Friday, September 6, 2019


Blue fauns, green mastodons, and pink-speckled swans
cavorted on the ground.
We carefully avoided the eyeball daisies
as we spread our blankets down.

A woman stood at an ironing board
on the neon purple grass.
We offered her a sandwich,
but she said she'd have to pass.

Then she rode her board like a surfer
and bade us all goodbye.
She said she had laundry to deliver
as she zoomed off into the sky.

Some fish at at the bottom of a pond
were enjoying their afternoon tea.
We got a craving for ice cream cones,
so we picked some from a nearby tree.

As the day morphed into evening
the daisies all closed their eyes.
The sun gave us a wink and wave
and said he had somewhere else to rise.

We lay back on our blankets
after he vanished from sight
and gazed at the backbone of the universe,
the skeleton of night. - Jeff Barnes

Monday, August 26, 2019


Cat sits regally
like a statue of Bastet
in the litter box. - Jeff Barnes

Thursday, August 15, 2019


She realized
as she uprooted
his neglected flower bed's
overgrown weeds

that he gardened
like he fathered,
disappearing shortly after
he had sown his seeds. - Jeff Barnes

Monday, August 5, 2019


These days we look
more like retirees
on a cruise
than the bohemian
flower children we once
fancied ourselves
as we line up outside
the concert venue, waiting
for the doors to open.

The lead guitarist plays
his solos as flawlessly as ever,
though he resembles
the Crypt Keeper
when he glares at the audience
with a "get off my lawn" scowl,
and I wonder if he will
start shaking his
sunburst Gibson hollow body
like a cane as he shouts
at people for talking,
and tells them
to stop taking photos.

But still, I make you laugh,
as I do every time 
at these events
when I lean toward you and,
with my mouth to your ear
say, "This is a rock concert!
What are all these old people
doing here?" - Jeff Barnes

Thursday, July 18, 2019


July afternoon --
sun splashes the pouring rain,
turns the leaves silver. - Jeff Barnes

Saturday, July 6, 2019


That frog keeps croaking.
Well, it is Saturday night.
He wants to get laid. - Jeff Barnes

Friday, June 28, 2019


He flops on the couch
like a grounded zeppelin --
big fluffy white cat. - Jeff Barnes