Bark Ode

for Gary Barwin

It’s only in strong sun
that the winter woods resemble
a bar-coded label.

Today is gray.
I pause to stroke the bark
of a diseased chestnut oak,

ridges kinked and folded,
ordinarily straight lines
impossible to read.

Series Navigation← MinerSnowfall →

Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

5 Replies to “Bark Ode”

    1. people in barcodes
      wedged between
      the bars of barcodes
      they travel into the world

      don’t feed them
      they become too big
      to return home
      range like slivers

      all around us
      a forest of shadows
      too skinny to see

      1. Nice! I like the notion of slivers too skinny to see — reminds me of when I was a (very skinny) kid, running around in the woods and constantly getting slivers in my finger. (Not too many barcodes back then, though.)

        My first several drafts of the poem played with the notion of bars in an open cage of indefinite extent. That was a little more metaphysical than I wanted to get, but it is closest to the thought I had while walking.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.