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 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: via Paypal. I thank those who support me one way or another.


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)

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Saturday, November 26, 2011

What Abraham Knew and When He Knew It

It cannot see the shadows
in the valley
nor the wind
that today
swayed the ponderosa pine
yet I have discovered
the value of my words
to the world
as valuable as any
written by a computer
programmed to write

And what of the monkeys
given typewriters
who spend their days
in attempts to write Shakespeare
so am I no better than
those self-same monkeys
stifled by the weaknesses
of today's language

My expectation is a lie
I tell to me
the thought that I might write
one poem that could remember
me to a future world
or that my death might have the means
to net a few lines in the obituaries
of faraway newspapers
their readers amazed they never heard
of my efforts or books
enough to make them feel
they had never accomplished
even the smallest recognition
of a world in the throes of ignorance

So I've charmed these thoughts
from the shadows of a windy day
and the movement
of unimportant evergreens
that gives me the truth
of my exhalations
that they are not enough
to move any tree
in the slightest direction
and to have this manifest
fall as if I have made a fault
that cannot shake the world

Oh, a friend might send a note
to assure me that a line I write
has bent their conscious path
and caused a shift to new directions
their words to heal my lonesome wounds
and dreamy sores upon the invisible skin
I craft upon my burdened exterior
where those words become a salve
expected to seal the canyons
on the surface of my ballooned ego
what would be better
than the silence I know
the compliment of the ages
for poets

For few know that Lincoln wrote poems
these simplest expressions of humanity
the leavings on a empty plate
where they are passed to the cat
to lick clean and have as much impact
and only I can free myself
from the encroachment of a solid world
where such pronouncements
can no longer penetrate

the largest exhale though
the spiked leaves of an evergreen
on a windy day

bitch bitch bitch

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G Wick

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