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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier  7/13/2014 2:07:38 AM
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bLittle Cricket Fame

Once wrote a few lines, called 'Little Cricket'
Regarding new found fame, it gave me a ticket
Speaking of only trivial, little insignificant things
Yet somewhere hiding, allowing one to dream

Of grande times far more simpler
Somewhere in his world we find peace
Immersing only in our thoughts
Then drifting gently out to sea

Quickened heart filled with hope
Among drifting valleys and dreams
Sitting proudly on my window sill
His ballads and echoes still sing
Barry A. Lanier



bLittle Girl's Mother Day Rose

I stopped at the flower shop to order flowers
To be wired to mother who lives far away
Getting out of the car a little girl sobbing
As she sat on the curb alone and scared
I stopped and asked the little girl, 'What is
wrong, is there anything I can do? '
She replied, ' I want to buy a red rose for
my mother but I only have fifty-cents and
a red rose cost two dollars.'
I smiled and said, 'Come on in with me and
I will buy you a rose.'
We went in and I bought her rose and ordered
the flowers for my mom.
As we were leaving, I offered her a ride home,
and she said, 'Yes, please take me to my mother! '
She directed me to the cemetery, where she
placed the rose on the freshly dug grave.
I returned to the flower shop and canceled my
wire order, and bought a dozen roses and drove
two hundred miles to mom's home.
Barry A. Lanier



bLittle Hole

Early morning smile,
Sand still lingering in his eyes.
He spots afar a little hole,
With a grande look of surprise.

Baseball cap ragged on the edges,
Sleeves cut out of his Yankee T-shirt.
Shorts four sizes to large,
No shoes, ten toes in the dirt.

Leaning over the old wooden walkway,
Mind made up, and gaze intent.
Only thought for the moment,
Is where that big un' went.

Little man on his final mission,
One he really didn't have to say.
As he thought and prayed in silence,
That ole'fish will now have to pay!

Glowing tint in his big green eyes,
Blusters on rosey red cheeks.
What now was on his mind,
He didn't even have to speak.

Now only in the moment,
No regard at all for the past.
With his last ounce of courage,
Leans over the rail and he casts.

Little red cork plopped right in the middle,
Water hole not six feet around.
I saw his grand lottery smile,
As the sinker slowly went down.

Amazed at his great success,
As his cast left a rippling wake.
Never once did he seem to notice,
Right behind him a ten acre lake.
Barry A. Lanier



bLittle River (Author Favorite)

Why hurry little river?
Off to the sea.
All there is to do, tis'sink in blue,
And all forgotten be.

Stay right here with me,
In the pasture and mead.
Where graceful maples rest,
And grazing cattle feed.

O' my melancholy river,
Fed by lazy, winding streams.
Slow down thy hurried pace,
Linger in my woodland dreams.

Little river rest,
Your banks so clean and fair.
Wild Toms edge out a drink,
On a wing and prayer.

In August heat and sunbeams glisten,
O'er your shallows and sandbars listen.
In nocturnal reverence you're so divine,
My little river, defying all but time.

Your whisping willows haven,
Bluebirds sleeping in their nest,
Brittle branches sway and swerve,
Steadfast they stand the test.

My little river that goes to and fro,
You wander as if, a need to know.
In Southern air, facing snows embrace,
Run fast or slow, you've won the race.

So why hurry, little river?
Trickling off to oceans sea.
All to do, forget the blue,
And stay right here with me.
Barry A. Lanier
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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier