Patron

I now have one regular patron who sends a monthly contribution to keep this poet alive. Yes, per usual, I'm a poor poet...and for some reason I'm a poor poet in its many meanings...but someone like my patron loves my work. If you become a sustaining patron I can guarantee you'll see writing from me on a regular basis. I do edit my work...like mad. But I don't always hit it out of the park. At least my patrons have a chance to select from all my work...and they become the editors rather than the small-minded who often edit magazines and journals. Poet James Wright,one of his last books, held by two editors for the longest time that his wife Anne took to another publisher who snapped it up and it became a huge success. Now I don't have people like Robert Bly, Don Hall, or their equals I can send my poems to for a review before I put them on the internet or send to any publisher. I believe in opening up my "horde" for the world to critique or love. And it's expensive to send out my work, getting only rejection, so it's money I don't have for food, or the electric bill. Please send what you can via my email: rikwrybac@yahoo.com via Paypal. I thank those who support me one way or another.

THANK YOU!

Thank you to those who have contributed via Paypal to support my writing. My account at Paypal is the same as my email: rikwrybac(at)yahoo.com

Follow by Email

Monday, September 17, 2018

The Silent Loaves

The Silent Loaves

It's an old movie
from the 1950s
Famous actors
in a farce
about the daughter
of a private detective
who uses her father's files
to find and fall in love
with an older rake

The daughter tells her father
“I love you.”
He says
“I love you more.”

Ever since I saw that film
I can only think of people
to whom I want to say
“I love you more.”
They are my children
grandchildren
and best friends
who still support me

I was mildly shocked
to have someone with whom
I chat regularly say
“I love you.”
I said nothing

Somewhere
I am still a child inside
and I don't recall my parents
ever saying they loved me
until late in their lives
My mother once said
her own mother was cold
Hard Norwegians
Germans and Scots
immigrants
are my heritage

Emotion is often beat
out of people 
much as bread is kneaded
People become pliable
to the whims
of paymaster chefs
Bread pans form walls
that shape dough
People also get shaped
by hot walls of opinion
oppression and lack of opportunity
Many a poor chef forgets time
burning the bread

People get burned

I'm going to try
to say what I want to say
“I love you more.”
If I do
it's to thank you
for the love
you give so freely
It's my last soft crumb
inside a blackened crust
of a discarded silent loaf

Barry G. Wick



Monday, September 10, 2018

The Monarch


The Monarch

Worm
thou didst afix thy chrysalis
to mine abode
down Iowa way

Green it was
and like new mown grass
ahangin' there attached
beside my walk

Methinks the spring
will come
for me to see
what you will become

Since I am not
of the entomologist strain
I dare not speculate
your springtime...whoops
in only ten or so days
you emerged
changed for fall flight
to a Mexican forest
as a Monarch butterfly

Gather all your colorful friends
attach threads to your bodies
thence to our would-be “monarch”
to tug HIM south of the border
whereupon we SHALL
build the wall
to keep HIM out
whilst you continue
to fly o'er it
in spring
to bring lasting beauty
and peace
to a great-full nation

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, September 6, 2018

Rubbing Up Against the Edges

Rubbing Up Against the Edges

this is raw
tension in the glass shards
surrounding this minute
light in glints from each
how can I beg this to stop
and still pretend
I live inside the rainbow
a rainstorm of tears
thunder inside my heart
lightning ends at my skin
never grounding
always pounding sound
across this razor prairie
where are you
where is your hammer
that will break me free
from the sharp corners
these are the judgments
that sift through memory
edged dust honed to perfection
wake up wake up wake up
this slicing dream
leaves tattered remnants
upon the second hand


Barry G. Wick

Friday, August 31, 2018

Pending Restart

Pending Restart

Now comes the end of life
distressing to some
fear of what's next
fear of nothing
fear of the dark
too many fears to handle

Believers don't have this problem
but so many aren't believers
Then come those
who believe in reincarnation
Buddhists and such
Now think of reincarnation
as a chance to get a new body
a new life
a new way of looking all of this

I prefer to think of reincarnation
as a black screen from the maker
with the words
Pending Restart
I'll stare at it until something happens
Perhaps it'll be something like
Don't turn off your life
We're downloading your update now
ten per cent
twenty per cent
forty-five per cent
one hundred per cent
Then all of a sudden
everything gets bright
as I'm pushed down
my new mother's vagina
or whatever will give me
a new life
Perhaps I'll just break out
of an egg or something like it
and if there's this giant
blue screen
I'm gonna scream

which will please the doctor no end

Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, August 29, 2018

Dear Mr. Vivaldi

Dear Mr. Vivaldi

There you are at your simple desk
putting notes of music
on expensive paper until it's full
I listen to your thoughts
with the drops of rain
hitting the window on this morning
I feel like dancing
to these percussive strings
playing melody
with gentle turns of the bow
the Concerto for Violin in G Major
I could never listen
to anything else
Never and for the rest of my life
You scratch your head
for just a second
as we both stare
waiting for the next measure
Both you and I know
you won't waste much time in thought
There's too much music
bouncing across you skull
enough for ten lifetimes
speeding through your pen
to paper to the score for the conductor
to the parts for the musicians
The river of ink flows
through the speakers in my livingroom
to my ears
none of it dripping
into my breakfast
I hate cleaning up
piles of misshapen notes of music
of modern musicians
I'm already looking forward
to out next meeting
I'll make a fresh pot
It's good to have the best company
come to visit
now
Tony Tony Tony
write eight bars of whole note rests
you deserve it

Barry G. Wick

Poem

Poem

memories of the past
dreams of impossible events
thoughts about today
none are real

former lovers
wanted lovers
and no lovers
always with and not

calm
a breeze
a gale
the emotions
of living alone

Barry G. Wick

Friday, August 24, 2018

Mental Mush(perhaps next year)

Mental Mush(perhaps next year)

It's after breakfast at the hospital
where it's the annual visit
for the national research study
that occupies my life
every day and every three months

I've had my coffee
eggs and toast
orange juice

The nurse starts testing me
for mental cognition
At sixty-six the cogs
are a bit worn
even after coffee

I have a minute to give her
all the words I can name
with a set a rules of course
words that I'm not allowed to name
words that begin
with the letter “F”
A naturally nasty poet
like old numb nuts
ought to have a number
of such nouns
Did I say it was morning?
Two small cups is not enough
“Flagons” of coffee are necessary
to start the engine's “fires”
on the mental railway
that cogs up and down this “Fatterhorn”

I “fail”
a word I didn't mention

She's disappointed
and says a poet should do better
Ouch
My muse doesn't work that way
I think to myself
Words must be chewed
often a hundred times
like a “faceful” of brown rice
for the macrobiotic crowd
And there are times I must stare
at my wrinkling hands
before putting my “fingers”
on the keyboard
“fingers”
another word I didn't list
plus some words I “fabricated”

Days later I wake in the night
boiling in “F” words
My muse is asleep
I'm wide awake
“feet”
“fancy”
“forgiveness”
I try to think
if I have any dishes to wash
“fruit”
“finality”
“fixtures”
My bed becomes a “flatform”
which doesn't exist as a word
“feckless”
“flounder”
“flatulence”
This is better than morning coffee
I think “fortuitously”

Next year the same thing
though I don't know what letter
she'll select for the test
I promise myself to read
every dictionary
in the next year

My muse just laughs
He says he'll “flash”
all the “fancy” words
I can “facilitate”
to “feel” my way
though the “fields”
of poetry
I “fawn” over his
“felicitous” humor
as I “fixate” on the next dream
“falling” to sleep
“full” of “phantoms”
oops


Barry G. Wick

Monday, August 13, 2018

Measures

Measures

My weekly pillbox
reminds me of the music staff
In each box in the spaces
are the notes of music
prescribed by my doctors
I take them with “water music”
Most of them are whole notes
I only take one half note
splitting a pain pill
that gets me to the library
without my knees drumming
that makes me sing loudly
for all to hear
It sounds oddly like screaming
A modern music
as old as human suffering
I take my notes
with breakfast
at lunch and dinner
and at bedtime
The older one gets
the more others sing along
with this chorus
Drug companies do all the applauding

Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, August 8, 2018

Gaols (Jails)

Gaols (Jails)

Being old
Having a walker
Being in a wheelchair
Being too fat or two thin
Always eating too much
or too little
Missing someone taken away or lost
Lying in bed
Connection to breathing machines
Living with someone you don't love
Living with someone who loves street drugs
Living with someone who loves alcohol
Living with someone who loves someone else
Living with someone who just loves sex
Living with someone too committed to work
Living with someone who only loves money
Living with someone who won't spend money
Living with someone who doesn't like play
Living with someone who only likes pornography
Living with someone who eats too much
Living with someone addicted to self-help groups
Wanting someone who doesn't want you
Wanting more than you will ever have
Living where there are bad neighbors
Living where there are no neighbors
Living in fear of arrest for no reason
Being harassed for just being the wrong color
in a different color neighborhood
Always feeling or being naked
Wanting shoes or simple clothes
Living with a dead-end job and life
Wanting love when you don't have friends
Wanting a friend when you have none
Living alone for years
Wanting to be touched and hugged
Living in a nation that hates you
Living in prison
Living with the memory of your dead family
Living with too much stuff
Having family that doesn't want you
Living in a loveless family
Being blind and not coping
Being deaf and not coping
Neurological and stroke effects
Living without electricity
Living with electricity that costs too much
Always needing water
Floods and fires
these and many more “gaols' (jails)
that citizens of this planet find themselves in
including
being on a planet
so far away from other life-producing planets
that we'll never know
in our lifetimes
or potentially the lifetimes
of our descendants
the jails other beings live in and upon
their planets

The universe creates, captures and destroys
everything in it
yes
the universe is in its own gaol (jail)
unable to get away from itself
and its obsessions
which means
the creator
is in great need
of psychological counseling
eons of it

Barry G. Wick

Monday, August 6, 2018

Crazy


I'm crazy
not raving crazy
not violent crazy
not silent crazy
not wide-eyed crazy
not washing-my-hands crazy
not constantly-itching crazy
not naked-and-running crazy
not obsessed-with-another-person crazy
not obsessed-with-hate-or-love crazy
not chew-my-nails or pick-my-nose crazy
not praying-to-gODD or church crazy
not telling-others-how-to-live crazy
not drama-involved-and-excessive-emotion crazy
however
I'm crazy with crazy
I'm opened-eyes-seeing-the-world crazy
I'm aware crazy
and
I'm not-aware crazy
I see-too-much-and-not-enough crazy
I read about crazies and people who think they aren't
Many people think I'm crazy
They're always wrong twice a day

If I were to tell you I was crazy
I would not be
If I were to tell you I wasn't crazy
I'd be lying

Now you understand the problem
and I'm completely wrong
in that assumption
and that just drives me crazy

I insert a (((sigh))) here
because it's a kind of intake
and exhale of air
that brings clarity to everything that's confusing

honestly, I'm really fond of skin
especially my own
entirely my own
which is probably why
I'm-crazy-alone


Barry G. Wick