He didn’t invent
motorcycles or leather
but he did die young
Today is the 67th anniversary of James Dean’s death.
Bartholomew Barker and James Dean are sixth cousins twice removed. The poet’s grandparents are buried within sight of the actor’s grave in Park Cemetery and one of Barker’s uncles rode motorcycles with the young Dean, both rebelling without much cause.
We published seven Sorta-Sonnets, a very intentional number. I then took two lines from each of the poems and mashed them together into this pastiche, which is another Sorta-Sonnet. My gratitude to all the poets who submitted and to Sammi Cox for her indulgence.
Sorta-Sonnet Pastiche
Punishment in the afterlife is a quaint idea
there is an abundance of talent
walking the mystery and illusions of being in love
I feel a little drunk
It takes a long time to die
millions can see the problems
in the light of the sun solstice rain you howl
or is it the other way around
I’ve become the curator of your museum
sweet summer memories held in a jar
transform into people with thoughts
and time drifts like ash
My eyes drink in all beauty
and lasso this scene and take it home
Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
I always find my keys
in the next to last place
I look. I keep searching
between cushions, just in case.
Maybe I’ll discover another set
that unlocks a faster car,
a bigger house, a better life,
hidden under the coffee table
or in the vegetable crisper.
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit. www.bartbarkerpoet.com
We’re all in trouble if the Sun
keeps sinking earlier and rising later
No thaw in the Earth— no planting in spring
no harvest in autumn just a night with no dawn
Snow piles higher— rivers freeze to their beds
and the atmosphere shivers solid
Leaving our icicles around the final embers
of the fire we lit tonight to entice the prodigal sun
Back to the sky
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit. www.bartbarkerpoet.com
Whispers and Echoes 