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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Sunday, August 26, 2012

The Distance from Me to Me

Was it always this foggy
I remember crossing
the Bay Bridge years ago
unable to see anything beyond 10 feet
around the car

and that is what it felt like
as I grew into an adult
littered with the thoughts
of everyone around me
inside my head

I couldn't stand up for myself
direct who I was
into anything for me
I always heard voices like flames
and I was meat on the grill

No thing seemed right
no direction was the best
and so I wandered through
the cloud high above this world
and didn't even get wet

Now suppose you've reached my age
having tried so many paths
and none of them seemed right
there's no success in the modern sense
no feeling of accomplishment

And now I find the same cloud
hanging around me
some ghastly shroud ripped
from the graveyard of past lives
I now fight to keep from tightening

My friends move in their directed lives
filled with comforts of self
confident in their own worlds
their lives secure on single roads
they've chosen years ago

Why compare myself to them
I think inside this high cloud
full of unfulfilled dreams
It's only a matter of time
when all this fog will blow away

My suspicians begin to turn
to the sense of all lives past and present
to realize a fact
that what I feel today is what
all feel at different points of life

We circle in our clouds above
trying to see the ground
that has never been beneath us
and no matter what our comforts
they all shall disappear

So what I did to take as many paths
to breach the distance
from me then to me now
is what I did with what I am
all other voices silence in this peace

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

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