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

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

On the Beach

Her glazed eyes
to the gray sky
stared at clouds
as if they
were pinned
to the horizons
The Spanish Olive face
with pimentos in her nose
there on the sand
days later
dead as the minute
she died
beneath the wheels
of a truck
by a teen boy
out for joy
her chest turned to yuck

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick

(note: I seriously don't know why I wrote this...but it just came to me in a Hill City restaurant...not based upon any true story or picture I've seen. Perhaps I received a thought, an image or something from someone somewhere.)

Monday, October 7, 2013

Two Hunters

On this moonless night
after wind and snow
a hunter steps
over the mountain top
His sword and kilts
hide all worlds behind him

He pauses

His distant lanterns
help me gather wood
to raise the fire
His slow pace shows me
his hunter's patience
I learn what it means
to see the moment

As the fire grows
jagged-toothed predators
turn away

On the shadow of my breath
The huntsman smiles
We have seen each other
always from far away
both of us lonely
for homes
full of memories
of arms and comfort

Though his heart is empty
he continues to trudge
over endless trails

Tonight's gameless hunt
in his eyes
Orion is visible now
to one vagabond
who wants to share his fire

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick