Author: Barrett

what way is forward
what way is right
how does a person decide
hungover as shit
trying to start the engine of creativity
trying to take all these disparate inputs
and make the perfect output
I pray every day
I pray to have the strength and passion in my heart
I pray to have brilliance and genius in my mind
I pray to have magic in my hands
I pray that with god,
Though I don’t believe in god,
We hold the tiller of my life togethor
And bring me towards perfection
I pray this every day
But I am still lost
Still forever lost

home was here
a place with many laughs
memories live in the varnish of each chair
the place is the same
the sun still delicately pierces the earth
the air still smells sweet
that birdsong which we happily would whistle along too
is still gently trilling
this very moment
every hand ever touched
every eyes ever met
every lips ever touched
have disappeared
drinking tea
a new habit
the sign of change
before there was no tea
today there is tea
things change
not better
not worse
life as a dream
man only interpreters
tea is fine
but it is different
whistling that same old song
that lovely birdsong
what has changed?
something has changed.
was there a tree there?
what was the name of the old gardener?
is this man the same as the old?

Waking up to Grandpa Norm wanting to go for a walk

With a cheery smile, he says this will be the last walk of his life

We walk over the dike from the cottage, onto Sunset Beach

There are pelicans in the air and a gentle breeze ruffling our hair

We are both silent and happy, carefully watching every step

He asks me about those things he will never see

What of the lighthouse of Alexandria?

Even though it was destroyed millenia ago

What was it like, he asks

I tell him to look out, to the distant island

And if he squints, he will see one just like it

He will see its towering presence

It is so large we are in its shadow

It now dominates the skyline

Together, we are there, we see it, we wonder

Then, he looks at me again

He asks about the music by Mozart

He has heard it, and loved it, yet, want to hear it again

The adagio of Klavierkonzert

Do I know it, I forget

But I start humming the first song that comes to my mind

I tunelessly try to capture a masterpiece

But soon the air is filled with a soft beauty

This is the music he wants, something beautiful

We both have smiles on our face, as we continue down the beach

Both of our eyes looking over the stones

Maybe we will find an arrowhead

Maybe we will find something we did not even expect could exist

Here, is the grizzled tree stump of a towering giant

Who once upon a time my father rested in the shade of

Here, in the bluffs, are the sand dunes I played in with my brothers

Digging to China, digging a palace

My grandpa and I, on this last day, we see it all.

The world unfolds around us, the universe revealed

The mysteries demystified

Life as a dream, the dream all around us

Everything is, as it is

Everything to be, will be as it is

And here, as the music of my grandfathers life exeunts

…..

Dry Season
it is the dry season
the river ebbs low
the farmers are worried
what if the rains don’t come
the fields are planted, unfallow
everything is ready
the silos bulging with emptiness
just let the rains come
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just give a little luck
it is still the dry season
does the dry season always last so long
the river is ever lower
the old men tell of worse times
old men always tell stories
today is today
today is sucking tomorrow dry
the fields are ready
the crows eat the seeds
we plant the seeds again
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just a little luck
my child tells me he is hungry
he looks at the blue of the empty heaven
and he has anger in his heart
the river is still here, but a trickle
a strong foot can divert it
it brings nothing except the memory of hope
the old men don’t tell stories any more
they are as lost as anyone else
the world is supposed to be one way
and when it changes, what do we do
we must do something
but we do not know
gods, if you hear me,
let the rains come
it is the time
it is the time
everything is forgiven
just let it rain
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just give us a little luck
where my home was is gone
where my fathers prayed the jungle conquers
the way things were aren’t the way they will be again
the world changes and we change with it, or we don’t
the old men are dead, yet, my son is alive
in a world that is not where we are from
and there is no love here
the land does not sing here
but there is life
but there is hunger still
and misery, always misery close to the surface
but there is life
where the old men are dead
we are here
the word is that the rains have come
it is a late harvest
the flowers are in bloom and the fields finally alive
there is happiness with the stench of death
always quickly forgotten
we are in a new place, a different place
there is a different type of field to plant here
this is not what I know, but I will try
my son should never be hungry
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just a little luck
just a little luck
and man can do the rest
it is the dry season
the river ebbs low
the farmers are worried
what if the rains don’t come
the fields are planted, unfallow
everything is ready
the silos bulging with emptiness
just let the rains come
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just give a little luck
it is still the dry season
does the dry season always last so long
the river is ever lower
the old men tell of worse times
old men always tell stories
today is today
today is sucking tomorrow dry
the fields are ready
the crows eat the seeds
we plant the seeds again
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just a little luck
my child tells me he is hungry
he looks at the blue of the empty heaven
and he has anger in his heart
the river is still here, but a trickle
a strong foot can divert it
it brings nothing except the memory of hope
the old men don’t tell stories any more
they are as lost as anyone else
the world is supposed to be one way
and when it changes, what do we do
we must do something
but we do not know
gods, if you hear me,
let the rains come
it is the time
it is the time
everything is forgiven
just let it rain
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just give us a little luck
where my home was is gone
where my fathers prayed the jungle conquers
the way things were aren’t the way they will be again
the world changes and we change with it, or we don’t
the old men are dead, yet, my son is alive
in a world that is not where we are from
and there is no love here
the land does not sing here
but there is life
but there is hunger still
and misery, always misery close to the surface
but there is life
where the old men are dead
we are here
the word is that the rains have come
it is a late harvest
the flowers are in bloom and the fields finally alive
there is happiness with the stench of death
always quickly forgotten
we are in a new place, a different place
there is a different type of field to plant here
this is not what I know, but I will try
my son should never be hungry
let there be just a little luck
and man can do the rest
just a little luck
just a little luck
and man can do the rest