Projections

Maybe I'm projecting

but when I look 

at the woods out back

I feel the frustration

of the trees,

at being wet and still

leafless in the cold,

impatient for spring

to feel like spring,

not the tail end of winter.

Or possibly I've got it wrong

and they are in no hurry.

Perhaps they, like me,

are just reluctant to wake up

and anticipate their blooming

with the same disinclination

I have to rise when
the alarm clock rings. - Jeff Barnes 

Just Before Easter

The sky is clear and cheerful

garnished with a calm breeze.

Plastic eggs in various colors

hang on the bare branches of trees.

The air is a little bit snappy,

though the day is bright and sunny.

All around the lawns are adorned

with inflatable smiling bunnies.

Seasonal flags hang on houses

all up the street and down

as trim lawns cover the mean-spirited

underside of this town. - Jeff Barnes

October Ghazal

I was born on a rainy day in October,
specifically Halloween, the climax of October.

Every year I suffer the hot summer,

impatiently awaiting the dawn of October.

When I wake up on the first of November
I've left my spirit to dwell in October.

I surround myself with Halloween decor.

All year long I live in my own October.

Every autumn equinox I feel an awakening

and know I will be fully alive in October. - Jeff Barnes

Why I Can't Be a Song

To be a song
|would require me to be open
and accessible to anyone
who happened to be around,

to shed all inhibitions

like a streaker running down

a busy street,

to leave my place

of comfort and flow

out into the open,

emerging from who knows

how may speakers in who knows

how many homes, cars,

PA systems, music venues,
you name it.

I could never

impose on people

in such a way.

I prefer to be like a poem

or story in a forgotten book

on a dusty shelf,

waiting for someone

to seek me out

or, finding me by chance,

consider it a happy accident. - Jeff Barnes

Orange

I still smile
when I think of a whimsical
picture done in crayon
I saw years ago,
depicting you as the sun
rising or setting, who knows which,
over city buildings,
dyeing the sky
various shades of your color,

and as I hold you

in my hand I can't help

but imagine you that way,

cliched though it may be,

as a little sun.

Under your skin you are

soft and yielding,

your taste a little burst

of madness flowing over

my tongue, and as I think of

that silly old picture

some of your juice

comes out my nose

as I gurgle with laughter. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Like a fast food joint --
gobble up and go away!
My wife's bird feeder. - Jeff Barnes

Laughing Buddhas

The big black one
brings memories
of my fat black cat,
the gentlest pet
I ever had.

Four on a pop art poster

smile at me from the wall

as I sit on the couch and read.

One astride an elephant

reminds me not to be

fixed in place,

while the one on the dashboard

bobs his head to the music

as I drive down the highway.

Two sit on shelves

with their walking sticks

and bags of who knows what,

as they guard all my books

and various curios,

while the faux jade one

sits on the dresser

and glows in the dark,

happy to be a lodestar 

who sees us through

the night. - Jeff Barnes