and buds poke from the branch
like little horns, not weathered
from a year under the sun
but golden fresh, ready.
My car is covered with an amorous
amount of tree pollen. I offer
the neighbor kids old-fashioned
paper money to wash it off.
A dawn finger taps at my window
and an grinning face appears,
mossy beard, leafy hair.
He whistles, it’s almost spring
(For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt and Living Poetry’s Monday Prompt and the looming vernal equinox.)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. 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 lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
I really enjoyed this poem; you put a lot into it — and it comes off !
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Thanks, John! While I put a lot into my poetry, I want it to read like I didn’t.
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too right: well said —
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Delightful details of the coming season! 🌼
old-fashioned / paper money
👍🏻
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Thanks, Michele! It’s all about the green.
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I love this! The effect is skillfully effortless!
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Thank you very much, Lia!
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Haha I like the image the green bush giant. 🤠
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Yeah! I was surprised there were no “Green Man” images in the free stock photo archives. I hope that pic, which I found on a ten year old post at someone else’s blog isn’t copyrighted.
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Wonderful poem and amazing image!
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Molto Grazie, Luisa!
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Prego, caro Bartholomew
My pleasure
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Brings on a sense of hope for humanity. Beautiful.
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Thanks! Didn’t realize it was that wide ranging.
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It’s an absolute pleasure. Abstract is afterall boundless.
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Yay – The Green Man in our garden…..
In the summer he disappears into the foliage. In the winter he re-emerges. This time of year the leaves are starting to grow round him again……
We call him Tom Bombadil. He smiles, and raises a smile.
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That’s the kind of picture I went looking for to illustrate the poem. I should’ve just contacted you first!
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I/we have lots of pics – if you’re looking for something – email and I’ll see what we’ve got!
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