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Shirley Barker Poem
The Letter
I am sending you a letter curled in smoke,
When it hits your face you are going to choke
You fed my home with smoke day and night
What I am about to do I know is right.
You had no thought of me while I suffered in my house,
Now you will have to pay for what you blew from your mouth.
I wish I could spawn a tornado from the palm of my hand,
That at my command
would spin into the window, you have aimed toward my place
drill you in the face,
dance a gig in your mouth and wretch you from your perch in disgrace
But I guess a varnado fan will have to be what the Dr ordered
You are going to be drawn and quartered.
Goodbye for now, I will see you when it’s warm,
Flies fly and bees swarm.
I will rip out this page but you are going to be torn.
When you putrid draught slaps you in your face.
You will loathe the day you polluted my place.
It will return to the very place you feared it to be
––your downstairs neighbors: they will not be happy,
You will see.
P. S.
I saw him moving the other day
I guess his neighbors sent him on his way.
I fought a daunting war with a fan,
It was the only defense I had on hand
I placed it where he could plainly see,
that he was my arch enemy.
To his puffing site Day and night I aimed it in direct line
I knew one day the victory would be mines.
No more mask covering my face
just to breath in my own place.
Date: 3/6/2018
Sponsor’s name: Brenda Chiri
Name of contest: Quick Fire Rapid Rhyme
Copyright © Shirley Barker | Year Posted 2018
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Shirley Barker Poem
The Adversary
He watched them as day passed upon day, peering upon the intimate scene,
As God communed heart to heart, one on one with the woman and the man the only
Beings where his likeness and image could be seen.
Garden beautiful was unguarded and free for all to enter;
He crept in dexterous in all his ways with the sword of deceit clasped in hand
he came to conquer the mind of man.
Hurled from heaven by the creator of all good,
resentment heaved out an odious pit in the tempters salient mind,
with trenchant vengeance and anger’s gall he purposed
that not only he would fall.
He would mar man the being where God’s image was seen,
He struck his first blow with a question, opening the door
Of incredulity, he launched a final attack
By insinuating that God had held something back.
With the woman’s mind in upheaval the forbidden morphed
Into a captivating delicacy,
impelling her into its aura without hesitancy.
Unbeknown to her she had been deceived,
So she ate and shared it with her mate.
He promised her the semblance of God knowing evil and good,
But his promise became wormwood.
They abdicated life’s delight for knowledge cocooned in gloom
As black as night.
He originated the fall, but he did not win even in the face
Of his pugnacious gall.
In love God gave his son as a ransom, all that believe will live
Forever in heaven a far better standing than before the fall.
Whatever plots an evil foe may conjure the omniscient mind
Of God is impossible to conquer.
Copyright © Shirley Barker | Year Posted 2018
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Shirley Barker Poem
Elusive But Near
Searched for since the beginning of mankind.
And desired as oxygen for panting lungs.
Pursued by poor, rich and ablest minds
It quenches the restless soul as water a parched tongue.
It keeps life centered and aligned.
Invaluable it cannot be bartered or sold.
with gentle hands it binds the disjointed mind
And its fragrant cloud stymies upheaval’s scent as it unfolds.
It’s an anchor of gentleness that steadies an uneasy soul,
And a blanket of warmth that stills the shivers of panic.
A calm voice of encouragement it voids gloom’s black hole,
And quietly comfort minds of the fraught and frantic.
Peace isn’t elusive it begins within me and you,
We need only to cultivate and share it, not elsewhere pursue.
Copyright © Shirley Barker | Year Posted 2018
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Shirley Barker Poem
Its Form
The taste the feel the body of a thing
it gives strength, life order
puts it in a special category.
What emanates, the cement that forms,
defines and gives it a special place
the soul, not the body, it's inside.
The light of it compels to stand along
this is what gives it pride and
a personality of its own.
Its unique DNA, the taste,
smell, impression the very core
the warmness, the coldness.
What draws or pushes away
the night and day of it,
what it speaks, the story it tells.
What gives it distinction, sets it aside
gives hope as forward it strides
not overpowering, just enough.
The first brush stroke on a canvas
the faint vanilla taste in ice cream when licked from a cone
The light veil of scent that lingers
from expensive perfume,
when all else is gone.
This is the essence of a thing.
Copyright © Shirley Barker | Year Posted 2018
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