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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier  8/22/2014 2:51:23 AM
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Barry A. Lanier   Best Poems From
  BARRY A. LANIER
 
 
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  37.     

I Want More

I want more
Not Less
Why can't I be
Like all of the rest
Is is because
I am white
Or I am Black
Whats that got to do
With all of that
I want to love
I want to dream
Do you really know
What I mean?
Is it because
I am white
Or I am black
Whats that got to do
With all of that
 
Barry A. Lanier
   
 

   
   
 

  38.     

Moment In The Morn

The slow founts of dawn,
On a cool winters day.
Cast but one momentous shadow,
Where the new fawn once lay.

Pausing silently in the moment,
Sensing fresh dew on the sod.
Delight in the advent,
And the glory of God.

That still in the early,
And the middle of morn.
Forget for one moment,
Life's trials and its scorn.

So tell me of virtue,
Sweet family and home.
Tis' my God of Thee,
Give me this moment alone.

Morning shall soon pass,
As I linger and yearn.
Praying my God of Thee,
For this moment's return.

(Authors First Poem)
 
Barry A. Lanier
   
 

   
   
 

  39.     

Nothing Lasts Forever

Nothing lasts forever
I've always known that truth
But never knew how true it was
'Til I was losing you

Maybe I still just daydreaming
Or maybe I am just a fool
I never knew how true it was
'Til I was losing you

So now you're gone forever
I think I lost my mind
Nothing last forever
I know the truth this time

Nothing lasts forever
I've always known that truth
But never knew how true it was
'Til I was losing you
 
Barry A. Lanier
   
 

   
   
 

  40.     

Prey Turns To Past

Early October morning at daylight,
Odds of failure, great from the start.
Slipping into the dense hardwood forest,
A tale for grandchildren from my heart.

Across the icestruck oakridge plain,
Silhouette of my trophy appeared.
Bordering a thicket next to the creekbank,
Stood my silent prey, the Lord I'd soon thank.

On that same bank a giant poplar tree,
Legend holds, Sherman hung Uncle Morgan, lifeless and free.
Wouldn't divulge, where he buried his gold,
Under that poplar he rest, silent and cold.

Beneath that poplar my trophy stood so silent,
Stalking forward slowly, dare it move real fast.
Gun cocked and aiming forward,
Only to discover, a poor Southern past.

A giant mound of discarded humanity,
Piles of rotten clothes, rubbish and heap.
Layer upon layer of old books and shoes,
How many lives ago might I see?

Shard upon shard of broken milk glass,
How many dreams ago was that?
Traces of twine baby dolls calling out for revenge,
Mummified amber pint bottles, suggesting a binge.
How many regrets ago was that?

As I frantically dug deeper,
Wondering how many children were deceived?
Hearing Uncle Morgan call out,
For his mercy and reprieve.
How many lives ago was that?

With uncanny reverence,
I stopped in my tracts.
No gold here, no trophy.
Promising the spirits,
I'd never come back.

Recovering the mound with layers of leaves,
Head hung down, I left really fast.
Later to tell grandchildren tales,
How my prey once turned to past.
 
Barry A. Lanier
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier