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

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Asleep in Her Chair

Beside her every day
I sit to watch and keep
the world spinning
while she sleeps
after breakfast

Today I play
Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade
and wonder if an old memory
now keeps her in tune
with a time she and Dad
lived in New York
during war

And the future asks of me
which war was that
and even though I know
let her have her memory
as the saxophones and clarinet
climb through tall buildings

It was a time
when she was happier
before children
before her Nanny died
before her brother and father passed
when the world was engaged
in the great project
when she and my father
were in the great city
where they felt like winners
at the end of the war
couples kissing in the streets

I won't tell you who fought
It's enough that her dreams
of Flushing Meadows
the library where she worked
her singing lessons
cross the darkened room
with Glenn in charge
of the war
trombone in hand
a great weapon that tolled the moon
into the lives of lovers

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick  
Post a Comment