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, November 4, 2013

We Go

(for Erin Wagman and all who knew and loved her)

When there is no more room
in our mother's womb
we go to meet our fathers
because it makes no sense
to stay in comfort
when we feel adventure
pull us forward

When we feel the pull of the world
it is often at the hand
that helps us cross the street
for the first time
It may be only a finger we hold
and when we reach the other side
we let go for a second
until the familiar voice
says to come
take my hand
come with me

The older we get
the less the hand is there for us
we've learned to walk to school
to see our friends
the other adventurers
with whom we grow
and get to know
their smiles
their happy voices
their worlds beyond
the houses where
comfort kept us safe

Soon adventures become challenges
some we conquer
and some we cannot
some have no end
These put clouds in our minds
the fogs at the edge of thought
at the edge of reason
across the street
wider than any street
we dodge monsters in traffic
where we never seem
to find the next curb up
or any hand to hold

This is where some of us
find ourselves
reach for broken hands
only to let go of all of them
We reach for anything
that will give us support
or reach for something
that often might be
cunning, baffling, and powerful
that won't let go
when we want to go

we just go
we just go
where we have not been before
to seek a respite
from the journey
to no side of the street
when we no longer want
our feet on the ground
any hands that help
and an end to the darkness

we go
where we cannot
feel the tears on our face
where we no longer
want to voice our pain
where we imagine
a comfort that surpasses
we cannot understand

We go
even when we know
that all we leave behind
is the empty space
where others loved us

here and now...
into each others'
empty spaces
where you left us
with tears and doubt
where we try to fill each other
with a higher power
we cannot understand
and hope you've found

on the corner
across the street
is the playground
filled with stars
from where you once
came to us
and now return

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick
ownership and publication rights
granted to the Wagman and Vickers families
in perpetuity.

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