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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier  10/1/2014 1:17:14 PM
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Barefoot in Georgia red mud
The earth struggling to fight back
In dryer times a victory
Barry A. Lanier



bBella's Fear

Death gurgling shrills and barks from
Bella, my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel
Elegance and energy transformed into fear
Trembling curled up in a dark corner of the room
Where obedience and agility serve no purpose
Somewhere her sweet, gentle nature vaporated
Together, we curled up, in the dark corner
And holding each other, rode out the storm
Barry A. Lanier




Walking out my back door, headed to the woods
Two bluebirds serenading in harmonious bliss
Walking into the forest border, a pair of bluejays
Dodging and screeching, thrilled by their dance
Deeper in toward the dense, cypress swamp
A parliament of owls conversing in rhythm
Between bare trees and cypress folds
Approaching a stream, staring breathless
A blue heron, frozen, statuesque in the run
Walking out of the forest back toward home
Crossing the border of a corn field and pasture
Hundreds of crows, cawing in clouds of cacophony
Confusion and misdirection, soon they left
As I was walking slowly back down the lane
In silence, knowing nothing, yet feeling everything
Barry A. Lanier



bBlind Fisherman

While down at the dock fishing one day
Walked up to the man, kneeling to pray
I heard him praying, for a new friend
One who could teach, him to fish again
Now I teach my blind friend, to cast
True left, right or center, how far from the grass
Between the lily pads and the fallen log
'I am seldom blind when I dream, and
morning is always bright, our bait, the worms
have no guides, they can be taught fear of
light' I cannot find myself at times, my shoes
the sink, tell time, but that is spilled milk
I can tell the difference between a liar and
friend, I can tell when I'm nearing the rope's end
Laughing, he says, 'I still hope the worm will turn'
Pink, flacid, and warm dining on good fortune
Books and woman have a faint legible smell
Divorced from the night and in my own shell
In the overcast I dream, using darkness well
Eventually he could not walk, or fish, he fell in
his own feces. He lay there weeping and died
where he fell. The power of righting all wrong
is now hard for me to sell.
Barry A. Lanier
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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier