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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier  9/2/2014 4:16:43 PM
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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 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



bLiving Life With Barry

Please don't call people idiots! Insulting all of us
stupid people in the world. We have feelings you
know, You know people say my ex-wife made me
a millionare. I was a multi-millionare before I met her.
But I'm happy. You know love is such a long, enchanting,
sweet dream, and then there is the alarm clock, marriage.
But, I decided I was going to get it right the second time
around. After the divorce, I put an ad in the paper, 'Wife
Wanted, ' and the next day I received 142 e-mails. All of the
replies except for two said, 'You can have mine! '. But this
wasn't right so I prescribed myself a subscription to an internet
dating and matchmaking service. So delighted, I found myself
a lovely Ukrainian wife and we're getting along real fine. She
can't speak English yet, but it's only been a year and I am very
optimistic. In this marriage I figure if I'm always the flame, I can't
get burned. Reminding us all to be yourself, for there are enough
of the other people. Well, so tired, and ready for bed, so this is about
all for today's edition of 'Living Life With Barry'. See you next week
for my next edition. Keep the passion flowing, the peas in the pot,
and the ham cooking.
Barry A. Lanier



bLove Affair With A Hog

Once upon a time, long ago, I'd follow in the footsteps of my father.
When the heat of summer comes in full force, and the sun slowly rises
as the dew subsides, we would visit the hogs to inspect them.

Following his every move, and in his footsteps, toward the hog pen.
Not exactly a pen, but staggered pines and scrub oaks held together
by thrown away fence wire. Like a jigsaw puzzle held together with
haywire, pieces of boards nailed together, yet it held the precious
hogs inside.
While he would call them, souie! souie! , I would sit under
a resurrected pine. A barkless spectre, one that had been killed one
day by lightning, along with three hogs. Dad summoning the anxious
herd, his tone as eloquent as if he were courting an English maiden.

They all came running up to him, happy and excited, as if he had a
spell over them. Calling them by name, they would calm down and
nudge the leg of his pants. Such love, such devotion, such compassion
I witnessed as a young lad, wondering why couldn't people act this way.

Driving back home, I asked Dad, 'remember Dad you were going to tell me about love and all of that? ' He said, 'Son, what you just seen back there in the hog pen is what love is all about! '. I'm still thinking on
that one.
Barry A. Lanier
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Poems By Poet Barry A. Lanier