New Poetry by Stuart Barnes

Bone Scan

in memory of Gwen Harwood,

who encouraged the eleven-year-old

me to write poetry

In the twinkling of an eye,

in a moment, all is changed:

on a small radiant screen

(honeydew melon green)

are my scintillating bones.

Still in my flesh I see

the God who goes with me

glowing with radioactive

isotopes. This is what he

at last allows a mortal

eye to behold: the grand

supporting frame complete

(but for the wisdom teeth),

the friend who lives beneath

appearances, alive

with light. Each glittering bone

assures me: you are known.

- Stuart Barnes 2012

Bullfighting

Seven

years ago

sentenced by

a picador

to be herded three times a week toward

a barely furnished dusty room

a ghastly plastic calla

a banderillero

that drove

the diagnoses

in my neck

like vivid sticks:

panic, bipolar, schizoaffective,

obsessive-compulsive, generalized

anxiety, borderline

personality and

substance-induced anxiety

disorders.

So many Romantic syllables!

In seven years a wounded bull

can lose a million pints of blood.

I charged and gored

a matador

when it redly strode

inside my ring.

- Stuart Barnes 2012