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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Friday, January 25, 2013

Dawn Over Rapid Creek

The sun not yet into this canyon
somewhere towards the east
that circles about Big Bend
behind the run-up to Norris Peak

No sense the air moves
along the ice sheets
that cover the edges
Two days of melt
the large breaks sent
into the dark tumbles
of a creek still in dreams
where fish yearn
for the flies of spring

The ponderosa pines stretch to attention
as they salute a sky in its last yawn
They have been awake all night
fearful of the porcupine and pine beetle
day will let them sleep

The night lights popped on
for deer that pass this house
perhaps cats both large and small
some after mice
or ones that chase the deer

Floaters in these eyes
suggest the ghosts of this canyon
pass through this glass lined room
that head for shadows
as the day ahead
never needs their haunt
and their memory
of the Crouch Line that once
chugged along this watery lane
to Johnson Siding
for an engine's thirst
on to Pactola for Bernice Moosecamp's
scrambles bacon and corn fritters

Perhaps the sun will make its hike
through these deep canyons
to have breakfast at her hotel
now drown beneath deep water
five miles up behind the great dam wall
then later in the afternoon
to the old store in Silver City
for a Nehi Grape pulled
from the cold water of a deep cooler
This sun remembers
what was always
the best
a long memory this sun
to be followed day after day
as it breaks the ice
as it greets every resident
along the gentle curves
of an old friend's hand
a hand that shapes this canyon
this tireless sculpture

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G Wick

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