BARBARA JEAN

Sometimes at the edge of the pasture

under the forest eaves, the soft greens

of spring slide through my eyes

and paint the curves and shadows of

you to float like the bare-bottomed moon

settling softly into the grass out there

where the sky is sliced from the earth

as clean as if by a surgeon’s scalpel.

Reviews

[Lorry]

To you this was a scene, but to my mind it felt like you were narrating a beautiful painting I had just stumbled across in a gallery. But it must have been one of those new fangled modern art galleries, because I swear I could smell the soft greens of the forest.
It must have been one of those immersive galleries where scents and sounds wad ft out, like the ghosts of memories past.
Impressively, you have fit an entire universe of thought into so few words.

[Vol]

Thank you, Lorry! I often repeat myself when I say "The image IS the message." What the message says is as malleable as soft clay, and depends entirely on the reader...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

oh my, does this poem strike a chord...
Just having had heart surgery, and one of the people who supported me most through it
all was my second ex wife...and her name is Barbara Jean....
we are still close...and I hold this poem close to that heart of mine.
thank you for this.
j.

[Vol]

My first wife's name, too. She left me for a guy who later murdered her and killed himself... the mother of my two sons, I still love and miss her...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Geez, Vol, that is awful.
But she lives on in your heart and through your two sons.
j.

[Vol]

She does...