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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier  12/22/2014 4:00:09 PM
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In the midst of the night,
Surrendered my fight.
Struggling through tears,
And times long gone by.

I've walked the path cut before me,
Whether by fate, or chance.
Tis' I who've treaded the waters,
At times gently, at times wrecklessly.

Yet, it was I, who walked the walk.
Should it be me to tell those holding me above redemption,
Of my failures, or my triumps?
Might we simply yield, to love and acceptance?

Allow unturned stones to slumber,
Sift until their residence becomes the past.
To eventually become part of the whole,
Yet again, by coincidence or virtue.

Where past and present mold into no regret,
Becoming the moment of eternal residence.
Knowing the true way, before the journey,
Reaches it's destination.

Might I mount the courage,
To get to know myself.
To meet myself,
Before my arrival.
Barry A. Lanier



bAlienated Affection

Affection, a tender feeling toward another,
Fondness, a propensity to feel, to do, to say
Knowing all of this I have considered affection
You know how my St.Charles Spaniel cuddles

Looks at me with those with those big brown eyes
Licks my arms and snuggles against my breast
A genuine look of 'please hold me close'
Yes, indeed I tried this.....and she went to bed
Barry A. Lanier




I miss her so much

I still cook meals for two

Always two plate settings

A red rose on her plate

Unless we are talking

Just me and the silence

That surrounds me

I place the dishes in the sink

Lying to myself

'I'll wash them later'
Barry A. Lanier



bAmber Rage

Laughter retreats in the face of my grief,
Repulsive scent, like charred human remains.
Clinging to the damp stone walls of my chamber,
I found your rage..and still live in it, too-
Inside of an empty amber bottle.

Alone with you, on the floor beside my bed,
Your form refracting what should be,
Beautiful morning sunlight.
Unbidden guest, you come, then go.
Your slow, devious, embalming,
Torturing so slow.

I am the proof, and I am the error,
Wallowing in your engulfing fury forever.
Manufacturing doubt with your offered toast,
At least to your conquered, harboring host.
I am the proof, and I am the error.

No more solace in your liquid dreams,
No more romance, in your embrace it seems.
His will not mine, to let you go.
Pray never again your rage,
I'll ever know.
Barry A. Lanier
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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier