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)

Follow by Email

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

A Man Alone

"A man alone is obviously crazy."--Paul Goodman

here at night
I look at the dark
and edit the instrumental
parts of a song
not unlike
snipping pieces of my memory
and pasting them
forwards and backwards
in my mind
as I try to come up
with something that means
anything to me

the visions of the past
youth and growth to manhood
the sparks of a past life
create lightning in my closed eyes
and all the while this music
echos through the house
trying to find its way
back to where it came from

these notes are lost
to the new generation
who have their own revolution
to pretend they can win
and no matter what I do
I want to race into the street
and scream for the world to change
for wars to dump their arms at sea
for hatred to change into hugs
for hunger to slink away starving
as the gaunt turn into the chubby-cheeked

All this time alone has turned to years
and I can't decide
if what I feel
are the sharp edges of sanity
instead of the smooth curves
of a happy day
filled with what I once wanted
flowers, peace and love
flowers, peace and love

Post a Comment