I celebrate...

I celebrate
the 7th anniversary of Mother’s death
by sitting on the porch.
How fast these 7 years have gone.
I wonder which cloud
I see in the sky
she is on.
Just the thought of her
is my little prayer to her.

poem by Bob Barci
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December 31

With the hint of a teardropp in my eye
I hug the year goodbye.
In silent thought
I recall the times together -
The snowstorms
The plays
The too few movies
The wedding at the beach
The limo ride to a television show
Being in the audience of another
Being a juror
The insanity of a terrorist.
Now, with the year's last breath
I caress the year gently
and whisper a fond farewell.

poem by Bob Barci
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A Recently Found Lost Piece

The days between Saturdays
are too many and too long.
I cherish my Saturdays and Sundays,
but they seem to fly by too soon.
I need them to go as slowly
as those other days.
Those other days - are work days.
And, if you take note,
they seem to drag on and one -
and for the most part,
the weather is quite pleasant.
My weekend days
are meant for fun and relaxation -
but where did the pleasant weather go?
No one wants, needs, or appreciates
the foul weather that waits
for the weekend to happen.

poem by Bob Barci
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck

When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.

Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.

poem by Bob Barci
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Through The Headphones

Stretched out on the bed.
Snuggled up in flannel pj's.
Folded hands on chest.
Headphones placed on ears.
Portable CD player at my side.
Volume up - as much as I can handle.
I listen to my albums
through the headphones.
Hearing the music
in a whole new way.
Up close and personal.
Is this the same 20 year old song?
I never heard that lyric.
I never heard those notes.
I don't hear that on the record player.
I didn't know they did that
in the background.
Through the headphones
the voices come from straight ahead,
somewhere from the left or from the right.

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poem by Bob Barci
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Coffee Dream

Although it’s only one hour till lunch -
my stomach won’t wait.
Non-stop growling for the past two hours
has gotten the best of me.
Besides, my taste buds
are ready to murder for a cup of coffee.
Should I say ‘murder’ in a courthouse?
I discovered myself in the eating lounge
with a coffee machine that still doesn’t work.
How unfair that I can’t leave the building
for a quick cup of coffee till lunch.
So, I resort to having the small salad and orange
that was to be my lunch.
Still, I want that coffee!
I’ll take it boiling hot
right out of the pot.
So now I look forward
to when then release us for lunch.
I plan to run down the street and get
a very large cup of coffee -

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poem by Bob Barci
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Rainy day...

Rainy day
Cool evening
Porch sitting
Unusual for mid August.
Where is the usual summer evening traffic?
My thoughts drift
into my childhood past.
They come up blank
and I simply do not recall
what I did on summer evenings like this.
I just remember –
the smell of freshly cut grass
the catching of lightening bugs
devouring Good Humor ice cream
friends trying to invite themselves
into my backyard pool
playing a game called “Murder In The Dark”
in the backyard of the house across the street
when the sun went down.
I wonder

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poem by Bob Barci
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Change Of Weather

September came along
and brought with it
a change of weather.
The humid days
were suddenly cold and windy.
A few, very nice, cool, fall days,
managed to slip in,
even though it wasn’t quite fall yet.
So, as I do every September,
I emptied out my closet of
t-shirts, and short sleeved shirts.
With all that room in there
I decided to fill it with my winter shirts,
even though I didn’t need them, just yet.
And don’t you know,
I got caught again?
No sooner did I get the summer shirts away
and the winter ones out -
what happens?
There’s a change of weather.

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poem by Bob Barci
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Christmas?

Recently I was asked
what I would like for Christmas,
afterall, it isn’t too far away.
Well, I rattled off a nice little list
of things I wouldn’t mind having.
But now,
after thinking about it,
I mean - really thinking about it,
there is something I could come up with.
I want it to feel like Christmas.
It just doesn’t for some reason.
I hope it’s not just me.
Is anyone else looking for that Christmas feel or spirit?
I just don’t feel it.
Remember when, as a kid, you waited impatiently for weeks?
Maybe the weather has something to do with it.
How can it feel like Christmas
when it’s either rainy or near 60 out?
I want snow.
I want it now.

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poem by Bob Barci
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