Dr Chris Barnes Homepage http://www.drchrisbarnes.co.uk


Welcome to..   CHRIS BARNESPOET CHRIS BARNES POET CHRIS BARNES POETRY  GWYNEDD, WALES, U.K.contact Chris  by e-mail at  chrisbarnespoet@yahoo.co.uk




Photographers image clouds, Artists paints them, Poets see the Angels.

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Dr Barnes was born in Yorkshire, Northern England and moved to Wales when he was eighteen. He first wrote poetry to his Cariad (Welsh sweetheart and now dedicated wife) and has become more prolific in recent years now writing in all sorts of genres. Perhaps somewhat unusual for a poet Dr Barnes has Science and Engineering Degrees and also a keen interest in Ham Radio. To read the rest of his bio click the link http://www.drchrisbarnes.co.uk/bio.htm.





 Astral Kinetics by Chris Barnes Poet


God how I miss my neighbours, nonagenarians, salt of the earth

The old man dies aged ninety five, ‘cos new pace maker didn’t save THAT life.

He’d a ‘great INNINGS’; sprightly, carefree, altruistic yet full of worth

Surely grief not for us then, yet all-consuming for a lonely old wife?



Ten weeks later or less, she pops off too, absolutely devastating:

She’d have been home from respite soon, just away to mourn the old man

They’d said as daughter phones us with news of the frightening,

‘Keep an eye on the house and gardens you lot next door if you can?’



Did those sons and daughters admire late sires from TOWN AFAR?

‘Terminal cancer its gone right through, liver’s well shot with secondary’s TOO,

Perverse the truth then on funeral day when they crushed the old lady’s car.

I’m ready to join and pay my respects but my poor wife: well simply too upset



After the cremation   with hollowness and emptiness we’re beset

Next door outside no movement ensues, no more gardening in pairs

In that house no shuffle on stairs, no nosey wafts of upstairs ‘nets’

Just me and the missus, seeking skyward sign beyond grave, invoking thin air,




Fred and Doreen calling from the other side just to say we’re doing fine

Heart entwined initials carved in hazy cirrus void, facet of aerial pollution

When daughter phones and says ‘can you put the bin out and check the line ’

‘And’, ‘can I scan the house for security, an ideal solution?’


Entrusted now I’m guard of palace of sanctity and of late no burglary there.

To the rear lies SUMMER HOUSE abode, matt mint paint clinging on tired tongue and groove

God I’m in awe as its doors explode inviting crepuscular caresses on its two wicker chairs

Flitting silhouettes in solar message of hope or heaven bound spirits’ last earthly move?


Copyright Chrisbarnespoet  April  2016

Based on personal experience but all names have been altered and all characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


Image result for c g   heart in skyAshton










 (Based on a true story that happens quite regularly at my back door we are visited quite regularly by a Scottish Wild Cat only knows how to hiss can’t meow but regularly has a large fat adult seagull in tow! Not only does the cat tolerate the seagull sharing his bowl but both have learned how to get our attention!)


A strange symbiosis this

The seagull and the wildcat

Avian mistletoe leaching

Mammalian felines feast



Chance fluff ball visitor

Pawing at porch door

For free daily helping

Cheeky friend in tow



Fat and almost flightless

Feathered fickle freak

Far inland from salt and sea

Dining on the cheap



Both priming higher intellect

With tap on glass door

Dexterous claw or bobbing beak

No reward does your servant seek



A strange symbiosis this

The seagull and the wildcat

Avian mistletoe leaching

Mammalian felines feast





A poet ponders on philosophy: Lines or cycles


Your scribe ponders on philosophy

His words awash, mere vagaries

Floundering in dictionary of life

Wrestling its aberrant courses


Parallel yet strangely divergent

Pathways in the pool of life

Bewildered by observations

Decline yet ever present stasis


Cycle within ever widening circle

Tree and leaf, moor and mountain

Poem or Poet which the river

Which eternal fountain?

                                                                                                             By Chris Barnes 2014



Walk of life  Description: http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQywHsdFmigVgHAEARTu2gHguSGTzTWULNiPB67vHz19kqDupOQjRMbqiEl



Trudging soggy, wooded mountainside

Profound visions in odd mix appear

Life’s beauty, complexity and tragedy

Parodies as forest residents draw near


Some happy, smiling and young

Others newly born nurtured by natures’

Milk ebbing remnants of family

They who to winters’ gales succumbed



Coming of age three score and ten

Scotts Pine, Yew and Norway spruce

Maybe mere trees, cousins of men

Equally fragile when prematurely felled



Culled in prime by cancerous chain- saw

Leaving a clearing soon to fill in

Like muddy depressions under boots

Simply biology no trace of original sin



Sowing seeds of generations anticipant

Of salient observer traversing their midst

Seeking green carpet and Jordan beyond

Where solar tinted beads meet silver soul


By Chris Barnes January 2014









Copyright ‘Chrisbarnespoet



December 2012 : This poem is number three in a trilogy numbers one and two describe the early days and the cutting and burning of the ‘coppice’   are available   upon personal request

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Another view of the Coppice


Myopic this view -no wrong word

Just like glasses got the wrong pair

This scene’s stifled, restricted


Little more than a quarter-lite

Lies between viewer and viewed,

Spindly barks knotted, else ivy clad,


Perched obliquely on rugged bank

Topsoil recently disturbed and

Bearing first seasons new weed,


Fleshy foliage, luscious green

Product of climatic upheaval

Portend of boundary beyond


Simple galvanised wire fence,

Girded at regular intervals by

Concrete poles once deeply sank


Like the reticent soul, pondering;

Wondering what’s on the other side

Eternally dreaming slipping into


Yet more vegetation, a sudden slide

Focusing on a truly alien plant

Persistent spiky invader reminiscent




Yet not thistle or Arimathea thorn,

Rising almost rampant pointer to the

Celestial, the virginal, the unseen


Expanse of blue –grey nothingness,

Over and beyond this gentle rising hillock

What next kind of transition waits?


Elation, elevation in heaven on high

Or torment and turmoil in valley below

Or glimpse of past coppice complete?


Forbidden on right follow the light

Bodies and branches once burned alive

Now quite simply; access denied.


Description: Description: Description: Description: Description: C:\Users\Chris\Documents\poems_files\image014.jpgCopyright ChrisBarnespoet December 2012














November 2012 has been a sad time for me as my Father passed away after a long illness. I feel the grief of that event is too personal to share on this website so instead I have penned a brand new poem expressing a vivid view of nightlife in my adopted City.




City of Learning 2012


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I wonder in anticipation through your sticky, gum strewn streets,

In my nostrils permeates odd range of smell sour and sweet

Buddleias, builder’s rubble and dog mess I’m bound to meet

Cathedral, pound shops, pubs and chapels, Chips and Chinese treats

Fuel rampant ruts of brain -dead yobs thinking ‘am I neat?’

As they chase pride of   inebriate student girls bursting at the seams,

Displaying half- naked bits worth face -book or twitter tweet

Bulging breasts, muffin tops and wrestlers’ thighs the visual scene completes

Outside Embassy and Acedemi   your nocturnal nightclub themes,

Brussen bouncers, busted noses, blood, vomit, sirens, shrieks and screams

Creoso i Dinas Bangor City of Learning; is this how you greet?


By Chris Barnes



A gem from the past – Dried Flowers featured on the website some years ago

Dried flower arrangement Poem by Chris Barnes


Your true soul   Description: Description: Description: Description: Description: C:\Users\Chris\Documents\poems_files\image016.gif   sprialled outwards

Before it was trapped

Now eyes lock skyward,

Besotted by silver


Shimmering above

Like diamond dust,

While faces

Dawn briefly

Smiling anew

As they did

When orange ripples

Blew wild and free

Haloes round centres of ochre sun

Cascading Pollen rivulets

Spiralling  down

Moist banks

Of Lilly white freesias

Over beaches

                                                                                                              Into the sea,

While the storm of my brain

Shocks back to present

For them only to be




As your



Rigid and Joined








Dry bottle below



 The rest of the poems – I'm afraid I've written so many hundreds they couldn't all feature on the site so here is just a flavor

Windy Autumn Day Poem (2010)


Survey today North West Wales

Windy grey autumnal day

Crows like planes at play

Signing x’s,’y’s’, zeds and o’s;


Fickle formation randomly perturbed

Contrasting limply floating leaves,

Tiny russet- ochre parachutes

Pirouetting passports to certain death below


In putrefying pile of rotten regeneration

Where slugs and worms tunnel under

Cans and crisp packets performing  Description: Description: Description: Description: Description: C:\Users\Chris\Documents\poems_files\image017.jpg

Stunt like temporary animation;


Action too in high canopy above

Resonating with nature’s breath

Branches wildly advertise their waving

Waning existences this day they are alive.


2009 Poetry -this was dominated by the death of our favourite pet cat in a Road Accident  

 An Ode to Lucy aged just 10 months – The sweetest pet cat we ever owned – Our whole family were heartbroken.


Only a cat yet daughter I never had

Tiny bundle of joy I watched

You develop, grow and learn

Softly, stupidly I sang YOU LULLABIES

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Pussy cat pussy close those big

Green eyes as you ate whiskas

Me just coffee and minced pies

Tears still welling in my eyes


Recalling life so precious happy

But short oh so, so short

Immense joys, amusement

And pleasure you brought


Pussy more than standard moggy

Came for walks like any doggy

Playing fetch toy mouse or teddy

Loving me rubbing that furry belly



                                                                                                 You’d scale your Lidl stropping

Pole time after time, after time

Perched on top for a while

You the lion, I tamer of the wild


Mad, crazy kitten demolishing

Kitchen and furry activity centre

Chasing crinkled sweet papers

Resting at night with the wife supine


Pampered pussy cat what a sweet

But short, oh so short, short a life

  Like those of mice and birds you took

Just instincts’ predatory strife


Such my stomach turned to

Thoughts of how was gentle touch

Paws outstretched stroking us

Not a claw or nail in sight


Pure unconditional warmth and love

Compatible with camouflaged soldier

Mean and playful killing machine

Deeds in the field unclean, unseen


And like a child we kept close tabs

Calling ‘Lucy, Lucy, Baby, Baby

Foody Doody’ day on day, night on night

Dinner, Tea, Supper and Slumber


For slinky, cute, pampered girl

Mere teenager in human terms

Until the fated day of no return

You’d stretched and knowingly


Looked me in the eye rubbing

More lovingly than usual

Mirroring my scratch on your pole

Pawing the door of eternity


All night and half the next day

We yelled and balled shouting

To no avail while you climbed

Final staircase victim of road kill


Nice man and a doctor tried to help

Gingerly we had to ask where’s

The body – embarrassed THEIR

Time to tell; my eyes with tears really, really well


All neatly sanitised, wrapped in cardboard

In their bin; only a cat daughter I never had

He came back with parcel and sheepish grin

I nursed you one last time


I thought I felt a stir but rigor mortise had set in

Green eyes closed but fur still soft, oh so lovely

Darling you’re home and proper buried now

I got you back, forgive their cardinal sin


Recalling life so precious happy

But short oh so, so short

Immense joys, amusement

And pleasure you brought.





Chrisbarnespoet September 2009

Lucy gone but not forgotten (2009)


Two weeks on we both still miss you like crazy,

Remembered not forgotten sweet little one

Pleasant memories of your life jogged

Morning noon and night nudged and tugged


They come alive again, the expectant

Expecting purring paws at our lonely feet

You show us your food packs –neat

Tossing rolled wrappings chocolate, sweets


Hiding in corners, plant pots, under three-piece suite

Stealthily pouncing on warm laps –no pain

Nothing moving sacred or safe, lumps in our bedspread or

Quilt playground for feline queen until fate, horrible, unseen


Day on day I prayed for Christ-like resurrection

Stirred at scar in turf on lawn -marker of tiny grave

Why did none of nine lives appear to save? 

Furry tortoiseshell only laughter and pleasure she gave


No more tears now you’re back home pussycat,

Soul parted crumpled corpse, called up to tiger heaven

Night on night translucent orb in lounge, shadowy clue,

Strolls past my club chair eight fifteen, the final cue.


Chrisbarnespoet September 2009



Clearly something we don't understand is at work

my ideas range from simple habitat destruction to overuse of herbicides and pesticides . Or I wonder if there is something far more subtle like bio-resonance with G3 cell phone signals or insects can’t cope with the changed spectral signature of our daylight (global dimming) because we live under a very busy air- lane.


Butterfly lament; Poem by Chris Barnes.


Summer heat 'engineered' late this year

It hits now fear is nearer

More so than June 2004

When the Cuckoo met befall


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The odd ragged Cabbage White

Meanders past lonely Buddleias

Longing to feel tonguing Proboscis

Tortoiseshell, Admiral and Fritillary



To no avail, all insects’ life on the wane

Garden doesn’t even sound sane

Blame Global Warming convenient

For taxation, bleed the nation, name the game



Played by high in sky or by radio from remote Alaskan Plane?

So Clouds and sky don’t even look the same

Remember days when aluminium meant window frame

And Barium stood for stomach X-ray frame



Yes frame the view when cloud was fluffy

Flat bottomed stuff -God’s void between

Deep heavenly, dark blue, hue; pre –nineties

Planet many of us loved and knew



Of soul and harmony, divinity nearby

Until men entrusted with the geometry of sky

Destroy insectivorous life and its will to fly

Hearken to the warning else they too may fall and die.





MORE 2008

Boot-sale Britain by Chris Barnes


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This Easter we drove to sacred the site,

This Easter we joined the congregation,

This Easter we gave to charitable collection,

This Easter we heard their many ministries,

This Easter we had collective expectation

Of sure rebirth and certain resurrection,

Not ours but theirs, all their worldly wares

Old clocks chimed and old pews shone

In weak vernal sun, next to faded kids' clothes

After gambling good Friday, this Easter

We bought and sold on boot-sale Sunday.

Copyright Chrisbarnespoet.




2007 poetry


Wisteria Sinesis Poem by Chris Barnes.  Description: Description: Description: Description: Description: C:\Users\Chris\Documents\poems_files\image025.jpg


Lady in stunning violet gown

Your locks unfold and flow

Your arms and legs invite caress



Most every intimate surface

Sees a million tiny droplet

Earrings dangle in the wind



Dainty hands outstretch

Touching sun’s message

Beckoning irresistible beauty,


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Shading insect lovers

Lustful Lepidoptera mystified

By your manifold gaze



Compound eyes and mine

Focus on Wisteria Sinesis

Ingesting magnetic galleries




2006 A prolific year





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 Audience with

Bassin Aux Nympheas,


My head cocked aside,

In awe of the impressionist mind

Entrained God given eyes

In captured appreciation

Of an arched ivory spine,

An inner reflection

Artist’s cunningly placed line;

Hand rails on the bridge of time,

Which no living soul has ever touched,

Ends anchored firmly

Beyond peripheral view

A sort of Peter the Rock

Beside Joseph’s coat,

Multicolored unimaginable hue;

While the sun’s tears

Laburnum rivulets

Rain down on steadfast planks,

And the being they never knew

Fades slowly into view,

As if, ascendant,

Heaven wise from pool of pixilation below,

Beginning great meeting with maker;

Moments later I fix upon another blue,

Bright, fragmented azure

Circumscribed water Lilly

Or maybe was it algal bloom?

Slowly drifting on the surface of reality

I thank my host for audience with

Bassin Aux Nympheas,

A truly divine Monet Print


By Chris Barnes .


Skateboarders’ side-walk

I wrote this poem while teaching in a student's house, there was a poster on the wall featuring skateboarders and graffiti and it was difficult to ascertain which was in the foreground!

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Scenes quite surreal suddenly take my gaze

Poignantly intellectually awkward decisions

Await expectant onlooker

Which most captivates; subway or hyperspace?



This alley so chic, brimming with exhibitionist graffiti,

Where a guy topped with head like cross

Between pink Buddha and

Easter Island statue, really takes me in!



All and any onlookers sort of out of it

Devoid of reality, abstracted from action

                                                                                                 Top right, centre-stage and up a bit

Neuronal perception scores the hit,

While the guy in hyperspace beckons;

Limbs now part company, board crisply cuts the warp.


By Chris Barnes October 2006 


I was approached by the US website Artvilla for my début with this poem

Empathetically a Seagull  Description: Description: Description: Description: Description: C:\Users\Chris\Documents\poems_files\image030.gif

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Sentient winged creature

Standing upon windswept roof;

Truly ruling immediate roost

On modest, murky March day;

I wonder, do you work or do you play?

Perhaps meet a mate –arrange a date



And, when you preened your

Private plumage so pettily

Afore that shiny chimney guard,

My half –stooped sleepy figure bearing

Toothbrush and razor by bedroom dresser

Came to light in your charade,



And what of that half -ugly

One- legged stunt,

You stretched and bent

Awkwardly strutting your stuff,

So to rise majestically into

Factual flight of flights,



Formidable, fanciful flight

By creature, facet of creation,

Cleverer than given credit,

Watching with fortitude I forget

Stiff back and aching limbs

Linger only in human plight.




Site last updated 14th  December 2014