak,
It will leave your articulation weak!
One day when epigrams flow, you're fluently witty,
A repartee, or double entendre, with no pity
Will coup de gras your bon mot, and end your fun!
And you'll fall victim to a violent vengeful pun!
Rhymer. 4th March, 2017.
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2017
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Denis Barter Poem
When I was a lad and somewhat brash
I often read the poems of Ogden Nash,
whose humourous rhymes on many themes,
was motivation for my own poetic dreams.
Later when I took to reading Edgar Allen Poe,
more of this clever author, I longed to know.
Words from this expert Poet either stimulated
my talent, or left me wholly discombobulated!
When I progressed to renowned Edward Lear;
an expert at composing Limericks, twas clear,
with tongue in cheek, and saucy composition,
he'd shock readers with his lack of inhibition!
Then came E.C. Bentley, inventor of the clerihew,
who wrote biographical pieces, to mock a few
stuffed shirts, and pompous egocentric jerks.
His short poems were succinctly clever works.
The list of humourous poets found, is long tis true,
but not all their works are suited to me and you.
If you seek insight into their clever rhyming minds,
it is within web sites of the Internet today one finds,
their recorded words. Tis true, their style of teasing
is not suited to all. To some they are not pleasing,
for their words are thought rude and unwelcome;
regarding such rhymes as uncouthly unwholesome.
As for me, many poets found in literary perusing,
have written rhymes, I thought cleverly amusing.
Others had composed lines, deviously captivating,
and succeeded by subtle nuance, to be titillating.
Some with punning innuendo, fired my imagination.
Though I seldom criticize, will by close examination,
and applied studious consideration as to a poet's intent,
accept their simple humour as honestly penned content.
Later, chancing upon the witticisms of Benny Hill,
with his deviously clever ditties, many hours I'd fill,
but few can emulate his cleverly bodacious rhymes,
that kept me in stitches, laughing at him betimes.
Others such as Pam Ayres, Fletcher and Spike Milligan,
also possessed a flair for writing literary shenanigan.
With their rhymes that amused and titillated, their intent
was to lampoon, with basic humour, the establishment.
This is sweet music to the ears of this older English émigré;
as are the soliloquies rendered by Stanley Holloway,
but to appreciate such rhymes, one must be literarily liberal
if they would comprehend the humour within such doggerel.
Though many have tried their hand, few achieve success,
and often their best efforts fail. Writers are seen as less
accomplished than notable persona they strive to emulate.
Rare is the rhymster that achieves their dream, to become great!
Yes, I too have tried my hand at composing foolish rhymes,
and have achieved some small success, a few odd times,
but I find writing rhyming falderal is difficult to attain,
for sadly, I do not possess a devious innovative brain!
Rhymer. August 25th, 2016
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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Denis Barter Poem
Another year has come and gone,
but despite changes, I keep moving on.
I walk a little slower, take time to rest.
still work in the garden, is thought the best
vocation any man can enjoy.
My eyes might dim, and my hair grows thin,
and there’s more wrinkles seen in my skin,
but still I get those thoughts - morn till night,
which are essential for the poems I write.
and a hobby, I always enjoy.
Though the years add up, each day I rise
before the sun appears. Through sleep laden eyes
I watch the world stir, as my brain awakes,
and by imbibing black Java - that’s all it takes
to start another day I’ll enjoy!
Be it Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall,
I relish the change of Seasons - one and all!
For each gives me reason to live each day,
in a manner, that suits me best. This way
I’ll do whatsoe’er I’ll enjoy!
Age levies restrictions, as I know too well,
whilst my years remaining? I cannot tell!
They promise nothing, or what next might fail?
But whatsoever? I’ll fight it tooth and nail,
for life has much to give, that I enjoy!
Though the life I’ve lived, had ups and downs,
with moments of laughter, mixed with frowns!
Life however, remains a priceless commodity,
and every dawning day, remains a mystery,
until fully lived, doing what I enjoy!
Rhymer. November 24th, 2016.
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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Denis Barter Poem
History has often shown, that with acumen,
the sword pales in comparison to a Poet’s pen!
It cuts, not as does the sword forged from steel,
but with a piercing words, a conscience can feel!
With subterfuge and sweetness, it can hide
the acrimonious jealousy that may reside
within the soul of a scurrilous deviant poet.
Chances are, being well disguised, few know it!
A poet’s words can lull a fretful babe to sleep,
or move a Nation to mourn and weep.
Whilst those who seek ill deeds to conceal,
will discover his words will oft reveal
the bribery and corruption they’d committed.
Poetic licence, with words carefully submitted,
awards a poet the freedom, no sword is allowed,
as he subtlety sets out to sway an angry crowd.
The pen, oft proves a deadly weapon indeed.
Expertly wielded, a tender heart can bleed,
but used with reckless abandon? Of it beware,
for this deadly weapon, is beyond compare!
Rhymer. November 12th, 2016.
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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