I’m often prone to outbursts of poetry. I really should learn how to write it.
You’re never alone if you have a cat. I don’t have a cat.
The course to sail under the same stars
in time, unfolded,
never to be ours;
is immaterial now;
at the end of the day
we both drowned.
© D. Archer. August 2016.
Words and pictures © D. Archer. November 2015.
At least half a person is always asking me, Dave, when are we going to see that hilarious new character of yours on sandpaper and toilet seats. Well, now is the time to gird your loins because The Adventures of Barry Bacon are soon to made into a major motion picture. Filming starts in my head next month and I am openly taking bribes from anyone interested in funding this venture.
You may also be glad to know that there is a sequel in the pipeline called “Barry Bacon and the most popular thing at the time” and this is to be followed by “Barry Bacon goes back on medication”, followed in hot pursuit by “Barry Bacon and the film the plot forgot”.
I can’t say whether or not the book launch will be a success because I’ve only written the page numbers at the moment but as soon as I’m released then it will be full steam backwards.
If you’d like to see Barry and Angry in more japes be sure to tune in next week when Barry sneaks up on pensioners and shouts “Tampons!” at the top of his voice! He’s such a card.
As new disciples gather
in idyllic adoration
to marvel at the neck of the virgin swan,
be mindful of those that bring nothing to the table
but want everything in return;
be careful who next petitions your heart,
sail through their paper-thin veiled verbs
and as you search
remember the last mast
you bound your colours to
was broken beyond
even you to nurse.
© D. Archer. September 2012. Tweaked February 2015
He woke slowly,
numb for a moment
until, senses gathered,
he wished he hadn’t.
Daylight only reminded him of their last conversation,
cold, paper thin and how, inbetween words
a thousand clouds passed overhead.
He heard the grass growing
and curtains fly from windows
like poor tethered birds.
He heard midnight swallow another day
but not her leaving.
© D.Archer. September 2014.
Wherever you are I know you are not here.
In the tunnel
between the cheap radio signal
and the windscreen’s respite from the rain
I hear you talking like an auctioneer,
singing your song in the first person
of a new love that
of all others will erase.
You stockpile your metaphors and memories
in fear and apprehension
for lover too soon fades into friend,
just as the moon pulls the tides from the beach
we are all waiting for something,
be it beginning,
© David Archer. June 2013
Sunday morning was meant to be spent listening to songs like these. Keep the faith.