Memories

Memories

by Helen Barter

He sat at home, waiting, with his net poised.

Snared, I shared 

my thoughts, emotions, feelings.

Starving, he devoured them,

trying to make them his own.

My vivid dreams and visions,

coloured with his brush, 

turned so many shades of brown.

Lilitu

Lilitu

by Helen Barter

Fallen angel in search of a home.

Demonically sucking the lifeblood 

from vulnerable men in sleep.

Awaken, poor vulnerable man

to aching erection and weakness of spirit.

Call it the sign of her coming, not yours.

The troubled dreams of a believer

turned infidel, held in thrall by the sweet 

parted lips of Lilitu.

Connection

Connection

by Helen Barter

Their connection is intense.
She turns herself on,
enflaming his desire with
her open passion.

Their connection is palpable.
Reticence stamps on its heart.
Jealousy then is the worm
of destruction.

Thought

Childish narcissism and hairy chins are

insignificant in your world of bombs and torture.

But how many deaths to make it stop?

In either, only one.

Toes Tapping

Toes Tapping

by Helen Barter

Nationwide queuing.
Toes tapping in line.
Imagining the contorted dance steps
these unlikely lads would perform,
I laugh -
out loud.

Out loud laughter helps me blend in.
Establishes my rightful place in the 'crazy queue'
along with that woman.
Strange eyebrows unceremoniously cut, straight.
Ends flat like paintbrushes,
bristles at right angles to her face.
I try not to stare, 
giving no special credence to any part of
the surrounding circus.
I avert my eyes from the cut brows to
the wispy, long, curly hairs 
flowing from her chin.

Given time, and enough queuing,
with toes tapping in line,
I think my circus act will be
'The Bearded Lady meets The Full Monty.'
Showing Nationwide.

Listen with Lowell

Listen with Lowell

by Helen Barter

Long legged daddy

dragging your stick body along the flat glass.

Pulling with the tips of your toes

to maintain contact.

Holding wings firm and motionless.

Losing contact and ...

Drop.

Manic beating to avoid an over fast descent.

Heavy work to re-attach your toes to the slippery surface.

Still dropping towards the sill

despite your efforts to remain 

alert.

The End of an Obsession

The End of an Obsession

By Helen Barter

Panic.

Black rocks

re-opening old scars 

once thought healed.

Half-remembered thoughts.

Recognised but abandoned.

Failures. 

Descent.

Grabbing at a hand,

any hand,

for dear life.

A dangerous damaging grasp

ripping, ripping precious memories

and new friendships

from their foundations

sending them tumbling 

downwards.

Some things land 

with me.

Some are smashed.