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
DR CHRIS BARNES; INTERDISCIPLINARY EDUCATOR AND SCIENTIST, RADIO AND ELECTRONCIS ENGINEER, INVENTOR AND ENVIRONMENTAL RESEARCHER. YET WITH A KEEN PASSION FOR CREATIVE WRITING CHRIS IS ALSO A PUBLISHED POET WITH WORK IN SEVERAL ANCHOR BOOKS AND WORK IN AESTHETICA MAGAZINE.

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

 POETRY BIO

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.

(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!)

Symbiosis

A strange symbiosis this

The seagull and the wildcat

Avian mistletoe leaching

Mammalian feline’s 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 feline’s 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 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 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. Copyright 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 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   sprialled outwards Before it was trapped Now eyes lock skyward, Besotted by silver Resurrection, 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 Stifled AND Confined As your Blistering Heads Rigid and Joined                                                                                                                   Starving On Brittle Stems In Parched 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  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 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 2008 POETRY – IT WAS NOTICED THAT INSECTS ARE DYING OUT AT AN ALARMING RATE 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 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 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.  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, 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 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! 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  EARLIER WORK   I was approached by the US website Artvilla for my début with this poem Empathetically a Seagull 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. Chrisbarnespoet Site last updated 14th  December 2014