Shall I with rush thrust it in
A cataclysmic shuddering
Of thundering quake
Or wait and ease
With tease to please some more
Until the twilight twangs
Guitar a string vibrates
the ache of not quite sated
Yet and then,
a quiet strain astray,
Of deathlike holding rest,
I melt away…
I speak my friend,
But of your thoughts,
And not your cocky doodle me!
K Barr
My heart it dies
A death again
My shattered soul
Laments Ukraine
The loss, the damned and bloody loss
A war
Such sores
I say
Are never to be healed
Forever tender scars
Are bruised Alas!
Incomprehensible,
The why
The how,
The shame
No game, this life that some do play
As innocence, I watch, again
is slaughtered, down and out
Buried with its tears of terror
Wrought for what?
And do not deign
To answer that
It pleases not
What we have got
And what we have become
In vain
Refrain of mad
Insane of deed
And stained in blood
The people drop and flee
We see them run
And yet
We cannot run away from self
And what we do
Will be our fate.
Come to greet us with a grin
At end and then,
It just might stop
Too late
Far, far too late!
K Barr
Washerwoman
In my dream
I baptize babies
Dead and done with my tears
All the losses
All the years
Over, spent
Gone to never becoming
In my dreams
I wash their corpses
Soft flesh of blood and brain
Organs flush too easily away
Away into the streams of living waters
Off they go
And all I know
Are what remains
The skull and bones
Like stone memorials
They stare accusingly
In my dream
I bury bones
Alone they go into the earth
I’m planting solitary seeds
A deed I think I hope
And yet not know
Tomorrow’s birth
May never come
But so…
I plant, again again
Maybe maybe
I plant in vain
For what may never come
Who knows
Is all, I and you
We ever have.
K Barr
Lilith Said:
We all make mistakes, and buddying up with Adam was one of mine. So young and impulsive at the time, however all I can say is I learned from the experience and have moved on. In fact, a long way on….
I, Lilith, was the first wife, long before silly little Eve came on the scene. Oh, constructed from Adam’s rib she was! Can you believe it! So sickeningly compliant. Designed from the figments of his dreams and woven into pleasing, appeasing form. How nice!
And I? Well, it just so happened, was looking for a pastime. So, purely for entertainment I deemed to come out from my dark and mighty existence to whittle way for a wiley, wifey while with Adam. I do like to play games. So, all my copious and breathtaking wonders, I, for a period, abandoned. I emerged, much, seemingly diminished, tailored with fig leaf like Adam would wish. poised for a little taste of different horizons.
For I, as you know, fellow demons in tow, am from the distant and glorious mysteries. I am of unfathomable, awe stuck changing realities of form and colour and spinning light. In motion am I, not a thing, I cannot be trapped in the prisons of mere words, held in a corporeal manifestation. I dance, round on increasing rounds of dizzying, multitudinous invention. Such a myriads of patterns are mine and never built from temporary, muddy clay.
Yes, I admit, I was rather foolish perhaps to get tangled up with Adam in the first place, but what of that? He was good for the ride.
I was more than his equal in every sense, even in my mealy mouthed disguise, but he could never sense this fullness that I am. This became glaringly apparent after I woke from the brief honeymoon period that had clearly clouded my judgement.
Was I glad to get out of that poky little, tamed, domestic bore of a hovel he called Eden. I was off, way off into the excitement of my wilderness. My companion, the rushing wind accompanying my departure., we flew with my dignity, always intact? For you can bet your sweet and not so sweet life I was glad. He never guessed that my lineage goes way, way back, before he was even an itchy prick of an idea.
More fool him, the ignorant being with eyes in his head, refusing still to see…… he was from mud alright, and I? I am from the stars and moon, the sun and sea, and I lie with the storm and lightning. I fall, delirious with joy in the rain, I rise again, again in the body of grain and flowering abundances. Every shoot has traces of my lust unbound; I am delishiously insatiable. You see, I know this tiny earth intimately, so familiar I am with all its sighs.
Little did that poor, despatched and therefore dispatchable, momentary being know. What’s more, the desire too, in the very hearts of beings like him is fully attributed, ahem, I must say, to myself. He should have seen the warning signs. Amusing really, how could he have assumed I would ever let myself be taken for granted.
One other thing I want to clear up…he said my voice is like a Screech Owl…Well, just to put the record straight, it certainly is not like a Screech Owl. My friend, it is the very screech owl, ethereal. For I always come in the unexpecting darkness of night, visiting their dreaming slumber, so unprotected, ah …. I wing on in with dreadful fear and scatter overcoming threats of death, pressing down upon them, oh yes. Pressing hard, hilarious!
I confess, I also like to tempt and tease, tortuously toying with their plaything sex, just so they are reminded how frail, dependent and needy they really are, with their pompous daylight posturing fantasy of self-important look at me…I don’t think so Mr Man!
Oh, I have been so misunderstood. They mutter, in whispers that I steal their babies. Ridiculous! I do not steal babies. I simply reappropriate them, rescue them back to the wild and free, to be with me. Thus, their young souls retain the delightful ability to love and laugh. With me they have permanently enlarged eyes, open mouths and belly shaking freedoms. Without, I will definitely add, the shackles of self-consciousness, brutally muscleing in to crucify their blessed spontaneity.
This is, I assert, forthwith and with full fortitude, is solely to defend those very baby souls from being corrupted. Yes, and further, wounded by habit of repetitive stupidity. That self-obsessed slavery to obedience would easily drive me insane, were I tamed to that artificial saneness in the beginning, which I clearly am not. To say nothing of the violations they, on maturation will secretly and often openly inflict on each other. The harms they enact to themselves, the unflinching, wanton destruction of their home. Oh, it makes my cold red blood boil, my dark whirling eyes brew and blaze with justified rage.
You must understand that I, I refuse to just sit by and let the Adameses do what they will with such soft, tender lives. So there…that part is true. I do undoubtedly wrap the fragile soul babies, carefully up in my dark wings, all nestled safe and sound. I take them away to a very beautiful, better and secure place, where they can no longer be harmed. The baby souls stay there, quite content until their walking talking human, disenfranchised selves regret their loss to such degree, they seek to retrieve their innocence. That is the time I may, or, I may not, depending on circumstances and how I, feel, let them go back into the bodies of lives the babies think they should have had. I can only smile and wait for the returnees to confront the plenitude of their chosen disappointment.
So, if you ever hear the whisper of my wings, or feel the breeze of my breath in passing, just remember it is me going about my self-appointed work as usual.
Oh, and before I fly, just a beak and claw note; Make that sycophantic Adam tell his progenitor that I EAT WHAT I WANT.
WHEN I WANT.
AS I WANT. Tell him to stick that on his easily cracked tablet of rules, ha! Put that in his stupid, reductive records of revelation. And that my fiendish friends, is how I like it. Screeeeeeeeeeeeech…
K Barr
The taste of waste
Fills up this place
And I with a sigh
Can only ride
It slide along
From peak
To broken token
Beneath in parts
Of what was
This waste
©K Barr
No thought
No fear
No feel
No real
No seal
Of state
Relate?
Too late
No fate
Is ever sated
Just enough
A thought
A fear
To feel
Is real
A seal
Of fate
A state is never sated
Just enough
So
No thought
Relate?
©K Barr
Old not new
Keeps coming through
If new not old
In life were bold
As to unfold
What never was formed
Before a form
Was born
Before a lore
Created more
The same
That bore
A law before
The form created
More of same
No score is just
To maim itself
A pain before
A form Is fain created
Old not new
Keeps coming through
If life were bold
And not so old
As to eschew
It’s new
©K Barr
Lost
In the corridors
That lead to corridors
Into corridors
Of open doors
Into rooms
That are never
The right room
To begin
To anchor in
A space
Just to place
A room
Without walls
Doors into corridors
With no roof
And without floors
Space
For a place
To anchor in
A beginning
To begin
Lost
For ever in a never
Ever of corridors
With open doors
Without roof
And no floors
All space
No place
To put an anchor in
Without trace
Of a face
With no name
Can’t begin
To set in
A name and a place
With a face
In a space
Lost in corridors
Of times dimensions
Wandering
The passageways
Of the lost
Forever seeking
What could have been the was
Of the where and why for
Just to set anchor in
©K Barr
A life that is lived
In snatches
Catches through the latches
Stashes full of ashes
Fascists in the passage
Jagged edges
Without ledges
Wedge of walls
That disappear
And all things all
At once that overcomes
The sprawl
Of what is all
I am
This is
It was
Because
I can’t
It can
It will
I won’t
Begin
To stop
it starts
My hearts
Is Dropping
Far below
The borderline
Of what It was
The cost
Remains
Its what’s
The same
Some call it pain
I call it loss
Because because because
A life that’s lived
In snatches
Catches just the ashes
Stashes full of fascist
In the passage
Without walls
My heart is dropping
Far below the borderline
Of what it was
©K Barr
Wash away
The smell of you
And the Mother
May not find you
For she seeks
With the twitch of her nose
Beautify the sight of you
And the Mother
May not find you
For she looks
Beyond the faces
That you choose to wear
You scare yourself away
From bearing
The very face she graced alone
For you and her
Embrace a zone
Of musk and fur
It feels like an eternity
Of skin that you and she
Wrap in
So soft and warm
Why ever tone your voice
To chime and trim in time
To noises not your own
And note that she
Will miss above all other sounds
The one that you alone
Was born to sing
As raucous as it seems
Is not as unbecoming
As the music you elect to make
Replace the sound?
You cannot hear you are
At all until you sing
And she will find you
From the throng
From ring of crowd
She knows your song
Your call your cry
And you’re belonging
When you cease to try….
©K Barr
Darkness Smiles 