A Dead ZoneIn the GulfWhy do we insist to fight nature’s design?Oh the Army corps of engineers!Before the levees the Mississippi foods in springwould fertilize the marshes of South Louisiana.Building land spring after spring.Oh the Army corps of engineers!The levy’s good intention gathering the fertilizersfrom ever stateabove to cause death […]
Author: Barry Sons
A sneak peak at what is coming from Barry Sons Art , Winter 2021!
Study in the Woods with Deer Hunters
I do field studies when necessary for a commission piece. This one made me a little uncomfortable.
The will of the Mocking Bird
I have shared my food and stories with my friends for many years. At this time in my life, it seems appropriate that it should be in writing. The written word and art is the only thing I know of that can make it last. The only immortality we have is in […]
My story By Barry Sons
I was born to a family of fur trappers back in the day when people wore fur coats. A meager living with days filled with hard work. One of 14 children, 12 of us survived until adulthood. Mama gave birth to seven boys and seven girls. Two my sisters left […]
Spring rain is child and sting.Pallets of water stinging our skinHats to cover our eyes.Then in the distance the Majestic CyprusLilies dancing at their feet as they gaze uponTheir ancestor gave them LifeLeaves turned up to catch the spring rain. -Barry Sons 2018-
The day is overcast, The clouds no threat.Warm and sultry as only the basin can be.Wax bayou thick and lush with greenery. We head towards the bend near the mouth of the river. Longing to set foot on the ancestors island.Lilies in bloom jam against the bank, we stop to […]
Where the Ancestors Gather
Where the Ancestors Gather I weep! I scream for the ancestors.Men and Machines dreg at her scared sand barbuilt into an Island. A place to pray.A place to call on the ancestorsWhen oil spills. Who else can we turn to?Not the army corp of engineers !!! Oh Scared Island where […]
The Army Corps of Engineers at work yet again! They Dredge you up oh magic land that the river build ore years of high and low tides. With no regard for what it took for you to stand in place. No regard for your purpose, too shortsighted to see the […]
The tugboat’s lights break the darkness of the night against the black silhouette of distant cypress. I on Papa’s knee, while he sang to me; I was barely out of diapers.