The Barley

When I climb the slope
of Bottom Field, I run
my open palm through
the stalks of barley.
The little cobs are green
and the stems are
a ghostly blue and
those grouped antennae
are just junior whiskers.
This multitude, though young,
has buried the hill
and is its own horizon.
I shall come down the slope
of Bottom Field some day
in the coming months,
heading for home. And
I shall run my brown hand
through the barley stalks,
now a dusty gold, each
ear a dream of bread, each
stalk a dream of chaff and
we shall know each other.

About Dick Jones

I'm a post-retirement Drama teacher, currently working part-time. I have a grown-up son and daughter, three grandchildren and three young children from my second marriage. I write - principally poetry but prose too, both fitfully published. My poetry collection Ancient Lights is published by Phoenicia Publishing ( and my translation of Blaise Cendrars' 'Trans-Siberian Prosody and Little Jeanne from France' (illustrated by my friend, the artist, writer and long-time blogger Natalie d'Arbeloff) is published by Old Stile Press ( I play bass guitar & bouzouki in the song-based acoustic/electric trio Moorby Jones, playing entirely original material. spotify:artist:07MDD5MK9MnRGSEZwbsas9 I have a dormant blog with posts going back to 2004 at Dick Jones' Patteran Pages - - and I'm a radio ham. My callsign is G0EUV
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9 Responses to The Barley

  1. Carruthers says:

    I like the dream of bread. We get ears growing in our garden every year. I guess birds must drop the seeds.

    • Dick Jones says:

      Thank you very much! It’s rare to have new visitors to this lonely outpost.

    • Dick Jones says:

      Sorry, Dom, an unrecognised nom de plume! I’ll chase up the chap’s work.
      BTW, I’ve deactivated my Facebook account. Whether FB Central got tired of me or I overdosed everyone with my constant newsfeed material, I found that my interactions and post likes suddenly dried up. I put out a couple of distress calls but got no responses so I got my coat. I’m currently hanging out not very comfortably on Instagram.

      • Carruthers says:

        Similar experience here. One factor perhaps is I think people used social media more during the lockdowns and have drifted away since. I’ve totally wound down Facebook too (even deleted almost all past posts, comments, etc.), but have kept it active on account of a village group I’m admin of and Messenger, which I use quite a bit. Will probably use it to share blog/Bandcamp/etc. posts now and again.

  2. Lynne Rees says:

    It’s a beautifully lyrical poem and a gorgeous last line.

  3. Natalie says:

    It’s a beautiful, eloquent poem Dick, and those below (which I hadn’t read until now) are marvellous too. I am very ashamed not to be visiting you on this page more often and have no valid excuse. If time is an excuse it’s a feeble one but I can’t deny that currently my time (as years go by… la la la la) is spent with minimal social interacting, whether online or in reality. I carry on making art because that’s my life and I’m more aware now that I haven’t got forever anymore! 93 next birthday very soon! Anyway, forgive me. I’ve sent you an email. Thankyou for the music of your poetry.

  4. Dick Jones says:

    Please don’t apologise, Natalie. Time pressure needn’t be an excuse, but it can be an explanation. I know of (and envy) your practical commitment to work. I’m just happy that we get to see the fruit of the daily labours! And thank you for your words. Your praise is very welcome and much valued.

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