#4

snow is pouring down

outside my window and

when I take out the trash

the air hurts my skin.

i imagine homeless people

stuffed down deep

in their sleeping bags,

tucked under bridges.

if my warm bed and

my shower’s hot water

can’t give me more patience,

especially for those

who sleep in pouring snow,

then what good are they?




Carol Barrow
February, 2018

#3

i don't know

i don't know

would those of you who know

please be quiet for

a moment

so 

we 

all

can

listen

?

Carol Barrow

February, 2018

#2

There is a yellow dumpster in front of the red house. An old man used to live in that house. I remember him mowing the lawn. An old woman used to live there, too. She would walk in her summer nightgown out toward the street to pick up the newspaper. A large birch grew near where the dumpster sits today. It got older and sicker until one day it was gone. I think the same thing happened to the man and the woman. 

Carol Barrow

February, 2018

#1

it
took
a
long
time
to
learn
that
love
does
not
care
if
any
thing
or
any
one
is
deserv
ing
accord
ing
to
those
who
dec
lare
such
things

it
took
a
long
time
to
know
love
is
freely
given
limitless
the
source
of
all
there
is
is
all
there
is

since
all
there
is
is
love
it
really
did
not
take
any
time
at
all




Carol Barrow
February, 2018

Love Like Rain

I love you.
I love you.
The heart releases love like rain. 
It doesn't matter where love lands;
we're all thirsty
Throw away 
that old battered umbrella
turn your head to the sky and
let love drops wash
the sleep from your eyes
so you can see
your own clear perfection.



Carol Barrow
January, 2018

Morning Communion

each day
as She pushed back the curtains,
She said
good morning 
to the potted christmas cactus
on Her windowsill.
sometimes –
and not necessarily just at christmas,
for the plant had a mind of its own –
Her greeting would be returned
in the form
of delicate pink bird-shaped flowers.
this day
the plant offered a scattering of blossoms.
She reached out to them,
looked into their tissue paper beauty,
and took joy in their magnificence.

meanwhile, little did she know that

each day
as the curtains were pushed back,
the potted Christmas Cactus
on her windowsill heard her say
good morning.
sometimes –
and not necessarily just at christmas,
for the Cactus had a mind of its own –
It would return her greeting
in the form of delicate pink bird-shaped flowers.
this day
The Plant offered a scattering of blossoms.
They reached out to her,
looked into her fair-skinned beauty,
and took joy in her magnificence.

Carol Barrow

February, 2018