​

A seminary of quiet trust,

where hearts are weighed without a sound.

What cannot prove itself in dust

is still the place where love is found.

He learned that faith is not a claim,

nor something spoken to be heard,

but carried through the longest strain

when every promise breaks its word.

For every doubt that enters in

still leaves its mark beneath the skin,

and what is lost and what has been

both shape the life a heart lives in.

She learned that love is not a flame

that burns without the cost of night,

but something held through loss and shame

that still returns to what feels right.

She did not turn when silence came,

nor shut the door when distance grew,

but held him close without a claim

to force what time would not undo.

For he and she were placed within

a bond not always understood,

yet still returned again, again—

as if love called them back for good.

And in the middle, softly cast—

a line where both their truths align:

what breaks within does not stay past,

it learns to stand through space and time.

A seminary of quiet trust,

where hearts are weighed without a sound.

What cannot prove itself in dust

is still the place where love is found.

Her past

A child's quiet gaze,

A bond of friendship through a haze.

She told him that she needed him

But she never told him just what for.

And time, like a river without bends

Would flow over his feet once more.

Some nights she'd call

As if nothing had changed.

Her voice as soft as candlelight,

Burning with no promise

Just a warmth he could never hold.

She never meant to lie -

But the truth she carried

Was too heavy to sit down.

So she left it

Right next to the place

She had carved into his heart.

He waited - not out of patience,

But because letting go

Felt like tearing pages

From a book that had no end.

They said love was kind

But he saw it as unsure-

Timid, like a deer

The steps forward

Then bolts like a bullet

At the sound of its own heart.

He built no altar;

Only kept the lights low

And the door unlocked

Not because he believed she would come

But because

He didn't know how to lock it.

There's a burden in that kind of waiting

A soft constant pulling

Like gravity,

But lonelier.

And the world moved on

Like it always does;

He stayed,

Because someone had to bear

What both of them were too afraid to name.

Castle of the Heart - By Joel Barb - Castle of the Heart writes@yahoo

You surely are the one

My eyes run after you.

To catch your smiling softly in

The Twilight of the moon.

Rise up -

My love, my fair one;

And run away with me

We'll go far away

And live among

The islands in the sea.

We'll fly away to outer space

and Tour the world of Mars

Travel all the planets

And be cast-away on Stars.

Rise up-

My love, my fair one;

And run away with me.

We'll go far away and live

Among the islands on the sea...

JFB

I want you to know about karma?

I'm going to tell you a story that's probably going to blow your mind, and I am so glad it didn't happen to you.

I paid Thomas Nelson Community College to teach me the basics of riding a motorcycle. I was planning on buying a Harley-Davidson, which I eventually did. It was a 2003 Fat Boy.

As it turned out, I bought the motorcycle the same week I started the course.

So, on my first day at Thomas Nelson Community College, they gave me a Honda motorcycle to use. The problem was, that motorcycle had bald tires, one of the lights was hanging off the handlebars, the gears weren't shifting correctly, and honestly, the motorcycle itself was unsafe.

But they still told me I had to ride it because it was the only motorcycle they had left.

I did my best to get through the course. We were almost finished when we started doing an obstacle course in the big parking lot. One of the obstacles required a hard left turn.

When I made that hard left turn, the motorcycle slid right out from underneath me.

I damaged one of my knees again. I had already had problems with my knees throughout my life because of an accident I had in Italy.

But instead of being understanding, the instructor got mad. He started making smart-ass comments, talking about how easy the turn was and making me feel pretty damn lame for having trouble riding that Honda with bald tires.

He made me feel pretty bad.

But here's where the karma comes in.

He kept talking about how easy that hard left turn was.

This man was my instructor, and he made me feel like I was some child who had never been on a motorcycle before and was just borrowing an unsafe Honda to learn how to ride.

That wasn't even the case.

I was taking the course to refresh my skills because I was preparing to ride an expensive motorcycle. I already had experience, but I wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing before getting on my Harley.

Needless to say, I never said anything to that man. I never complained. I never tried to sue anybody. I simply went on with my life.

Then, maybe a month or two later, I read in the newspaper that the instructor had been killed in a motorcycle accident.

Do you know what happened?

He was taking a hard left turn.

And he wrecked.

He died.

 I didn't wish that on him, and I never wanted anything bad to happen to him.

But when I read that story, I couldn't help but think about what he had said to me.

That's karma unfolding.

So be careful what you say to people.

You never know when the words you use to make someone else feel small might come back around to you.

Additionally DO NOT TAKE A MOTORCYCLE COURSE AT THOMAS NELSON COMMUNITY COLLEGE.

​

The mystery of God is

The silence between breaths,

Where The whispers of stars

Speak to the dark,

A question we Chase

But never quite catch

A riddle in the wind,

And answer in the heart.

We walked away of choices,

Stone by stone,

Each fork in the road shapes the soul,

Every step is a reflection of who we've been,

And the person we strive to know.

To be better they say

Is to seek the light,

But what is light but shadows twin?

In every fall a rise begins

In every flaw a strength tucked in

It's not perfection, nor in life without sin,

But the courage to bend, the will to begin again.

To ask, to wonder, to learn how to be

Not a perfect man

But a man set free.

For the mystery of god, we find our Grace

Not in answers;

But in the sacred chase.

And the choices we make,

For love and through strife,

We find the way to a better life.

So stand at the crossroads, unafraid to start,

The map to becoming a better you

Is carved in the corners of your heart.

Joel. 2022

​

Flying was the gypsy moth,

White as silk with wings of gold.

Running wild, the faithful gun dog

Carried wisdom fierce and old.

There the minuteman stood fearless,

Though some called him foolhardy.

With the dire wolf at his shoulder,

Walked the path of destiny.

Then the May Queen, crowned in spirit,

On a dragon rode the wind.

Through the pages of creation,

Where all stories first begin.

I lay upon my fire bed,

Cursing earth and cursing sky.

On the Book of Life there rested

A catchfly - asking, "Tell me why."

The blackbird sang at twilight's edge,

Its song a whisper to the rain.

The dragonflies, like shards of light,

Rose and fell across the plain.

Beneath the earth the old mole wandered,

Carving tunnels out of sight.

Above, the eagle watched in silence,

With Eyes that pierced both day and night.

Then the gypsy moth kept flying,

Past the sorrow, through the flame,

Gathering every broken story

Until the stars recalled its name.

And where the dawn embraced the darkness,

Hope took root where fear had trod.

The smallest wings still carried wonder,

Homeward through the breath of God.

Best regards,

Joel Barb

In the beginning

He thought of the ending

He knew that the ending was good

He found all the tracks

Then reversed all the facts

So the bad would not be as it should.

And time passed alongside the sunshine

When the spirit of Love would stop by

To emblazon his dream

Which was more than it deemed

To be true - in the blink of an eye

His solace would beckon to friendship

He would just tap the pen to his cheek

Then think of the time

Far off in his mind

On the beach - building Sandcastle dreams

And the tapestry woven to shape him

Would shape him alone from the mass

And the masses would say to him

Chuckling - fish to Chin

You nobody, this too shall pass

He found God alone in the shadow

The electrons reflected the light

Ands of, a dark matter built

From an atom to tilt

Every truth, to the light in his eyes.

By Joel Barb

The alpha terms negotiate

that better ways show why

When gamma propagation moves

through honey current skies.

Where air becomes the weight of thought,

and tension learns to stay—

and love’s a brief alignment

just before it drifts away.

When loss is not a breaking thing

but pressure made to tear,

'til honey current carries off

what never could stay there.

The alpha terms negotiate

the edge of what is known

and carve the shape of certainty

from everything alone.

The beta forms adjust the line

where logic meets the hand,

and every flawed conclusion bends

to something we can stand.

The gamma propagation flows

through mirrored thought and sound,

where every truth becomes a shape

that never stays around.

The delta honey current drifts

through air that holds its breath,

when love's a brief alignment

that has learned the taste of death.

Tension lives in unspoken rooms

between what stays and leaves,

'Til it softens into silence -

That no language quite retrieves.

And loss is not a breaking thing

but pressure made to tear,

 As Alpha returns to dissolve,

and nothing stays but air.

Where thoughts on threading fade away,

and every signal blurs,

back to the field that always was 

 Honey Current Words.

Joel

A man his heart and soul

Until the spirit gives him life

So in chaotic darkness he awaits

The day the spirit gives him breath

To save him from untimely death

Is the day your heart the comforter of abates.

He does not bring new knowledge

He puts in order what is there

Then places in the soul the will to pray

He longs to show his children what it's like to love and share

Sweet peace and joy within them everyday.

There is no way a man can know exactly how the wind will blow?

Brushing minds, bowing trees, or filling sails,

But one thing that I know is true

The spirit put God's peace in you

Though how he does it men can never tell.

Because a man is heart and soul

Until the spirit gives him life

So in chaotic darkness he awaits

The day the spirit gives him breath

To save him from untimely death

Is the day your heart the comforter aBates.

Joel

Revised:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
placed up there carefully, told not to fall,
set in a balance he could not defend,
with no understanding of where it would end.

They said it was safe, they said it was right,
that height was a measure of worth in their sight,
that being above was a thing to admire,
though none ever spoke of the cost climbing higher.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,
not from misstep, nor by chance at all,
for what is a fall but the end of a place
that never was meant to be held anyway?

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
rushed to assemble the pieces again,
not out of care, nor grief, nor remorse—
but to prove they still held control over force.

But some things once broken refuse to align,
not out of defiance, but simple design,
for cracks are not flaws that can always be sealed,
and damage once done does not ask to be healed.

Humpty Dumpty lay where he fell,
while voices insisted that all would be well,
and somewhere beneath all the effort and claims…

no one admitted

They made it that way.

J F Barb

I saw a mist of falling dew

That rolled in with the morning fog

And listened to a distant gull -

That sung among the hardwood.

Outlined by the calling forest,

Shadows grew to fill the night -

And the warriors all carved arrows

Within their small stone huts.

Skeletons of yesteryear

Are Chameleons of Tomorrow.

They will hide away in canyons

And form new tunnels for the attack.

Yet, with lashing teeth

The Brave will stand.

Upon white braided clouds

Towering above the crushed soldiers of the enemy.

And the following morn

The smoke will clear

Bringing Waterless places

that are fruitfull,

And have New Life.

JFB

Dear World,

I greeted you with open hands,
while standing barefoot in your sands.
I fed the mouths that cursed my name,
and still returned when sorrow came.

I patched the roofs above your head,
while storms of judgment filled my bed.
I learned that mercy bears a cost,
and kindness often ends up lost.

You taught me early — love runs thin,
when truth no longer fits the skin.
For every hand I tried to raise,
another set my heart ablaze.

And yet I stayed.

Through years that cracked like desert stone,
through crowded rooms that felt alone.
Through sharpened words and poisoned eyes,
through whispered guilt and well-dressed lies.

I watched compassion turned to shame,
while hatred wore a righteous name.
I watched the gentle mocked for grace,
while pride stood smiling in their place.

So if my soul now sounds worn down,
forgive the ash beneath the crown.
A man can carry only so
much winter in his blood below.

Still—
I did not learn to cease from love,
though Heaven often stayed above.
I did not turn my hand to hate,
though bitterness stood at my gate.

And if disappointment fills my chest,
perhaps it comes because I blessed
a world I hoped would someday see
the same small light it drew from me.

So judge me not for growing tired,
for grieving what this age admires.
The wound runs deep because I cared—
because I gave, because I dared.

And though this world has grown unkind,
I leave one truth for it to find:

A heart betrayed still holds more worth
than all the coldness on this earth.

By Joel Barb

A seminary of inward law,
where spirit weighs what cannot show.
What lives beneath the spoken law
is where the hidden orders grow.

He learned that life is not a crown,
nor built from what the eye can prove,
but shaped by what will not come down
when all foundations try to move.

For principalities press in
through thoughts that no one else can see,
yet still it does not break the man—
he stands by what he knows to be.

For every choice becomes a thread
that pulls the unseen into form,
and what is buried, but not dead,
will rise again through calm or storm.

She learned that spirit does not shout,
nor force the mind to bend or kneel,
but works through what cannot be cut
from what the heart is made to feel.

For principalities extend
their weight upon her quiet mind,
yet still she does not turn or bend
from what her truth has now defined.

She holds the place where thought begins,
before the world can name it right,
and lets what is and what has been
be measured only by the light.

He and she were placed within
a law not written by their hand,
yet still they walk where both begin
to learn what neither understand.

And in the middle, softly cast,
a place where both their truths align:
what shapes the soul will always last
When spirit governs heart and mind.

Joel

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust 

Is still the place where love is found. 

He learned that faith is not a claim, 

Or something spoken to be heard, 

But Carried through the longest strain 

When every promise breaks its word. 

For every doubt that enters in 

Still leaves its mark upon the skin 

And what is lost and what has been 

Both shape the life a heart lives in. 

She learned that love is not a flame 

That burns without the cost of night, 

But something held through loss and shame 

But still returns to what feels right. 

She did not turn when silence came, 

Nor shut the door when distance grew, 

But held him close without a claim

To force what time would not undo. 

For he and she were placed within 

A bond not always understood, 

Yet still returned again, again -

As if love called them back for good. 

And in the middle, softly cast -

A line where both their truths align: 

What breaks within does not stay past, 

It learns to stand through space and time. 

A seminary of quiet trust, 

Where hearts are weighed without a sound. 

What cannot prove itself in dust, 

Is still the place where love is found.

 

A basket full of summer fruit
brought forth in times of peace.
When will this new full moon be gone
so I may harvest wheat?

A penny saved, a penny earned—
it’s all the same to me.
The world never fixed things yesterday,
nor has it purchased peace.

My heart was full,
and life was good
in the summer of my days.
Big Johnson T-shirt on my back
with Levi’s on my legs.

Mountain Dew turned into beer,
then into coffee as time passed.
And though I prayed for things to change,
I hadn’t prayed the last? 

So each day just dripped away into another day.

For most days I was near content,
without a lot to say.

I had thought I’d found,
as I partook of life,
that I'd had been graced—
but learned I trudged in darkness
with my hand out to be saved.

I had learned that life comes down to only  principle, I’d received.
Living always in my heart of hearts is all that I believe.
Within my heart I had seen myself,
observed my true reflection,
and found that as I made my way,
I only lost direction.

I cried out, “Give me purpose, God!”
and found that all this way
was just to bring Him Glory
in the grace He shows this day.

I cried out, “Why is this happening?
Why would this happen to me?”
Then saw - that I made all my choices
For  He gave free will to me.

A basket full of summer fruit—
this day I give to you.
For fruit comes of the lips, my friend;
’tis life created new.

The full moon now has passed to morn

—awake !!
The light now shines.
upon a weak and fear-filled soul
to illuminate your mind.

By Joel

Tablet of the Heart

A basket full of summer fruit
brought forth in times of peace.
When will this new full moon be gone
so I may harvest wheat?

A penny saved, a penny earned—
it’s all the same to me.
The world never fixed things yesterday,
nor has it purchased peace.

My heart was full,
and life was good
in the summer of my days.
Big Johnson T-shirt on my back
with Levi’s on my legs.

Mountain Dew turned into beer,
then into coffee as time passed.
And though I prayed for things to change,
I hadn’t prayed the last? 

So each day just dripped away into another day.

For most days I was near content,
without a lot to say.

I had thought I’d found,
as I partook of life,
that I'd had been graced—
but learned I trudged in darkness
with my hand out to be saved.

I had learned that life comes down to only  principle, I’d received.
Living always in my heart of hearts is all that I believe.
Within my heart I had seen myself,
observed my true reflection,
and found that as I made my way,
I only lost direction.

I cried out, “Give me purpose, God!”
and found that all this way
was just to bring Him Glory
in the grace He shows this day.

I cried out, “Why is this happening?
Why would this happen to me?”
Then saw - that I made all my choices
For  He gave free will to me.

A basket full of summer fruit—
this day I give to you.
For fruit comes of the lips, my friend;
’tis life created new.

The full moon now has passed to morn

—awake !!
The light now shines.
upon a weak and fear-filled soul
to illuminate your mind.

By Joel

Tablet of the Heart

The weave of life 

Is not built from strength 

But from softness 

It is not only the husk that holds 

It is the hidden heart thread 

That gives shape to the pattern 

In quiet moments 

The loom seems still. 

Yet the shuttle moves unseen, 

Pulling Mercy through anger 

Forgiveness through injury 

Humility through pride 

These are not weak strands 

They are the strongest 

Because they do not break when pulled 

They bend 

And in bending, they bind. 

The heart threat is different from all others. 

It is not loud 

Nor does it draw attention to itself 

It slips beneath and over 

Weaving silently 

Joining what seems torn 

Repairing what seems lost 

It turns enemies into neighbors, 

Strangers into Brothers, 

And grief into a seed 

That blossoms again as hope. 

Many call strength 

The power to conquer, 

But the heart thread 

Teaches another truth. 

The strength is the power to endure. 

Without hardening. 

To suffer, 

Without hatred. 

To give - 

Without expecting return. 

Once a voice on the mountain gave this pattern in words; 

Blessed are the poor in spirit 

For an emptiness they are made whole. 

Blessed are the meek 

For they will inherit what the strong have always tried to seize but could never hold. 

Blessed are the merciful 

For Mercy is the thread that is never wasted, 

Returning again and again to heal the fabric. 

Blessed are the peacemakers 

For they are the quiet hands that guide the loom. 

Unseen but essential. 

This teaching was not a law carved in stone. 

Nor is sword raised in battle. 

It was a thread 

Placed into the human heart 

To show that life is not conquered by power 

But by compassion. 

Joel