Anonymous Lines
a poetry collection
by David Francis Barker
Published by Night Publishing, Smashwords edition
Copyright 2011, David Francis Barker
ISBN 978-1-4660-4900-0
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English Blue
Walk with me
into the grey breaking dawn
where that sticking ridge of blue –
an English blue
rolls on into soft distances
and strange dancing names
Stand with me
by those set whispering stones
in a steadfast line –
a sore English line
of rasping pipes and howling socks
mouthing our memory
like a warning to tomorrow
a land forlorn to all but itself
Then help me to bury him
not on some crying strand –
in firm English land
where hallows' calls are grounded
our grief laid open
in the whitening bones of heroes
on this high scoured hill
*First published in 'Poetry 24' June 23 2011
Terrorform
From the first day let us start to terraform Mars,
make oceans from melting ice caps
and rivers run red through the rusty soil.
Day two let's release plankton into the sea,
let out vast shoals of fish to feed on them
and steely predators to feast on the fish.
Day three we'll throw spores into the sparse air
and watch the forests grow, the trees
stretch high up the slopes of Olympus Mons.
Day four let's release mammals, birds
and other fauna into the forests and fields,
to watch them gorge on the goodness
of the land, enjoy the clarity of the sky.
Then on day five we'll take ourselves
to the former red planet, to become
the feared Martians we thought were there.
Day six let us wage glorious, total war
among ourselves, make the rivers run red
in the name of the god who named this place.
And day seven let us rest, exhausted by labour
and lust, to examine our new abomination
from the safety of space's vacuum,
in orbit with Phobos and Deimos
without fear or dread of another first day.
Another Day in Helmand
He joined willingly
and has no complaints.
This is the life he chose.
He signed on the dotted line
knowing the score from day one;
about the low rates of pay
and the invisible enemy
who won't play by the rules.
And show me where they said
all the equipment would be there,
that it would be all up to date.
There were benefits, too;
he was lauded several times by
flying visits of premiers and ministers,
who stood squinting in the sun
praising his courage, his skill,
in the best army in the world.
Yes, the cause was just,
his presence there directly protected
those he loved back home:
Our freedom, our democracy.
Yes, it was tough but he knew
he would have a trade,
something to contribute,
something solid to show
for his service to a grateful country,
plus a good pension to fall back on.
Now, not everyone has that.
I saw him the other day
admiring poppies in the sun,
to the clatter of pans and plates,
the warming sounds of Sunday lunch.
He'd been reading the paper