Saturday 27 September 2014

Sailing Too Close to the Wind

Sailing Too Close to the Wind
by Helen Barter

Battered, bashed and
half drowned in cliches:

"you were my anchor, I am all at sea."

Waiting

Waiting
by Helen Barter

One step, two step, 
patiently round and 
round the overgrown garden,
the weeds binding my toes
to the slow rhythm of the pacing.

Saturday 20 September 2014

Powder Blue Shirt



Powder blue shirt, and
button-up flies.
Grey shorn soft
over pink scalp 
and ruddied cheeks

Indulgent belly 
stands firm
and I am still a 
woman of obsession.

Mother

Mother
By Helen Barter

She recognises in him
A bright openness to
All the possibilities 
Of the world.

But she can't remember
Seeing it in her own children.

She only remembers 
Pushing, forcing down.
Not able to cope with
Another bloody child walking.

Poet

Poet
by Helen Barter

Poet - 
when you write
are you a pianist
practising your scales
or an artist
drawing from life?

Is living life
and using words 
all you need
to call yourself poet?

A poem a day, 
keeps the doctor away.
Away from you, poet?
Or from me?