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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Monday, August 20, 2012

There is a Bird

I know there is a bird
sitting on the trough
that gathers rain
from the covered porch
at the back of the house
the rain that falls when it wants
to fill these small rivers
that become larger rivers

This bird is there
if only for a few minutes
before he flys away
to poo somewhere else
because that is how I knew
he was there

Suddenly a white glob
dropped through my
line of sight
between me
the air in the house
the double pains of door glass
the screen on the door
the air on the porch
the screen on the porch
me looking at the tree
and poo falling to the ground
from the ass of a bird

Oh Bird with poo of white
please take your unclean ass
to another porch
where there aren't poets
who see everything
and dream of a world without
white poo
It wasn't what I wanted to see today

I'd had thoughts of living on the prairie
while putting a bedspread in the washer
living alone on the prairie 500 years ago
trying to survive the hail and the winter

oh imageless bird
because of you my thoughts
are of poo
now poo on the prairie
herds of great pooing buffalo
and one dumb naked poet
dodging enormous flops of poo
hail stones and winter snows
and it's not even time for cocktails

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

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