Ian Barker » obscure

Smoke

admin — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 16:05:21 +0000

Sadhu Ronnie gapes and tokes, orange-robed with nut-brown
eyes. Tilika vermillion riding his brow. Particles of swhirl;
white ashey smoke, rest, hanging, untouching the upturned hand,
pulsing to the ebb and flow breath; not controlled, not free of will.

Liquid solid flows with the puff, ochre stripes washed
grey with the powdering of divinity. The lines of his thoughts
across his brow, deep and drifting, running over to wash the beckoning
fingers of smoke’s fate, launching to drift on torrid
currents of time and fickle happenings, thrown back and
forth further and far from the loud “haaaaa” of the exhale.

Their prose and statuary, towering in their microscopic
magnificance amongst the whisps of their fleeting existence
unseen by those who did not look for them, breathed in to
be a part of those who did not make them; even those who
did not pause to question or care if they were likely to exist.

If, at that moment He should clap his hands or
spin to attend to some other diversion they might
scatter in the draught. It’s a fact; you can’t unscatter
smoke.

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Tool of The Devil

admin — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 23:19:49 +0000

when your number is up
it’s up
and no amount of bleating will stop
the nature of the number being up.
The calling card and given out
don’t stop
to point the finger of death full mock
so your pretty plans total nought
the list, tick struck
red pen
so fail the thoughts of mortal men
on poor performance, failing luck
trusting God and words so old
grow cold
with modern eyes recast the mould
and realise reliance lies untold
the faithful ones are true
still true
with a shine unforgiving can reflect
and shun the sins of non belief
to prop up truth again
no, no
the words are tales of fakes and yet
we legalise lest the truth be out

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Plaster

admin — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 23:09:33 +0000

I am of plaster,
the plastocene man you don’t think I am.
I smile with you,
join your laughter,
share your joys or disaster.
You see and you’re knowing
and in me you’ve measured
my pace, where I’m going.
But the signs that you see
are an offered inner me,
a careful construction,
a leading direction
a prince from a book.
Fooled you once, twice and more
I’ll dangle the carrots and pierce to your core.

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Grim up North

admin — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 22:38:00 +0000

I quiver amongst vaulted halls of cathedral
trees,
these skeletons of summer,
struck into the belittling hills
by the abandoned hands of winter nature.
These wheezing ribs part callously for
the vengeful knives of a bullying winter wind
and cackle as I am plunged through
again and more to a riven stagger
for the satisfaction of some higher pleasure.
Adjudged, I’m brought in from the scourging of
the raining blades.
We begin by the rituals of your northern brew,
my southern tea,
the brown heat of Bolton comedic ministries,
an opening defence against my forthright
invasion
as I scale your flattened vowels
and mount silent challenges to your
disemployment.

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Clapham

admin — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 22:16:00 +0000

Imperfect;
My electric skin feels your track,
with your dotted eyes to quietly watch
but my super senses know you’re back
to see if it’s me and work me out.
This is me, you think I’ve changed?
writing words aimed just for you
with all the syllables specially arranged
by pretty rules I’ve barely caught.
The engine blabs the newest page
then seconds later you hit my stats
and I trap your spying in my cage
which churn out later and I’m surprised.

Perfect; (will this please you more?)
I lingered lonely on a train
took the tube in the pouring rain
got there first and, door unlocked
always first, but first to stop.
Once a week the loudest loafer
cracked-glass eyes on the chill-out sofa
full of promise but no commitment
I failed to please and caused resentment.
But final straws and provocation
were idiots with incantation
who, if a prophet it was missed
his words so foreign and they kissed
the both of us at once goodnight
his a drama, and mine a flight.

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Chocolate Jesus

admin — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 22:12:55 +0000

This is flair and approach
but it’s a chocolate Jesus
the longer the words
the more he deceives us
but his texture is crumbling
and our beliefs falter
for the boss believes nothing
and wont pray at his altar
the shakes and the trembles
he begins, he dissembles
this week he is ill
so are you, he’s worse still
The floods of long memos
he abandoned our demos
a bank-bursting river of words
are really a sewer of effluent turds
wrapped up in a forest of deceiving
he’s bored, I’m leaving
he’s gutted and shocked
but his face says “I’m worried”
too little too late.

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