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Denis Barter Dec 2018
My breath billowed in the winter air,
to hang suspended, and shimmer where,
it drifted as a glittering cloud of frost;
then it was gone!  It’s presence lost!

Stamping my feet, for the air is cold,
and I, no more a lad, am growing old,
thought of the days, when we’d feast
on roasted chestnuts, a dozen at least.

Returning home, to warm up inside,
after a pleasant, jingling sleigh ride,
I would marvel at the winter scene,
and how conifers contrasted green,

with the hard whiteness of the snow,
and how winter sun did sharply show
trees in silhouette. Ice that would adorn
the eaves and paddock fence at morn,

was ever a grand sight to behold. A sign
winter was here to stay awhile. Benign
at first, but clouds racing across the sky
foretold snow would, in the short by and by,

fall to gladden the heart of this country boy.
One who accepted Winter’s gifts with joy.
No matter what the  weather might be?
In truth, it was ever a fun time for me!

Rhymer.  December 23rd, 2018.
Denis Barter Mar 2018
My breath billowed in the winter air,
to hang suspended, and shimmer where,
it drifted as a glittering cloud of frost;
then it was gone! It’s presence lost!

Stamping my feet, for the air is cold,
and I, no more a lad, am growing old,
thought of the days, when we’d feast
on roasted chestnuts, a dozen at least.

Returning home, to warm up inside,
after a pleasant, jingling sleigh ride,
I would marvel at the winter scene,
and how conifers contrasted green,

with the hard whiteness of the snow,
and how winter sun did sharply show
trees in silhouette. Ice that would adorn
the eaves and paddock fence at morn,

was ever a grand sight to behold. A sign
winter was here to stay awhile. Benign
at first, but clouds racing across the sky
foretold snow would, in the short by and by,

fall to gladden the heart of this country boy.
One who accepted Winter’s gifts with joy.
No matter what the  weather might be?

Rhymer. March 1st, 2018.
(Must admit, I'm not so keen on winter now!)
In truth, it was ever a fun time for me!
Denis Barter Dec 2018
We often meet in a small corner cafe.
A brief exchange, then we’re on our way!
Powerless to check my raging appetite,
I hasten to take you out into the night!
Loath to let you go, I will hold you near.
Need speak no words, for my intent is clear!
Though to be too impetuous is wrong,
My demands cannot be stayed for long!
Quite unable to stop my eager lips
From brushing yours! I take fearful sips
And savour the sweet bouquet they foretold.
Instantly, my pleasure is fourfold!
Though further draughts set my lips afire,
To appease my wants is all I desire.
Once satisfied, I’ve no further need of thee!
I discard the plastic cup that held my tea!

Rhymer December 23rd, 2018.
Denis Barter Jul 2018
When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!

So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.

To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm?  Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.

My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!

So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?

Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.

Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.

Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!

If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.

Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!

So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!


Rhymer.  July 10th, 2018.

(Your turn Jim!)
Denis Barter May 2018
Always a country lad was I,
and in the country I’ll hope to die,
for there’s nothing like solitude
found in a land, ruggedly rude,
which thrives about and around.
Where spiritual serenity found,
is removed from noise and bustle
of the endless metropolitan hustle,
that chases and constantly chivvies
office workers and menial skivvies,
who chase a hopeless dream.
All part of the urban scheme
that promises followers gold,
if they trample the lesser bold!
Me?  I let the world go by,
as I idly sit and gaze at the sky,
to watch fleecy clouds pass on.
I blink.  Suddenly they’re gone!
But never wonder to where they went:
what their destination and intent?
Know more will follow as before,
as I spend hours doing no more
than watching, enjoying the day.
Such is this country lad’s way!
Some say I’m wasting my life,
but hours spent free from strife
I’d say with all honest sincerity,
have made my life, in all verity,
a journey of extreme pleasure.
With special moments, I treasure,
captured in my hours of solitude,
allow no one or thing to intrude
that might spoil my sacred reverie.
This is the life well suited to me,
and not one I’ll swap readily
until I go to eternity - willingly!
Until that day, I’ll be content
to see my hours and days spent
in the serious consideration
as to what in all creation,
I’d do if I were city bred?
The very thought hurts my head:
how would I endure the noise?
And as thinking upsets my poise,
I’ll quietly stay sitting a bit,
and listen to what birds say
in their knowing country way!
Yes, I’m glad to be a country lad,
for rustic ways ain’t bad,
and I regard haste as a crime,
so I take each day in slow time.
There is much more I could say,
but feel I’ve said enough today!

Rhymer.  May 4th, 2018
Denis Barter Sep 2020
Always a country lad was I,
and in the country I’ll hope to die,
for there’s nothing like solitude
found in a land, ruggedly rude,
which thrives about and around.
Where spiritual serenity found,
is removed from noise and bustle
of the endless metropolitan hustle,
that chases and constantly chivvies
office workers and menial skivvies,
who chase a hopeless dream.
All part of the urban scheme
that promises followers gold,
if they trample the lesser bold!
Me?  I let the world go by,
as I idly sit and gaze at the sky,
to watch fleecy clouds pass on.
I blink.  Suddenly they’re gone!
I never wonder as  to where they went:
what of their destination or their portent?
for I know others will follow as before,
as I spend hours doing nothing more
than watching, enjoying the day.
Such is this country lad’s way!
Some say I’m wasting my life,
but hours spent free from strife
I’d say with all honest sincerity,
have made my life, in all verity,
a journey of lasting pleasure.
With special moments, I treasure,
captured in my hours of solitude,
I allow no one or thing to intrude
that might spoil my sacred reverie.
This is the life well suited to me,
and not one I’ll swap readily
until I go to eternity - happily!
Until that day, I’ll be content
to see my hours and days spent
in the serious consideration
as to what in all creation,
I’d do if I were city bred?
The very thought hurts my head:
how would I endure the noise?
Now as thinking upsets my poise,
I’ll quietly ruminate again today,
and listen to what nearby birds say
in their knowing country way!
Yes, I’m glad to be a country lad,
for rustic ways ain’t so bad,
and as I regard haste a crime,
I take each day in slow time.
There is much more I could say,
but feel I’ve said enough today!

Rhymer. September 17th, 2020.
I wrote this years ago when I first came here in rural Ontario to retire.  A laugh really as I've not stopped working on my two acres as yet, and will - hopefully - continue to do so until I reach my Century.  Not so far away! Rural peace with my wife of over 65 glorious years,  as we enjoy it in our two acre estate, far from the crowds and Covid19, is our source of life.  One we do not intend to change!  Denis.
Denis Barter Feb 2018
When Life hands you a lemon sour,
You're feeling down, demeanour dour,
The day ahead seems dull and grey,
Resolve to be upbeat. Find a way
To think pleasant thoughts. Life is short
And negative thinking? It achieves naught!
Resolve to give yourself a treat,
Ponder on things pleasantly sweet:
Soon the sun will disperse the cloud
The day will brighten: sing aloud.
Crack a joke: take time to smile,
See the blues depart in a while.
Abandon your feelings of woe,
Return to living. Here's how you go:
Take the lemon, though sour it is
Squeeze hard, add sugar and fizz,
Brew yourself a tonic or elixir,
Then drink deep! It's a real Life fixer!

Rhymer February 25th, 2018.
Denis Barter Jun 2018
Lo!  Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!

Lo!  See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts!  The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures.  For the night has fled!

Lo!  Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing ****, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!

Lo!  Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!


Rhymer.  June 27th, 2018.
Denis Barter Feb 2018
Lo!  Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!

Lo!  See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts!  The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures.  For the night has fled!

Lo!  Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing ****, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!

Lo!  Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!

Rhymer.  February 11th, 2018
Denis Barter Jul 2018
I write poetry, least that’s my aim;
enjoy the challenge: think it a game.
Although some follow rigid rules
I tend to think that’s for fools,
and break them as and when it suits.
This is one of the literary pursuits
which I enjoy, for it suits me well,
as fans of mine will often tell.
Others of a different persausion find,
I’m possessed of a deviant mind.
When a phrase or a single word
I’ve used, is seemingly absurd -
perceived within my poetic lines,
you should take note of subtle signs,
for you’ll find my intent oft changes direction.
It's best you read my words with circumspection;
knowing all may not be as it first appears,
when perceived rationale ostensibly disappears.
When this leaves the reader wondering “What?”
Further reading suggests that what they’ve got
are random meanderings of a Polyglot,
or a deviant wordsmith, like as not!
But it’s my way as a perverse Poet,
possessing some acumen, and subtle wit,
who uses allusive methods to lead
and delude, those who blindly read
each word as though twas cast in stone!
Be aware, every word used, I hone
keenly to achieve my desired effect!
Being critical of all the words I select,
is vital that each one fulfills my aim.
Being pernickety, is to me, a game
that fulfills a purpose. By this exercise
I achieve satisfaction, and can fantasize
about reactions I might possibly receive!
Ergo!!  My purpose, is simply to deceive!

Rhymer.  July 10th, 2018.
In case you hadn't noticed!  Lol.  Cao Denis.
Denis Barter Aug 2018
I write poetry, least that’s my aim;
enjoy the challenge, think it a game.
Although some follow rigid rules
personally I think that’s for fools,
and break them as and when it suits.
This is one of the literary pursuits
which I enjoy, for it suits me well,
as fans of mine will often tell.
Others of a different persausion find,
I’m possessed of a deviant mind.
This when a phrase or a single word
I’ve used - seemingly absurd -
is perceived within my poetic lines,
you should take note of subtle signs.
For you’ll find my intent oft changes direction.
So read my words with circumspection;
knowing all may not be as it first appears,
as perceived rationale ostensibly disappears,
leaving the reader to wonder “What?”
Further reading suggests what they’ve got
are random meanderings of a Polyglot,
or a deviant wordsmith, like as not!
But it’s my way as an allusive Poet,
possessed of acumen, and subtle wit,
who uses cryptic methods to lead
and delude, those who blindly read
each word as though twas cast in stone!
It’s essential every word used, I hone
keenly to achieve my desired effect!
Being critical of all the words I select,
is vital that each one fulfills my aim.
Being pernickety, is to me, a game
that fulfills a purpose. By this exercise
I achieve satisfaction, and can fantasize
about reactions I might possibly receive!
Ergo!  My purpose, is simply to deceive!

Rhymer. August 9th, 2018..
Denis Barter Sep 2020
When a myriad of shooting stars sparkled bright,
sped by in a glittering display, one Autumnal night,
they quickly traversed - as is their universal right,
to the Milky Way, I was overtaken with delight!
Being warmly wrapped - for the night was cool,
wearing a heavy old coat, that was lined with wool,
I was snugly warm. Dozing off, I began to dream,
where in my stargazing reverie, a beckoning beam
from a passing comet heading out into space,
beckoned me on a journey to a far distant place.
One where I’d visit worlds - in galactic profusion.
At this, in the midst of my kaleidoscopic confusion,
it seemed my dream became transformed into reality,
as planets and stars in great numbers, sped by me.
Though I knew not how to tell, one planet from the other,
I suddenly saw one passing, that was earth’s twin brother!
It was seen a speeding planet, flying by in blurred haste,
but from what I could see, it looked a lifeless, waste!
Even today, I can clearly recall my dream as I write,
and shudder at the sight of that lifeless, barren sight,
for it was the bleakest landscape I have ever seen!
Heaven forbid it was a sign, that earth’s verdant green,
will be looking like this, unless we change our ways,
and end the senseless spoiling, that’s rife these days.
If not, soon our unique oasis, could drift in lifeless state
a victim of the same perceived, barren apathetic fate
that has befallen every single planet known to man.
Today, we should appreciate the pleasures we can
enjoy today. Often taken for granted by you and me.
As for my dream? May it never become stark reality!

Rhymer September 25th, 2020.
With all the wild fires - both here in North America and greater still, in Siberia, one has to wonder on what our space adventurers report when they get a 'close-up' of the stars and planets we see from a distance.  Great food for thought!  Denis.
Denis Barter Mar 2018
When a duelling dual, duel,
and Duello rules hold sway,
should the dual of duellers duelling,
wear doublets to duel that day?

With Duello rules in place,
when duelling triplets duel
are they thought a terzetto trio,
if they follow the Duello rule?

When a quarrelling quartet duel,
do quadrille  rules hold sway?
or should they duel as dual duals,
with dual Duello rules in play?

Duels are only for experts,
there’s a talented skill required..
As only the winner survives,
all losers are deemed expired!

As duelling, passions run fiercely    ,
and a duel oft ends in death,
no matter that Duello rules apply,
a loser always draws his  last breath!

Rhymer. March 1st, 2018.
(On a roll! - Have fun!)
Denis Barter Sep 2020
A golden shaft of sunlight, pierces the morning sky.
Splits the clouds asunder.  Announces.. Dawn is nigh!
The lustrous leaves of Autumn, roused by the early light,
Dislodge tardy remnants, of dark departing night.

Beaded dewdrops sparkle.  Soft lit by the yellow sun.
Wraiths of mist meander, and mark the river’s run.
Iradescent damsel flies, hover among the reeds.,
Skim over shallow waters, safe among the weeds.

The **** crow then declares, the start of another day.
His cry echoed by an owl, returning home with prey.
Smoke from the homestead chimney, is reluctant to rise,
And break the unspoiled clarity, of the morning skies.

Noise of the world awakening, travels from afar.
While the rising sun, overwhelms the morning star.
Soon the wind is stirring, warmed by the gentle light,
And with new strength garnered, badgers the dawdling night!

Now the day has broken, and the sun is in full flight.
Our world appears refreshed! Drenched with life giving light!
As we start our daily chores, we note a calming peace,
And wonders of day’s dawning, we pray will never cease!

Rhymer.
As Fall took over yesterday thought perhaps this older poem of mine, might spark a few memories with readers?  Ours this morning was much as I describe here.  Nature is a boon, blessing and a comfort at such times as we're experiencing now.  Ciao Denis.
Denis Barter Jul 2018
Instead of walking briskly, I often shuffle:
Watching TV I’ll cough, sniffle and snuffle:
This riles my wife and creates a kerfuffle,
Then flipping channels - her feathers I ruffle!
Such are the things that please me now!

Will nap in the chair, till dinner is late:
Or eat peas from my knife: to aggravate.
After jay walking, the motorist I berate!
Will say what I think; tell others straight
What’s on my mind, which makes some irate!
But they’re the things that please me now!

I lecture my children - it’s something they hate:
Bore them with old tales I repeatedly relate,
It drives them to tears, so they often state,
Or makes them angry! I love to infuriate!
It’s more of what pleases me now!

Slurp my coffee and saucer my tea ;
Dunk my biscuits when in company;
Will openly burp and quite often loudly,
and make others blush by acting badly,
Just doing a few things that please me now!

When my wife calls: I’m not to be found,
Should she call louder? I hear nary a sound!
Offer unwanted opinions that shock and astound,
Argue for hours, stubbornly standing my ground,
Sure these are things what please me now!

But when day is done: I head off to bed,
Though never admitting to things done or said,
As tomorrow might be too late - I could be dead,
Will mumble I’m sorry for the dance she’s been led,
That’s the time for what best pleases me now!

Rhymer July 12th, 2018.
Looking to increase my portfolio of annoying habits.  Any ideas?
Denis Barter Mar 2018
Instead of walking briskly, I often shuffle:
Watching TV I’ll cough, sniffle and snuffle:
This riles my wife and creates a kerfuffle,
Then flipping channels - her feathers I ruffle!
Such are the things that please me now!

Will nap in the chair, till dinner is late:
Or eat peas from my knife: to aggravate.
After jay walking, the motorist I berate!
Will say what I think; tell others straight
What’s on my mind, which makes some irate!
But they’re the things that please me now!

I lecture my children - it’s something they hate:
Bore them with old tales I repeatedly relate,
It drives them to tears, so they often state,
Or makes them angry! I love to infuriate!
It’s more of what pleases me now!

Slurp my coffee and saucer my tea ;
Dunk my biscuits when in company;
Will openly burp and quite often loudly,
Which makes others blush by acting badly,
Just doing a few things that please me now!

When my wife calls: I’m not to be found,
Should she call louder? I hear nary a sound!
Offer unwanted opinions that shock and astound,
Argue for hours, stubbornly standing my ground,
Sure these are things what please me now!

But when day is done: I head off to bed,
Though never admitting to things done or said,
As tomorrow might be too late - I could be dead,
Will mumble I’m sorry for the dance she’s been led,
That’s the time for what best pleases me now!

Rhymer March 5th, 2018
Just joking folks!
Denis Barter May 2018
It is said, there's a Fate which shapes our ends
and it's a long, long road, which never bends!
But don't you think, we alone decide our fate?
Why is it so hard to stay on a path that's straight?

You'd think we could walk a path true and level,
to ignore all overtures from the Devil.
It should cause us no strain, and little distress,
to lead faultless lives, and admit to no excess.

But such is the frailty and nature of mankind,
alongside the narrow  path he'll always find
temptation which, bids him 'tarry.  Step aside!'
But once off that path, it's a fast, downhill slide!

To say we've no control over what we can do,
or where we might go, is certainly not true.
We decide, with acceptance or rejection,
to select the path we tread.  The direction

we travel through life, is of our own choosing.
When we stray from the path -  we end up losing!
If we're true to our Faith, keeping to the trail,
we'll find the way easy.  The Devil will fail!

Sure, it might well appear to be a long road,
for an upright life, means living by a tough code,
but if we’d shape the end we finally meet>
We have to put ourselves in the driver's seat!

While we must be prepared to stop and give aid,
and carry the load which, at our feet is laid,
we must strive to travel the narrow path of life,
and avoid temptation, with which this world is rife!

Rhymer.  May28th, 2018.
Denis Barter Jul 2018
Just now I had a thought flit through my brain
At least I thought I had, but now it’s gone again.
Of course, I should have spoken up and not delayed
Cos now it can’t be found.  Seems it strayed.
Next time I get another thought like that
I’ll keep it in mind until I’ve grabbed my hat
Under which I’ll keep it safe, until needed,
For a good thought should always be heeded.
We should never waste a worthy thought,
But use it immediately, when it’s first thought,
Or all essential reasoning comes to naught!
When we were young, that’s what teachers taught.
As we grow older, age should not change
The way we keep our thoughts nor rearrange
The manner in which we’d use a worthy thought.
Thus to safeguard our thought, when moments are fraught
With other matters which might allow it to go astray?
We must seize the moment, and use it straight away.
But hush! It’s evident my thought has returned again;
and seeks immediate acknowledgement from my brain.
So let me quickly speak of what I’d a thought to say,
Before it is lost once more or goes astray!
So without further ado this is what I’d a thought to say:
Oh ****!  Would you believe?  It’s already gone away!

Rhymer July 12th, 2018..
And I thought I had nailed it for once!
Denis Barter Mar 2018
Just now I had a thought flit through my brain
At least I thought I had, but now it’s gone again.
Of course, I should have spoken up and not delayed
Cos now it can’t be found.  Seems it strayed.
Next time I get another thought like that
I’ll keep it in mind until I’ve grabbed my hat
Under which I’ll keep it safe, until needed,
For a good thought should always be heeded.
We should never waste a worthy thought,
But use it immediately, when it’s first thought,
Or all essential reasoning comes to naught!
When we were young, that’s what teachers taught.
As we grow older, age should not change
The way we keep our thoughts nor rearrange
The manner in which we’d use a worthy thought.
Thus to safeguard our thought, when moments are fraught
With other matters which might allow it to go astray?
We must seize the moment, and use it straight away.
But hush! It’s evident my thought has returned again;
Seeks immediate acknowledgement from my brain.
So let me quickly speak of what I’d a thought to say,
Before it is lost once more or goes astray!
So without further ado this is what I’d a thought to say:
Oh ****!  Would you believe?  It’s already gone away!

Rhymer.  March 5th, 2018.
Denis Barter Aug 2020
In the forest, there’s few things I find more to please
Than to walk woodland trails, strewn with fallen leaves.
But by their rustling underfoot, they sing a sad lullaby
Which serves to remind, that autumn, in the short by and by,
Brings closure to our delights, now summer’s passed.
Though it too, as do most things in Life, will not last.

My walk under branches, when bared of all leaf cover
Allows an observant eye to search for and discover
Abandoned nests of last spring’s long flown brood,
Or a squirrel in his lofty drey. This agile and shrewd
Forest dweller, is ever prepared to take instant flight
Should an untoward move of mine, cause him fright!

Moments later a ruffed grouse takes off in panicked flight
Though its presence was sensed, I’d glimpsed no sight
Of this woodland denizen.  At home within the forest scene
It haunts the undergrowth but often goes, sight unseen!
Next a snake, sunning, poised alert, quickly slithers away
Having sensed intruders were abroad and coming his way.

Unexpectedly from overhead, staccato sounds startle me,
As a busy downy woodpecker, intrudes upon my reverie.
Whilst a roving shrew, in never ending search for tasty prey,
Snuffles through the leaves: pounces, then scampers away
Replete with a fat slug delicacy for its brood of young.
Though its actions benefit man, they frequently go unsung.

The leafy paths of forest floor are bustling alive this day
With various sights and sounds.  When time allows, it’s my way
To fill hours that all too swiftly pass. But reality encroaches
Upon my walk.  I hasten my step, for darkness approaches,
So with one last lingering look, I take my leave and steal away
Determined to visit these arboreal woods again, another day.

Rhymer.
With the virus pandemic restrictions followed faithfully by my wife and I, a small forested area close by my garden, is the perfect place for social distancing. Hence my poem.  DHB.
Denis Barter Feb 2018
While Mr. Bartlett was heard to declare,
"I will be famous.  I've found a new pear!"
He was nothing compared to Mr. Newton,
Who found the first fig tree with some fruit on!
When next in a biscuit, he rolled it*,
Enhancing its flavour.  Gourmets extolled it!
Next came a gardener who saw the rain
Run off apples he grew.  Leaving no stain!
Seeing their clean red skin, remarked "Oh Gosh!"
The right name for this brand is "MacIntosh!"
Next came a woman who reached her zenith
When they named a green apple, "Granny Smith!".
With even complexion, and no rumpling,
‘Twas an apple perfect for making a dumpling!
Then a little girl not to be outdone,
Said to her Father in a bit of fun,
I’d like to name that sweet English plum.
I’ll call it Victoria, after my dear old Mum!
Next a sweet, red cherry, they named Bing,
After a soft crooner who loved to sing,
Who cares if it's true? At least it’s romantic.
Besides, let’s not be too pedantic!
Was this how most fruit names were given?
First, folks found they were resolutely driven
To put their name to a specific fruit.
Then came others who quickly followed suit!
Whether we like the results, most agree,
It's how some things are named.  Will always be!
But should you develop a fruit like a pear,
Your name must be worthy for it to bear.
Can you imagine the grief begotten
If your name should  be Ava Rotten?!

Rhymer . February 2nd, 2018.
*Fig Newton.
Denis Barter Apr 2018
It is surely a sign of ageing, when odd things occur,
When yesterday’s doings are lost in memory’s blur.
Like the tool that’s used, then placed somewhere secure.
Safe in a place, that I’ll remember, of this I’m sure.
Later I need it, so go to my place of safe keeping
But nowhere can it be found, despite my seeking.

When I went out walking just the other day,
My feet would insist on heading the wrong way.
On checking the footwear I had placed on my feet,
A pair of shoes, old, clean, but presentable and neat.
I saw, to my chagrin, - shows I’m not very bright,
My shoes had been placed, with my left on the right!

On meeting an old long missed Friend, the other day,
I stopped to speak, before heading out on my way.
Discussed at length this, that and any interesting matter;
How Life now served us, in the way most men natter.
But soon, when our talk I thought, had begun to bore,
Saw he was no friend, but someone never met before!

Before going for my walk, to the basement I went,
To get my shoes and a walking stick, my sole intent.
But as I began descending, my wife called out to me
To ask what I was doing?  Being concerned you see.
After I answered, returned and walked out of the door,
Having completely forgotten what I had gone there for!

When the telephone rang, I answered it as ever
With no smart remarks or retorts thought to be clever.
But when a young lady asked if I were home, or away?
Said I would check to see?  Well, what else could I say?
Who did she think it might be answering her call?
If it wasn’t myself? Then there was no one at all!

Recently it’s seen, some folks are greatly amused,
To see someone such as I, seemingly confused,
But it’s not only me, for it is so very plain to see.
There are many younger, nowhere as old as me,
Who often wonder what, where, why and how
They did today?  Without any evidence they’ll vow

They’d been busy all day doing jobs by the score
Only to find, everything seems as it was before!
Whilst some are worried, wondering what next?
Others grow angry, and can become quite vexed.
But I accept each day as it comes, of excuses I’ve none;
Knowing in this I’m not alone. Of many, I am but one!

Rhymer April 13th, 2018
Denis Barter Apr 2018
(I Could Not Knot a Knot.)

My tale is one of tortuous frustration,
when two ropes caused me aggravation,
and my every effort resulted in a situation
that left me in a state of angry indignation!

Oh, what a knotty problem I had got,
when I found I could not knot a needed knot!
Though needing help on how to knot a knot,
no one I knew, knew how to knot my needed knot!

I had two short ropes - which I’d a need to knot,
and which I’d knot together with a special knot,
but it never worked, for the knot did not knot,
and my knot came undone!  I felt such a clot!

Firstly, I took the ropes, which I twisted tight
together, but still the end result, was not right,
for when I tugged, the knot, not only fell apart,
but showed no sign of a knot!  Making a fresh start,

I took one rope, and placed it firmly under
the other.  This was so easy, I did wonder
if my actions should have been reversed,
for it too fell apart!  Oh, how I cursed!

Seems tying knots is not for faint hearts,
for any knot, that’s not knotted, soon parts
when it’s put to the test!  That I’m not a knot
expert, you can tell.  Truly, my forte is not

that of being very good at tying knots,
for I do not understand what knots
need, to keep them from falling apart!
Tying a knot right, right from the start,

is important, and that’s why my knot
was  not reliable, but why I did not
understand.  Yes, I’ve tied many knots.
but they’re knots known as Granny Knots.

Other knots are what folks call a Slip Knot.
Then there’s the Turk’s Head - a special knot,
as is the Cat’s Paw, Clove Hitch,and Bowline.
Truth to tell, - none of these resembles mine!

Then there’s a Timber Hitch, which is a knot
that truly puzzles me, and not an easy knot to knot!
There’s many other knots, that need the greatest skill,
such as the Hangman’s Knot - a knot that’s made to ****!

Whilst the sheepshank?  That’s a tricky one to see!
So many knots, but they’re not knots for me.
Methinks of all the knots, the one true knot for me,
is the “Lover’s Knot”, which I have tied successfully!

Rhymer. April 24th, 2018
Denis Barter May 2018
I’m depressed, said the bellpush to the thumb,
and suffer endless ringing, until I succumb
to constant pressures, when jabbed for long.
So please be gentle; don’t press too strong.

Though firm, round and hard when I was born,
I yield to the grind, said the black peppercorn:
Me too said coffee, although I’m seldom refused,
after I'm roasted, and my grounds hotly infused!

I suffer a split personality said Nutmeg: my fate
is to lose my appeal (peel), when my kernel, they grate
to join Mace.  That’s the skin in which I am clad,
which makes a spicy additive.  It really is too bad,

but my life’s a whirl, said the busy spinning wheel,
and no one knows how warped and twisted I feel,
spending hour after hour in never-ending gyration,
reeling a bobbin dependant on my constant rotation!

Whereas I, said the needle, have a unique ability
to make a point.  Though it adds to my capability,
It’s a darned nuisance having to repair holes of size,
relying solely upon the size and state of my eyes.

Next, the steam iron, bragged it could flatten anything,
whilst the electric kettle, then professed it could sing
in harmony with any tuning fork that could thrum a tune,
Ii both were allowed to harmonise  and softly croon.

I’m a hoot said the Trumpet Vine, and gave a toot!
Whereupon the Bugle Plant, snorting a derisive snoot,
said, “you’re nothing but a social climber, whereas I
remember my humble roots, and such as you, I decry.”

Then we heard the woes of the fairground Carousel.
Suffering from “ highs” and “ lows,”  it thought it hell
to go nowhere!  This, despite having seen many sights,
and dizzy from constantly working depths and heights!

But the final word belongs to the toilet brush:.
Bristling with anger, it possessed a red flush!
Perpetually plunged into the depths of despair,
its only avenue of escape, was a place somewhere

unthinkable!  It had had enough of its dead end job,
and was wasting away!  At working it was no slob,
but it was a task not to be relished nor recommended,
having no future of merit, should fall-out be suspended!

At this others agreed, his was a dead end job
be it working for peasant or the richest Nabob.
There were few positions, few notwithstanding
to be found as lowly.  Be it sitting or standing!

Rhymer.  May 22nd, 2018.
A little tongue in cheek rhyme to cvounteract  Spring fever!
Denis Barter Feb 2018
I’ve tried Haiku - what a tricky “to do:”
Then there’s Tanka: this I’ll likely eschew.
Cinquain though another different form
Is to this poor poet, more true to norm,
And better suited to my proclivity!

Though Blank or Free Verse; even Prose,
Possesses an appeal: it’s a different pose.
Though it allows freedom of expression:
It’s not for me. Rhyming, is my obsession,
Suits me better; panders to my creativity.

So many genres, some of which I’ve tried:
But all too often, my over excited Muse, died;
Left struggling with a message, still unsaid.
Shortly thereafter find all inspiration dead.
Not the best way to ensure productivity!

So Tanka, Cinquain, Haiku or whatever?
It surely takes someone smart and clever
To emulate the Japanese.  Those wily men,
Who write their poetry with brush - not pen,
Yet retain their sense of rational relativity!

Rhymer February 4th, 2018
Denis Barter Jul 2018
or
You Must be "Late" for A Bargain!

The advert we saw, advised:  "Don't be Late"
It's a bargain that is simply so great,
You must not allow your chances to slip by!
For this is surely your best time to buy?

They'd no description of the goods on tender,
And even less on the advertising vendor,
No specified time.  No hour; day, nor date.
Just a time in the future.  So it did state!

But promising a "Lifetime Guarantee"
It sounded good to my wife and to me.
Though,  just between me, the gatepost and you
It seemed just a little too good to be true!

When given no more than a "sell-by" date,
How would we know if our "offer" was "Late?"
But, swayed by the huge savings suggestion,
We thought to inspect the "bargain" in question.

However, on arrival we found we'd to wait!
The deal offered which was for those that came "late!"
Was surplus goods, and "hard-to-move" stock!
I admit this came as a bit of a shock,

But I'm confident that most folks would feel,
That to possess these goods was not a great deal?
Being not something one buys for oneself,
Nor an artifact, which is prized for itself!

It was a thing for which few show desire.
Though the craftsmanship?  That we could admire!
But to arrive "Late"?  Unable to barter,
Even frugal folks know that's a "non-starter!"
  
SO :

Deciding that, when we're found to be "Late" ?
And "Savings" are now your concern. Cremate!
Then once there's been time enough for us to burn.
We'd ask you'd store our few ashes, in an urn!

Rhymer.  July 16th, 2018
.(After seeing an ad: for a Monument(al) `sell-off'
Havelock Citizen.
Denis Barter Apr 2018
When I sit for hours in contemplation,
Do not search for an explanation!
If perchance you should ask me why
I let precious hours, pass idly by?
You’d find no cause for truth in my reply?

You’re sure to think I’m wasting time,
And my sitting has no reason or rhyme.
Why must I always give a lame excuse,
For doing nothing, and just sitting loose!
Does relaxation always need a use?

Of course, I could be making a big decision,
Which needs careful planning, and precision.
Chances are, that would be a blatant lie!
With no urgent plans, with which I’ll do or die,
Aimless thoughts drift like dream castles in the sky!

When I sit motionless, making no sound
I like folks to think I’m being profound
Resolving philosophies, fathoms deep!
It’s an impression I would have them keep.
But truth to tell, most times, I’ve fallen asleep!

Rhymer. April 24th, 2018.
.
Denis Barter Oct 2020
When I sit for hours in contemplation,
Do not search for an explanation!
If perchance you should ask me why
I let precious hours, pass idly by?
You’d find no cause for truth in my reply?

You’re sure to think I’m wasting time,
And my sitting has no reason or rhyme.
Why must I always give a lame excuse,
For doing nothing, and just sitting loose!
Does relaxation always need a use?

Of course, I could be making a big decision,
Which needs careful planning, and precision.
Chances are, that would be a blatant lie!
With no urgent plans, with which I’ll do or die,
Aimless thoughts drift like  castles in the sky!

When I sit motionless, making no sound
I like folks to think I’m being profound
Resolving philosophies, fathoms deep!
It’s an impression I would have them keep.
But truth to tell, most times, I’ve fallen asleep!

Rhymer
October 19th, 2020.
Fooled you!  Lol.
Denis Barter Jun 2018
A reflection in the mirror, seen in reversible review,
gives me cause to wonder, if I’ve found someone new?
For the bleary eyed persona, a ghostly manifestation
seems but an ancient relic, in advancing dessication.

Wondering on the person, stood there before my eyes,
reluctantly I’ve concluded, once all details were apprised,
that the image there reflected; and so very plain to see,
is a bona fide rendering, of an older, careworn me.

The face therein reflected, shows skin weathered tough,
but for ample indication to those who think him gruff,
the laughter lines etched deeply, regarded as the best,
are an ever needed asset, when for life one has had a zest!

Hair that once was bushy black, has thinned, turned to grey;
whilst still bushy eyebrows, grow whiter by the day.
Blue eyes though paled, from an earlier deep azure hue,
still possess a twinkle, when they’re looking back at you.

Standing in contemplation, many thoughts run through my head,
as I recollect on places seen, as well as what I’ve done and said,
and on the people met, who helped to shape the man you see.
Often the willing help from others, made life enjoyable for me.

At the twilight of my years, there’s much that I would do,
but years are quickly passing, and to tackle something new
is not an option.  For there is much that needs my attention
if I’m to set my affairs in order, as is my avowed intention.

I hope to ensure that the poetry I wrote - a passion chose
for me, will be orderly, when my days come to their close.
Only when I face my destined fate, with a conscience clear,
will I rejoice in thoughts and memories of those I hold dear.

Though looking glass reflections, allow an introspect view,
and portray a passing likeness, that may be physically true,
life’s lessons learned, which may have left lines upon my skin
leave but few signs of the inner man, that still resides within.

Rhymer.  June 1st, 2018.
Denis Barter Jun 2018
Though I’m no thief - officially,
I did steal - and that was recently,
seizing a golden opportunity
as a moment of greed overtook me!
Oh woe is me!

I have no excuse for what I did,
my conscience was asleep or hid:
with no reason except - heaven forbid,
sensing the moment ripe.  I did!
Oh woe is me!

I make no excuses for my transgression:
or say it was nothing but obsession,
but please, exercise a degree of discretion,
when reading this public confession.
Oh woe is me!

When judging me, espouse no platitude,
rectitude, or ‘holier than thou’ attitude,
but by granting me a degree of latitude,
you’ll receive my everlasting gratitude.
Oh woe is me!

Though without prior intent to steal,
having the chance to think, and feel
the opportunity was there, my zeal
overcame my conscience’s appeal.
Oh woe is me!

You may well ask for a reason why
I allowed myself to steal?  I’ll not lie!
It was a moment which, in the by and by,
was perfectly opportune, and why I cry:
Oh woe is me!

Admittedly, the timing was prime.
Even so it was an unpardonable crime,
with effects affecting me, for a long time,
so I feel neither secure nor sublime!
Oh woe is me!
I no longer think it a minor infraction,
so a confession is my chosen action.
Taken to absolve myself, there’s no retraction
of this statement: no matter what the reaction!
Oh woe is me!

What may be the effect of my sinful intent:
or what may be considered just punishment,
by those who sit in righteous judgement
upon my fall from grace?  Never meant!
Oh woe is me!

My sin? I stole some ‘Time’ to write this verse!
Should you consider it bad, or even worse,
I must live with the knowledge this was a curse
to steal, even for reasons deviously perverse!
Oh woe is me!

I had an urgent need to write this rhyme,
on which I have spent the stolen “time”!
Perhaps you thought it a more heinous crime?
If so?  Shame on you!  You’re no paradigm!
I declare: Oh woe is thee!

Rhymer.  June 16th, 2018.
I should have been working in my garden!
Denis Barter Sep 2020
Oh me, Oh My, I must confess,
I suffer from excessive stress
that has me highstrung with duress.
Being naught but a mental mess,
how do I ease unwanted stress
in a manner - that is painless?
Truthfully I hereby confess,
I'm one, who under great distress,
seeks a Folklore cure, that is less
expensive, but taken to excess
would it leave me in a worse mess!
If excess stress took a recess,
would peace of mind, return to bless
my day?  Would it perhaps, suppress
the pangs of my extreme duress?
How do I ease excessive stress,
so normalcy can rule?  Much less
of this cursed mental distress
would be a blessing! I confess.
For any small sign of success
I would be happy to express
my thanks.  For such I’d say - God Bless.

Rhymer.  September 11th, 2020.
Fooling around with various formats, keeps me from going stir crazy
when the weather is not suited to me, working in my garden.  The scent of Fall is in the air.  Or is it the smoke from fires from West? Denis,
Denis Barter Nov 2018
I was somewhat surprised this morning,
when out for a morning jog,
I met an old fellow, well known,
who greeted both me and my dog.
His was a face most familiar,
but to see him - took me aback,
for being late leaving this morning,
twas myself I met coming back!

We acknowledged one another with pleasure,
but found it hard to believe our eyes;
on hearing words uttered in greeting,
even my dog seemed surprised!
At first we discussed the cold weather,
and indulged in more idle talk;
then with a cheery Goodbye, on leaving,
he continued on with his walk!

It was a moment of rare pleasure,
to meet one so pleasantly polite:
So perhaps tomorrow I’ll rise early,
to see if we’ll repeat this delight?
For it is rarely one meets another,
with a temperament such as their own,
but perhaps it’s best I forget it?
For tomorrow he might not be alone!

Rhymer. November 5th, 2018.
Put it down to the weather!  Cold, wet and boring.  Garden work on hold for now.
Denis Barter Mar 2018
If I could see myself through your eyes,
Would I experience a pleasing surprise,
Or be sadly disappointed by what I'd see?
Would I wonder as to how Life might be
To find the man I married; full of vitality,
Replaced by another that today is elderly?

If I could see myself through your adoring eyes,
Would I still be your especial, rare found prize
Or boring dullard, as some might think of me?
Having experienced many years: an eternity,
My set ways and strong held beliefs, vented loud:
Are often heard above the less vocal crowd?

If I could hear myself, through your ears,
Would I remain tuned to my likes and fears?
Ready to listen and comfort, ever paying heed,
When support and consolation, are my need.
Adding subtle nuance to say "I Love You"
A hidden message, known only to us two.

If I could hold myself, as if cuddled in your arms,
Would embraces received, still retain the charms
You offer, or when loving compassion is required,
Respond with empathy as you do? When tired,
\I\/ould I join to face and conquer unexpected woes,
That threaten our loving ties? That, no one knows'

If I could see or relate to myself as you do to me,
Would I be seen more loving. Would you see,
A man with genial ways, showing more caring,
Accepting Life's restraints, and yet, more sharing?
To see me through your discerning eyes, cannot be
I will remain content, to be what you presently see!

Rhymer, March 10th, 2018..
Denis Barter Feb 2018
Or
An Overnight Romance.

We met by chance in a shopping mall,
Could see you were “special,” the best of all.
I made my advances, which rang your bell,
That you liked me too, was easy to tell.

I said but little, as we walked round and about,
So took you home, for I had nary a doubt,
That you were ideal for an intimate tete a tete,
Being totally convinced our meeting was fate.

I sat on the couch, with you snuggled up tight,
That my arms now held you, seemed so right.
When it grew late, I suggested we share a bed:
With no objection from you, we went ahead.

I laid you down gently, holding you tightly,
And this passionate moment, seemed rightly,
One we should follow, for we thought it okay!
So every night, I cuddle up to my new duvet!

Rhymer.  February 19th, 2018.
Denis Barter Aug 2020
I’ve a coat with many pockets,
that’s special in its ways,
Although young when I first donned it,
still fits me well these days.
With a host of special reasons
for wearing it today,
It's  gifted to my chidren,
when I reach my final day.

It’s got pockets full of memories
and others full of dreams,
from my ninety years of living,
with more to come it seems.
there’s a pocket for the future,
into which I hope to add,
all the moments I’ll enjoy,
be they jubilant or sad.

Should I feel downhearted:
an occasion that is rare,
I’ll recall a favoured happening:
or a moment I can share
with anyone that’s listening,
that has befriended me.
With a moment that I treasure,
I deem a priceless memory.


When friends have come together,
a common human trait,
we’ll reminisce on our early years,
and how we faced ill Fate,
We talk of our successes
and times of yesterday,
as for achieving the impossible?
We’ll brag the livelong day.

But there is a pocket hidden,
it’s one embedded deep.
Within it, lie my broken dreams:,
that have hurt me rather deep.
They rest with irksome memories:
that make me sad and blue.
as do my angry thoughts,
that I'll not disclose to you.

There’s memories that are cheerful:
there’s others that are sad.
Whilst others make me wistful,
for the better times I’ve had.
When I think the world’s against me,
I’m alone and feeling bored,
I’ll rummage through my pockets,
for the memories I have stored.

In its pockets by the number,
there’s many treasured dreams.
Amongst memories I cherish,
there’s a host of madcap schemes.
Despite pockets overflowing,
and others fully filled,
there’s plenty more to fill,
before my life is stilled.

Yes, my coat of many pockets,
is a cherished one I wear.
Though somewhat worn and tattered,
about it I really care.
It may not look inviting,
when hanging on a hook,
but Memories therein stored,
invite your second look.

Rhymer. August 10th, 2020.
Justa little thought I've had as the year progresses and life gets a tad tougher due to the pandemic.
Denis Barter Jun 2018
It is my manner when breaking bread
to think of poetry whilst I’m being fed.
Such times as when I’m eating venison,
I’ll choose the company of Tennyson.
Afterwards with my crackers and Stilton
I’ll probably read the poetry of Milton.

If it should be noted a meal seems a trifle tardy?
The cause can be squarely blamed on Hardy!
But the poems of William Barnes are preferred,
as my first choice, when the soup is stirred.
As for roast of beef, dripping in gravy drowning,
I fall back upon the writings of Browning,

and let either Robert or Elizabeth hold sway.
Later they give way to the dark poems of Gray.
Whilst the flavour of buttered, ginger parkin,
is accentuated by the simple poems of Larkin.
For tedious hours watching, as the spit turns,
I’ll resort to reading poems by Robert Burns.

But then again if someone should have Dunmore
to make my meal Fuller?  I’ve time for Moore.
For such as me, that when read, it is thought best
to be joined at dinner by the honoured Guest,
then I’ll choose the rare words of the Poet Blake,
as we enjoy roast beef, pork or a tender steak!

When one is enjoying a flagon of Draught beer,
I select and read the poems of Will Shakespeare.
But should the occasion call for a stronger brew?
One must perforce resort to one Thomas Carew.
Yes, my choice often depends on what one eats.
So whether I read Dryden, Hamilton or Keats,

the perfect match required for poetry and food,
may be augmented by the works of Thomas Hood.
Next with dessert: blanc mange or raspberry jelly,
I’ll delight in the words of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Whilst a slice of rich plum pudding or apple ****
demands I read Wordsworth or Scott at the start.

But I’ll often leave my choice of food and poetry
until a moment when, in contemplative reverie
I’ve decided what will enhance and complement
my daily meal.  Though Poetry is thought a condiment.
I sometimes think plain food tastes by far the best
when one adds poems of renowned Sackville West.

At times when I indulge in convivial tippling,
it’s a pleasure enjoyed with Rudyard Kipling.
With careful selection, I have one avowed intent,
to ensure my every meal is a pleasant event.
So as an aid to digestion and a sop to my Soul,
Prior is to the soup, as Dryden is to the casserole.

For me a mix of food and poetry, fills a vital need.
But no matter which Poet I decide next to Read,
when the meal is eaten, I can relax and sit still,
a Poet that springs to mind, is always Hill.
But the poetry thought best, for it brings no Payne,
is to read Hardy’s Dorset poetry, yet once again!

Rhymer. June,24th, 2018.
I tried to include as many Poets (Classical that is) as I could.  Enjoy.
Denis Barter Dec 2018
I am a wiser, rhyming poet,
because of this, I know that
for rhymes of any description,
I need follow no prescription
for my procedure is not complex.
I then choose a topic, and give thought
to the chosen theme  I’ll undertake.
Then decide as to which format I’ll use?
So sit back, watch and take your ease,
and no interruptions whatsoever, please!
As my poetic Muse becomes excited
oft times I become eagerly delighted
when words flow of their own accord.
With no need to consult a dictionary,
I make ready to write my rhyme, then I’m away,
as another new poem gets underway!

As another new poem gets underway,
I’ make ready to write my rhyme, then I’m away!
with no need to consult a dictionary,
when words flow of their own accord,
oft times I become eagerly delighted
as my poetic Muse becomes excited:
and no interruptions whatsoever please!
So sit back, watch and take your ease,
then decide as to which format I’ll use
to the chosen theme I’ll undertake,
I then choose a topic, and give thought
for my procedure, is not complex.
I need follow no prescription,
for rhymes of any description,
Because of this, I know that,
I am a wiser, rhyming poet!

Rhymer.  December 2nd,, 2018.
Denis Barter Aug 2020
An Abecedarian composition
Besides being a tough proposition,
Constantly challenges a poet’s skill.
Daunting at times, it can and will
Evoke emotions, but barely amuse
For a short time, unless you use
Good penmanship and employ
Hard won skills with artful ploy
In your composition, you will
Jeopardize your effort. Use skill:
Keep rhythm and metre in mind:
Leave all your inhibitions behind!
Make poetry the window to your soul!
Noteworthy in this respect, is the goal
Of the competent Poet, who will ensure
Poetry opens that window. It’s no sinecure!
Question, query and contemplate on those
Reasons why, well written rhymes or prose
Succeed in imparting a picture or thought
To the reader?  Poor lines come to naught
Unless the poet exercises great skill.
Very often badly written lines will ****
Worthy intentions and the message is lost!
X marks the moment to count the cost  
Your effort exacted, though it came to naught.
Zestfully use the skills you were taught!

Rhymer.  August 15th, 2020.
I love Acrostics and Abecedarians.  With this one I've tried to give a reader some ideas of how to...? Did I succeed?  You tell me.  Denis.
Denis Barter May 2018
When I'm within your arms, and you hold me tight:
I fear no cold, no rain, nor the darkness of night.
Firm in your close embrace, I'm warmly protected,
For you are my refuge, that's graciously accepted.
There's a familiarity we share, that's truly like no other,
As are the closest bonds of a sister and her brother.
Your comfort is a nostrum: you dispense it very well,
And with a style and flair that fits, you really do excel.
You're my guardian angel, who protects me from surprise.
Sometimes when accidents occur or a problem will arise;
Timely warnings are ignored or they're totally rejected:
Smugness then prevails; you're discarded and neglected,
But never once do you fail, to fly post haste to my aid!
Proving once again, you're the best coat, ever made!

Rhymer. May 22nd, 2018
Denis Barter May 2018
When life overwhelms, noise is loud,
instinctively I retreat, away from the crowd:
standing solitary, though crowds mill around,
I seek inner peace until serenity is found.

When walking through a forested glade,
in search of repose, in the muted shade
I’ll quietly meditate and saunter through,
to think on the years, I’ve spent with you.

With my Spirit buoyed, by songs of birds,
I’ve seldom a need for spoken words.
This quiet oasis, allows the world to pass by;
refreshes my Soul and answers the ‘why?’

Watched waters of a slow moving stream
spur reverie, memory or a favourite dream.
Cool winds slowly diminish as evening falls,
to bring pleasant moments of Nature’s calls.

The crashing surf, and its air borne spume:
Lazy dust motes floating across a sunlit room:
A butterfly flitting from flower to flower,
More tender moments that pass the hour.

So whether at work or indulging in play,
I try to make the most of my every day.
Be the day dull or the sun brightly shine,
Such time is well spent, for peace is mine.

Rhymer. May 7th, 2018
Denis Barter Sep 2020
Oh me, Oh My, I must confess,
suffering from great stress excess
I am a Poet in duress!
A mental mess: a mental mess.

How do I ease my cursed stress
in a manner that is harmless?
Truthfully I herewith confess,
I’m in distress, I’m in distress.

I’ve tried Folklore cures that are less
telling, but taken to excess,
they leave me in a greater mess.
Increasing stress, Increasing stress.

Should peace of mind return to bless
my day, would it perhaps, suppress
or redress my extreme duress,
and ease my stress; and ease my stress.

I’ve lost the joys of happiness,
and weep from cursed stress excess,
so need a healing cure I guess.
A cure express.  A cure express.

Should you cure my mental distress,
t‘would be a blessing, I confess,
and I’d be happy to express
my thanks. God Bless.  My thanks. God Bless.

Rhymer. September 16th,  2020.
Realised after I had closed my computer, that what I had posted was not in the true basic Monotetra format, so decided I should rectify matters.  Here's the end result - based on my original thoughts.  A more than subtle difference!  Rhymer.
Denis Barter Oct 2020
Autumnal leaves keep falling,
with their colours fading fast,
as winter’s days come calling,
so their beauty will not last.

With their colours fading fast,
leaves lie heavy on the grass,
so their beauty will not last,
as autumnal days now pass.

Leaves lie heavy on the grass:
having drifted ankle deep:
as autumnal days now pass,
so Nature goes to sleep.

Having drifted ankle deep,
as a blanket for the soil.
so Nature goes to sleep,
and rest from daily toil.

As a blanket for the soil,
and keep winter’s cold at bay,
and  rest from daily toil,
is ever Nature’s way.

To keep winter’s cold at bay.
As winter days come calling,
until Spring returns our way:
autumnal leaves keep falling.

Rhymer. October 3
Trying my hand at another format apropos to the Season.
Denis Barter Oct 2020
Once again the Season changes and there’s a story to tell,
of events that took place overnight, when Nature wove her spell.
A glorious transformation was seen: the world was rearranged,
for when the world awakened, the countryside was changed.

A canvas was set there before us, with hues that defied description,
as a cure to banish blues, they’d prove the ultimate prescription.
With a dazzling kaleidoscopic mix, of orange, yellow and red
she’d splashed colour everywhere, with hues to turn our head!

From these canopies of colour, now complete and widespread
first leaves began to flutter down, to carpet the ground we tread.
Even Poplars and Aspens, that sport summer’s greenest cloak,
had changed to burnished gold, along with the mighty Oak.

To see trees in their Fall regalia, is a feast for wondrous eyes,
but as this marks summer’s end, it comes as no surprise.
Within the arboreal forest, clothed in captivating attire
colours incandescent, are brightened with daybreak fire.

But their beauty is short lived, for winter waits at the door,
and scenes at which we marvel, will shortly be no more,
for when the forest closes ranks, under its forbidding shroud,
then surely winter draws nearer, as Nature has avowed!

Rhymer October 14th, 2020
Awakening this morning I thought a 'wildfire' had broken out, but it was nothing more than the colours of a mid October morn as the sun rose and our world lit up with the colours of Maple, Oaks, Birch inter alia!  Sadly it soon departs.  Denis.
Denis Barter Feb 2018
My apologies if this is a repost.

The moon hangs low, o’er the glistening snow,
frost deeply trenchant within.
The cold winds sigh, and brush wolves cry,
so their nightly serenades begin.
The crackling house, the scavenging mouse,
that scuttles away in fright.
For the hoot of an owl, out on the prowl,
warns it’s seeking its prey tonight.

There’s an air of doom in the graveyard gloom:
the church stands quiet in silhouette.
Through rising fog, we hear a barking dog,
smoke spins in pirouette.
The chatter of trees in the soughing breeze,
and sounds of a distant train.
A rabbit’s scream, part of Nature’s scheme:
when the Red Fox kills again.

Roof rafters snap and rattle; soft lowing of cattle,
fowls huddle close in ranks;
ice hangs from gables, over horses in stables,
who stamp feet on wooden planks.
They’re impatient to go, out into the snow,
loving the brisk snap of the air,
but our cat does not aspire, to leave the fire,
or remove itself from my chair.

On a cold winter night with the moon clear and bright,
and stars are twinkling above:
it’s great for viewing; to see what’s brewing,
and a time I enjoy and love.
When the snow lies deep, the world’s asleep,
a pleasure for which I prepare.
Such a starlit night, is a joyous delight,
and a time that’s precious and rare.

Rhymer February 25th, 2018.
Denis Barter Apr 2018
Tranquility rules, the cool air is still:
spellbound, I look and drink my fill,
as morning awakening fills the air.
With my eyes opened wide, I stare
at pleasures offered and given free,
which bounteous Nature awards me!

The Meadowlark, soaring happily
sings her song of joy.  A rhapsody
to serenade her fledglings, snug below,
whilst the rising sun, with golden glow,
urges the stirring morning breeze,
to tease awake the dormant trees.

Two Mourning Doves, bill and coo,
planning their day and what they’ll do.
Cattle lowing in the meadow afar,
bid farewell to the last morning star.
A skein of geese honk high overhead,
as towards the north, they swiftly head.

Whilst a Red Cardinal proudly prances
in and out of the evergreen branches,
entertaining his mate, brooding eggs,
a lone Grey Heron on stilt-like legs,
seeks a snack in the riverside reeds,
unaware a frog hides in nearby weeds!

Sheep bleat as the shepherd’s dog,
presages their coming out of the fog.
The Carrion Crow, with raucous cry,
warns a *****, furtively passes by.
Ducks on the pond, splash and dive,
in grand celebration, of being alive.

The sun advises, the hour grows late,
as does a Curlew to its watching mate.
But I am most reluctant to depart,
and leave these scenes close to my heart.
So great is the reward, that surrounds,
when I behold the beauty that abounds!

Rhymer.  April 29th, 2018.
Denis Barter Jul 2018
One leg of mine is short, the other long.
And one is weak, while the other is strong!
When I asked my Doctor for an explanation?
He told me, "it's merely a matter of compensation!"

Should it happen that both your legs were short, or weak,
You, having nothing to compare with, would not seek
Reasons to look for some form of compensation,
And you'd approach the future without trepidation!.

Accepting his reasons for my situation thus,
I left his office and dashed off to catch the bus,
But as it left me behind, I knew how to relate
To a time when situations arise.  I'll compensate!

For instance, this morning, arriving late for work,
The boss was mad, but I explained with a wry smirk,
He should feel happy, for I'll not be twice late.
for when I leave work. I'll go early, to compensate!

When I want to borrow ten dollars from you,
You say you've only five!  I say that will do!
Now, as you owe me five,  I owe you five too!
The one compensates the other!  Isn't that true?

When you can,  try compensation.  Give it a test!
With the right conditions, make it work for the best
Try to ensure through life you're remunerated.
And if there's inequality?  Get compensated!

Rhymer.  July 14th, 2018.
Denis Barter Jun 2018
Like grains of sand, that slip through the hand:
     Where’s the sense in counting?
Years pass quickly by, so soon we die,
     for sins we’ll be accounting!
Some meek - some bold, times hot - times cold,
     the life that’s ours, too fleeting.
To where winds blow?  No one will know:
     naught but momentary meeting.
We plan - we scheme, we act - we dream,
     all comes to end at death.
Friends met - then lost: we count the cost,
     they’ve drawn their final breath.
We live each day; our chosen way;
     count not the hours we’ve spent.
As some will say, to live each day,
     must be our sole intent.
From Nature’s earth, at dawn of birth,
     ours, but a passing presence.
So count not grains, for Life soon wanes:
     time always of the essence.

Rhymer June 15th, 2018
Had to take a break from the never ending garden work!
Denis Barter Apr 2018
A Judge, once noted for his lack of compassion
Found when sentencing crooks, he’d a passion!
When sitting on the Bench, he was permitted -
Appropriate to misdemeanour committed-
To administer punishment to fit the crime!

With his court full of petty crooks that first day -
Thieves, robbers, swindlers! All found to their dismay,
He would show no mercy!  He could not be swayed!
Once declared, their sentence was never stayed!
Though he would allow them to make their plea!

On his first morning, after he opened court,
He would give judgement on each case brought,
Then once proved beyond a shadow of doubt,
He’d carefully mete apt punishment out,
To each prisoner that came into the dock!

First to come ‘up’, was a ‘known’ lawbreaker!
Though a skilled and ‘rising’  craftsman baker
He’d been caught ‘loafing’ with counterfeit ‘dough’!
Evidence was brought. Police ‘kneaded’ to show
The Court, he never did a thing half ‘baked!’

His legs shackled, - which was no surprise,
Was quickly found Guilty, then told to ‘rise’
So this first crook, a very unhappy wretch
Was sent to ‘Leavenworth’ for a long stretch!
Given five years incarceration, for his crime!

A carpenter was the next to be jailed.
Evidence shown was quite ‘plane’!  When ‘nailed’
By the local Cops, they ‘saw’ he had ‘awl’
The loot he’d ‘chiselled’ from a shopping mall.
The Jury  ‘panel saw’ he’d not got it ‘square’!

So it ‘augered’ ill for the carpenter’s fears
When the Judge ‘ruled’,  ‘free board’ for six years!
This cracked the ‘veneer’ he’d worn though the trial.
For prison ‘drill’ would soon wipe away his smile!
Once ‘clamped’ in irons, with others he ‘filed’ away!

The Butcher was next to find himself in a jamb
He’d sold ‘scrag ends’ for ‘prime’ and mutton for lamb!
When the bare ‘bones’ of his case, were fleshed out,
That he was in the ‘soup’, there was no doubt!
While the police asked that he be sent for the ‘chop’!

The Judge declared the punishment he’d ‘meat’ out
Would break the Butcher’s ‘links’ with crime, and had no doubt.
He’d never ‘carve’ his way out of the ‘joint’!
Without ‘mincing’ words, he ‘skewered’ each point
Explaining his ‘beef’.  He was in a proper ‘stew’!

When Police ‘cottoned’ on to a ‘shoddy’ scam
They caught a tailor, ‘embroidering’ a monogram.
‘Patterned’ after that of a famous fashion designer.
Smuggled out in the ‘seam’ of a jacket ‘liner’
This ‘needled’ the Judge, who, with some ‘zip’

And some ‘bias’, ‘felt’ he should practice ‘needlecraft’,
“Stitching’ mailbags for the post office. Hard graft
For a man who had ‘satin’ comfort for a long time.
But ‘fitting’ punishment for a ‘reel’ bad crime!
He praised the  police for ‘buttoning’ up this case!

When Police ‘forked’ over newly ‘dug’ earth
Their ‘spadework’ ‘dug up’ ‘planted’ goods worth
A fortune .  ‘Raking’ through the ‘compost heap’.
‘Embedded’ by a gardener, were, buried deep,
‘Silver Bells’ and a gold chain! This ‘chain, linked’

‘Fences’ to crooks who stole goods on demand.
He’d ‘staked’ all on being put on remand.
But the Judge said I ‘dig’ your kind! ‘Turn over’
A new ‘leaf.  Mould’ and mend your ways.  Moreover
‘Perennial’ felons! Are ‘rooted’ in their ways!

So, ‘till’ you ‘turn over’ your loot and repent,
You’re ‘grounded’! It seems you’re an ‘annual’ event !
You tell me that with this crime, you’ve been ‘framed’,
But I’m sure you’ve not been unjustly blamed!
Five years in a ‘glasshouse’ to sleep in a ‘raised bed’ !

Next, a Furrier and his girl - a sly ‘minx,’
Who went too ‘fur’ when they ‘stole’ a ‘lynx’
A ‘foxy’ pair!  Of this, there was no doubt!
‘Trapped’ in a Police ‘cloak’ and dagger stakeout
They were loaded with ‘pelts’ when caught

Now the Judge, whose ‘ermine’ robes shook with rage
Said the only cure for this type of outrage,
Was to ‘stretch’ them on the ‘rack’, and ‘tan’ their ‘hides’.
This he ‘felt’ would be ‘fitting’ !  Though his insides
Told him he should send them away!  ‘Furbelow’!

A cobbler, without a ‘sole’!  A ‘ low heel’,
This ‘snob’ with an ‘Oxford Brogue’ had a zeal
For stealing! Not the ‘last’ incarcerated.
He was caught ‘legging’ it, while inebriated
His ‘cleats’ leaving ‘patent’ clues to see!

Wearing ‘rubbers’ he’d work in gloves and ‘spats’
Stealing mainly from apartments and ‘flats’
He was down on his ‘uppers’, quite destitute.
When caught with his heavy bag of loot.
A ‘slippery’ customer if ever there was one!

A ‘dandy’ with a ‘black belt’ in Karate!
Was sent by the Judge to a ‘necktie’ party.
He’d killed a haberdasher, without passion -
He complained it was ‘knot’ the current fashion!
But he could  ‘hang’ around until it returned!

Sentences varied but all were most apt.
Strong men turned deathly pale when his gavel rapped!
By sentences received, none were less enamoured,
Than a crooked auctioneer, who got ‘hammered’!
For ‘knocking down’ ‘lots’ ‘under bid’ to himself!

Crook followed crook in quick succession,
Making quite an impressive procession,
As each took his turn in the prisoner’s dock,
He’d turn and face the courtroom clock,
Under which the Judge sat, with solemn face!

The Judge went down in history that day,
With sentences most apt!  What more can we say?
His procedures quickly made the front page,
And soon appropriate penalties were all the rage!
Except for those of the criminal class!

This punishment proved to be a deterrent.
More so, if they were set to run concurrent!
As for waiting crooks, from Con Artist to thief,
When he adjourned court, they sighed with relief!
Hoping they’d get a more lenient Judge later!

Rhymer April 18th, 2018.
Sorry, it's tad long, but I got carried away!  Lol.
Denis Barter Apr 2018
It was as I listened to a lively tune
I considered how in life, all too soon -
Brought about by change in circumstance,
We're obliged to effect a slower dance!
As we age, heard is a softer, changing beat;
Rhythms exert lesser influence on our feet;
Though music played, still retains a tempo strong,
We've less passionate desire to dance along.
Though the music invites us to take part;
We fear more for aching bones and tired heart.
So jaunty skirls which once we'd entertain,
Are now replaced by a more sedate refrain.
Jigs and reels which would set our feet a-tapping
Are slow to move us, or start hands clapping.
As we recall memories of days now passed,
We are aware that Life's high spirits did not last!
As we watch the young frolicking at play,
We remember that we too, once knew the day
When we were possessed of a boundless energy,
Which is now found replaced by idle lethargy!
Could we turn back the racing clock? We'd aspire
To dance away the endless hours! We'd never tire
clasped in the loving arms of one held dear.
When we are so blessed? Let eternity appear!

Rhymer April 18th, 2018
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