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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Saturday, April 27, 2013


It is said that
we are all the characters
in our shimmering dreams
I've often wondered
if there are connections
with other sleepers
long threads of gold
spun between those
in beds on couches on buses
worlds apart
because I can't explain
why I always awake
in humanity
not getting the job
or the break I've always wanted
so I could feel successful
not dissatisfied with results
after walking
through an unfriendly city
where pigeons eat a drunk's vomit
on a gray sidewalk

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick All rights reserved.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

The New Spring

“I have never considered a difference of opinion in

politics, in religion, in philosophy, as a cause for

withdrawing from a friendship.”  ---Thomas Jefferson

My old friend is no longer my friend.
It was going to happen.
It's happened before with others.
I have been in winter with my country
and the people around me
since I was frozen just out of the womb.

You cannot support the north winds of hate,
those who freeze me
from my human rights
and expect to get my warmth,
my inner sun.
I've read enough about
my homosexuality
to know others haven't.
They prefer to maintain
their ignorance of my reality,
my being,
while they hold on to a few lines
from a two thousand year old tome
that has wrapped the tombs
of millions who were denied and died.

The new books know something new.
The Sunlight of the Universe
has made revelations
to us, to me:
that I am what I am.

To keep me from my flowers,
from the budding of my branches,
is to follow an evil season
to maintain an ignorance
that light, the Power's Light,
has difficulty penetrating.

I shall be the last generation
to hold the hatred inside of me.
It breaks up even now
like old ice melts in the spring
in shaded areas
when after days of warmth
a few sheltered shapes
end their cold, impenetrable dominance.

My friendship is not for sale
with a smile or a memory
of what we were as children.
This is now.   This is me.
I am forever changed.

What I have wanted and needed
was denied to me even when
I thought I had found it.

I gave my love
and found the cold,
this world built around those I loved
and around me.

The walls melt.
The dams of ice now belong to the few
who remain stuck in their frozen beliefs.
I am thawed in a new spring,
the kind that never ends.

Copyright (c) 2013 by Barry G. Wick  All rights reserved