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Friday, March 19, 2010

The Path of A Snowflake

The Path of A Snowflake

A new crystal messenger
spirals between
religious bluster
announcer fluster
invisible electric clusters
mustering the courage
to drive its
six-sided metric head
into the bleached bed
mountainside spread
from the sky of its birth
cloud mother pride
clenching teeth
screaming as it thrives
in a floating hive
downward trenching
through spilled seed
to earth
always to earth


Copyright (c) 2007 By Barry G. Wick

Cleaning The Fun Off the Walls

Cleaning The Fun Off the Walls


A sub-teacher called on me
to grow up
by taking me to a ditch
to see the city lights
to drink peppermint schnapps
on the outskirts
funny, he comes on to me
and I don't fully understand

I wasn't sure I was gay then
and he drove me home
so drunk I'm amazed
he made it up
and down
our road

And when I went
into the basement
reeling
stumbling
in a poisoned stupor
we each had a bottle
a whole bottle

and mother chastised me
guilt about her father
drinking himself to death
and then
the night
waking up
rushing weaving
to the bathroom
puking on the walls
the floor
everywhere

this ache is not music
this smell is not haute cuisine
these colors are not art
this mess was my first drunk
and I spend the day
cleaning the fun off the walls.


Copyright (c) 2009 by Barry G. Wick

Taking a Moment

Taking a Moment


Here in March
there are still crabapples
on the tree
scavenged by blue jays
and squirrels
all winter.

On this snowy day
I get to listen to music
and watch the critters.

I've stolen this moment for myself
I awoke for it and became aware
that it's mine.
If you thought it was yours
you can't have it back.

Call the police.
Tell them I took this moment.
I'm not cooperating with them
right now
anyway
So you and they are going
to have to use this confession
to convict me.
My lawyer will say it was coerced.

Snowy days
in the moment
can be so tortuous.



Copyright (c) 2010 Barry G. Wick

Saturday, March 13, 2010

The Death of Silence

The Death of Silence

I won't go back to teenage years
when vengeful reverends spoke
so clearly that I cowered low
and took their hateful yoke

Now I stand to age old books
to say how wrong they are
and burn down thought long in my head
the flames seen from afar

I am me and nothing's wrong
no matter what you say
I won't step back from fighting fronts
or kneel with you to pray

I'm just the way God made me
and that won't change a bit
I'm gay, I'm queer, I'd love a man
and for that I take a hit.

I have a right to live
love's been my lifelong fate.
so kill me now if that's your joy
I stand to face your hate.

Remembering some olden day
when all we did was talk
and never held a sign up high
or write on streets in chalk

I'm nostalgic for the march
and fighting in the streets
I'd rather crack some heads
than die between the sheets

Now should the future's child
need same-sex love to live
I've stood along the ramparts high
with just my life to give.


copyright (c) 2010 Barry G. Wick
(((Yeah, I know, and I don't like rhyming poetry much either, but this one came out this way...go figure)))