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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier  10/13/2015 3:52:30 AM
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A fathers pride and childs embrace,
So easy to see, just peek at my face.
The wisdom of youth, in passing time,
From succulent grape, to withering vine.

Grandeur and riches, austerity didn't find,
Resolved toward the end, twas all in the mind,
Deep joy and content, sketched in my gaze,
Victory in mine passing, lifes long endless race.

Tears slowly trickle, gazing back at the road,
Pausing only for moments, to rest my heavy load.
As twilight colors disperse, the violent storm has passed,
Leaving countless memories, love to forever last.
Barry A. Lanier



Elegy To A Friend

Like a myriad of rainbow colours,
A vapor trial of life with meaning.
Slowly drifting off into the sunset.
Barry A. Lanier



Golden Years

The wisdom and truth,
Of passing time.
Denial resolved like grapes,
Withering on the vines.

Austerity and riches,
A destiny to find.
Resolved toward the end,
Was all in the mind.

Finally deep joy and content,
Sketched in my eternal gaze.
Victory's in mine passing,
Life's long, endless race.

With dry eyes, looking back,
At the long, winding road.
Finally pause for one moment,
Resting my heavy load.

As twilight colors the evening sky,
The storm has finally passed.
Leaving countless memories,
Forever here, to last.
Barry A. Lanier



Rexcuse Me For My Insensitivity

Dead as a duck, how long dead is Dead as a duck? Such a
common phrase I thought. How many moons ago was that?
But my use of the words 'dead as a duck' and 'how many
moons ago' offend my grandmother, with raised eyebrows,
mumbling I should stop speaking like a moron. I thought
morons could not speak, but then again, I was very young.
And then again I was speaking of the man down at the
funeral home killed in an accident. You'd of thought I was
talking about granny. And she was so upset I had went to
school and told all my friends grandpa was murdering crows
in the yard, but I heard him say many times, there's a murder
of crows in the yard. By the Grace of God, I should kill you..
Yes, I was alive by the Grace of God. It sounded so lovely,
so pristine. Grace that beautiful thing, so divine, well, God was
God, but then the dish flew against the wall, and the book glided
toward the window like a jaybird. You know how a jaybird gets
into the house and flies again and again into the windows?
What could I have possibly said? So I went into my room and
practiced saying the words with different tones and inflection.
Maybe that's it, 'murderin the crows, dead as a duck, many
moons ago'. I'll try again tomorrow.
Barry A. Lanier
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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier