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.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
I posted this in the wrong place!!
The poem is lovely, Dave. I was thinking about YOUR poem and then last night I remembered this visual of mine.
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j546M6Cr858/TCiml3TwKOI/AAAAAAAACA0/r_x8Qk-GX4k/s1600/satu+challenge+1+barwin+copy.jpg
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
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.
Ha! Yes. Very good.
(I deleted the redundant comment.)
Barwin, barcode… almost too many levels of punnery in this.