Dorothea Barth
Prose and Poetry

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2009

I left my hat in San Francisco
A fetching burgundy
Perhaps while smelling daffodils
It fell beneath a tree

Or sipping pinot grigio
While Mona Lisa smiled
And dipping bread in olive oil
While corner man laughed wild

We wondered at his secrets
That brought the comic muse
And as we pondered his delight
My hat may have flown loose.

It will go on, my hat, I trust
To frame a fairer face
As for my heart, it too will thrive
I bring it everyplace.

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2008

Your sacredness discovered
In ancient desert sand,
Entombed as Thoth with pharaohs
Across the arid land.

Sacred bird do you regret
The honor you were given,
That shortened so your earthly stay,
Departing from the living?

Your sacredness forgotten
On Europe’s southern marsh,
And as your family flourished,
Your critics turned more harsh.

Sacred bird do you regret
Your colonies so thrived,
That welcome waned from where you grew,
Hostility arrived?

Your sacredness remembered
Amidst sequoia trees,
With friendly birds from distant shores,
To roam just as you please.

Sacred bird do you rejoice
That posing on the fence,
Your sacredness remains within,
Uncaptured by my lens?

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2009

Battle in the Strait was inspired by a visit to the 2009 NorCal Pirate Festival.  The autographed copy will contain a battle  photo taken at the scene.

Most days when I walk this shore
The water flows in peace
It may ripple, it may churn,
Sails languid in the breeze

But on a radiant summer day
In two thousand and nine
To great surprise, the Redcoats came
Where strait and shore align

Imagine such arrival
In view of where did reign
The West Coast’s largest shipyard
Whose restless ghosts remain

Looking closer I discern
What caused this frightful scene:
Everywhere are pirates
Upon my serene green

Singing shanties, shouting arrgh
One tries to capture me
Tempts me with a jeweled cuff
He barely sets me free

My ears then burst with splitting booms
Blue sky fills with haze
I bravely face the water
Sight leaves me in a daze

Red pirate ship with full-blown sails
Arrives where once I’d wait
To board a friendly ferry
For city ‘cross the Strait

Cacophony, confusion
I run into the glen
Cannot conclude who triumphed:
The pirates or Britain?

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2008

Steiner Street was inspired by a visit to the boyhood home of legendary violinist Yehudi Menuhin.

Onto the street where music thrived,
Past boyhood park of glee,
With wonder we arrive to see
One thousand forty-three.

Steiner Street stands silent,
But when our car rolls in,
Glass breaks beneath a tire,
Reminder in the din

That everything must change and turn,
A biblical decree;
Whereto the spirit once within
Who played so splendidly?

Steiner house stands silent,
Victorian abode,
Mozart, Bach, and Schubert,
Gone from where once they glowed.

A chosen cherub blossomed here,
Fleet fingers, golden bow,
Sublime endeavor bearing fruit,
Beloved by Apollo.

Steiner house stands silent,
Soft lavender its hues,
Alluring are its secrets,
Bright boyhood and the muse.

Will you not share your story now?
Chimes curiosity;
In stillness comes the answer:
What can I offer thee?

Stringful house stands silent,
As decades disappear,
Contemplation deepens,
Is that Chaconne I hear?

Enchanting old adjacent inn
Welcomes us to see
The history and fair façade
Of Chateau Tivoli.

Steiner house stays silent,
At last we must agree,
Discovery awaits us
At next door’s B and B.

A cup of tea, a music stand,
A flute, a violin,
A serenade across the fence
Where once lived Menuhin.

Steiner Street stands silent,
And we go on our way;
As neighbors we will soon return,
If only for a day.

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2009

Well known ’s the tale of mermaid fair
Who rose to leave the sea
For love or curious yearning
Chose life’s complexity

O Mermaid are you satisfied?
Did love endure, suffice?
Or do you lament this journey,
This tossing of the dice?

Another tale must still be told
Although it may yet fail
Of mortal woman’s wond’ring wish:
Swap feet for mermaid’s tail

O Mermaid what’s it like to swim
B’neath surface of the sea?
With dolphins for companions
Alluring, fresh, and free?

At times kind friends have mentioned
It’s better to pretend
Just try the look, just wear the tail
Your fantasies will mend

O Mermaid, here’s my quandary:
Pretend will not permit
I wasn’t born with mermaid’s grace
Such slipper doesn’t fit!

Fluidity is often lost
In mortal woman’s face
Ambition steals serenity
Life’s sorrows tax our grace

O Mermaid, would you guide me then?
Will you take the helm?
Reveal those worlds I cannot see
In your enchanted realm

I walk along the water’s edge
Not far from where they thrive
And ponder such adventure that
Might re-invent my life

O Mermaid share your wisdom now
Where lies my remedy?
The mortal’s world ‘midst trees and trials,
Or life beneath the sea?

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2009

A pixie piped a piccolo
A goblin strummed a lute
A fairy fiddler pranced around
An elf played rosewood flute

From distant lake a mermaid sang
A most enticing feat
And somewhere in a berry bush
A gay gnome kept the beat

A cheerful chorus then burst forth
From songbirds in the glen
A boisterous exclamation rose
From goldcrest, thrush, and wren

The wind and water were inspired
The add their mystery
Swooshing. trickling, rustling wild
Past oak and willow tree

The flowers opened up with glee
To share their scent with all
And deep within the forest
A red fox fired a call

A more alluring songfest
I can scarce recall
Be very still and you will hear
Such moments musicale

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2009

In midland hills where cedars thrive,
A rare and wistful sight:
Her iridescence could not hide
A fairy shorn of flight.

She sat beneath the morning sky,
Devoid of healing dew,
Though fawns had lately frolicked there,
Her spirit shimmered blue.

Bluer than the bonnets fair
That in springtime bloom,
Bluer than the berries round,
Unfairy-like her gloom.

For what could harm a fairy,
Whose essence is the light,
Whose joy reigns unencumbered
Through all the seasons bright?

Might I, mere mortal, intervene
To soothe her wing so torn?
My flute inspired by fairy song,
The notes aloft are born.

Bluer than the summer sky
Unmarred by threat'ning storm,
Bluer than the bluebird's call,
Notes match her fragile form.

Then slyly did I change my song
To that which might enhance
A memory of brighter days,
A fairy circle dance.

Soon did she lift a lum'nous wing
As fairy tune danced on,
A gentle breeze enveloped her,
She shimmered, then was gone.

Bluer than the bonnets fair
That in the springtime bloom,
Bluer than the berries round,
Away the fairy's gloom.

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2009

Beneath a fragrant eucalypt
An old gnome danced a reel
His step grew ever faster
His sorrow not to feel.

What ails you, charming fellow?
From what land did you roam?
Kind eucalypt, your wisdom’s great
Indeed, I long for home.

O I can feel your sorrow
For where this seed has flown
Can never be my homeland
Where taller kin have grown.

My treasure lies across the sea
The frantic gnome spoke up
I yearn for mist and bracing wind
The dune, the buttercup.

Await you then the gentle goose
Flown down from northern sky
So oft not welcome in this land
In morning he’ll be by.

Indeed, in early morning’s light
A goose with snow-white ring
Arrived to hear the gnome’s lament
And offered him his wing.

To the weathered eucalypt
They bode a fond farewell
And then began their journey.
Above the ocean’s swell.

In land of ever-changing light
The gnome and goose arrived
The tulip fairies welcomed them
And both of them have thrived.

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2010

On whom does Puck his juice bestow?
Whose sprinkling ardor does ignite
Of late it's not on me, I know.

Saved perhaps for youthful glow
Where passion and desire alight
On whom does Puck his juice bestow?

May land above and not below
Dispersed in acrobatic flight
Of late it's not on me, I know.

The maiden doused but not her beau
Transformed to vapor in the night
Where Puck did once his juice bestow.

Now tossed with mischief, then to blow
Rare liquid falling not quite right
Of late it's not on me, I know.

'Midst chattering gulls in silver flow
He hovers, waves, and winks delight
On whom does Puck his juice bestow?
Perhaps today on me, I know.

by Dorothea Barth Copyright 2010

Berklee eyes the blizzard
Beyond the window sill
Playful possibilities
For energy to spill

Berklee barges through the drift
Toddling, yet so tall
But barely tall enough to match
The snow that just did fall

A blur of cream and golden fur
Cold powder on his nose
Winter is the greatest time
As only Berklee knows

Were one of us to vanish 
Into the arctic blue
Our Berklee'd come to rescue
With flask of amber brew

With warming breath and soulful eyes
He'd bring us our salvation
Small wonder, because our Berklee be
St. Bernard, not Dalmatian!

by Dorothea Barth copyright 2010 

Along the Bay Coast's shoreline
A snowstorm fills my mind
That softly blurs the trees and shrubs
On mid-Atlantic's side

The cumulus reminds me
That soon I'll fly above
To desert of enchantment
A land that lenses love

The North wind begs attention
Its freshness sweeps along
The branches 'round me brightened
Enlivened by its song

Amidst this winter clarity
Some clouds due South appear
The whites and grays are blending
A rainbow forming near

A raven and a red-tailed hawk
Beneath the arch now soar
And as I fantasize such flight
The rainbow is no more

Yet yonder, 'cross the island strait
Where mythic mares did graze
The setting sun has spread its glow
Ghosts bathed in golden haze

A coda of light raindrops
Accompanies me home
Awakened to the magic
The light is where I roam

by Dorothea Barth copyright 2010 

While peering through the cumulus
On Southwest desert flight
I saw a gnome with pointed hat
Upon the wing alight

He sat carefree quite near the edge
His beard blown by the breeze
His tiny feet were dangling
Oblivious, at ease

Kabouter, I identified
That ancient lowland gnome
Oft did we meet in childhood
Near my ancestral home

The bright-edged wing turned upward
And sliding from its tip
The enlivened leprechaun
Played on this aerial ship

As he bounced off my window
My mind flew off its track
His beard was gone, his hat transformed
And hunched became his back

I should have known, I might have guessed
Who'd come along to ride
The trickster Kokopelli
The Southwest desert's pride

A distant kin to impish Puck
He plays upon a flute
He scatters notes, not magic juice
And brings fresh rain, new root

I lost him on the desert train
That through the night and morn
Rolled onward to enchanted land
Where Kokopelli 's born

Arrived at arid snow-swept fields
Where once fierce battles played
But where through tumult and distress
Kokopelli stayed

Now Kokopelli's everywhere
In silver and in blue
But his commercial countenance
Feels incomplete, untrue

As winter's sun began to set
I found what storefronts lack:
My breath poured through a simple flute
Brought Kokopelli back 

G minor pentatonic
The tunes cannot sound wrong
Kokopelli's spirit
Kokopelli's song

by Dorothea Barth ©2010

Awakened by a buzz of honey bees
A vineyard faery tumbles from her bowers
Inhales the fragrant morning mist, then spins
And lands amidst a sea of mustard flowers

Although the grape leaves do not yet ascend
To grow sweet fruit for man's divine content
The bees and elves are early satisfied
In yellow petals find their element

Some centuries since golden trail was strewn
Along the California verdant coast
The missions followed golden rosary
Now bounteous grapes produce a golden toast

The vineyard's rejouissance so soon arrives
While snowflakes dance across more distant hills
Precocious greening graces all the fields
Late winter faery's effervescence spills

by Dorothea Barth ©2010

When summer's ripening glory glows
And berry time is very near
The elves join hands in mirthful dance
Bourrée is what you'll likely hear

In dainty double time they step
Around  the sumptuous berry mound
The summer's cornucopia
Grown high or low above the ground

Whether large or whether small
Whether aggregate or true
The delicate sweet fruits inspire
Whether purple, pink, or blue

The berries mul and berries cran
Grown rich and red across the sea
The berries elder or blackcurrant
Born from the shrub or from the tree

It doesn't matter where they grow
Bright berries blue of Edward's Isle
Or berries goose of Stonehenge soil
All Faeryland will dance and smile

by Dorothea Barth ©2010

At last the Holly King holds court
And Yuletide magic seems complete
With lights, good cheer, and cider mulled
We watch the snow and warm the feet

Perhaps a brief and bracing walk
Past barren branches dipped in white
Were we to see with eyes of elves
We'd celebrate a different sight

Each flake of snow a miracle
Evolving geometric frame
Kaleidoscope in crystal
December's transformation game

And so it is that winter's elves
By us unseen within their bowers
Do not at all lament the cold
When splendid sight enchants their hours