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, February 27, 2015

Moustapha's Dead

Here at the end of desert
there is nothing but the sand
clearing its throat
of the air in the city.
A fan tail of dust
becomes the next storm
of wounds named by their depth.

His childhood pillow
a dented can empty of food
he never ate in his threads,
so few they cannot be called clothing,
growing from the peace of his mother
and the drowned man he knew
to be his sweat-drenched father,
unable to lift him after a day
of cement sacks or mud blocks
from wherever a dinar would descend
from the garden of heaven
Allah promises for the righteous

Then Allah's righteous
came to this outside world
as they trail 
the dust-turned bones
of martyrs
This is the day the liars
will profit from their lies.

This is Moustapha
grown to man
who prays for the world of peace
many times each day,
so that He will rule the world
and call Moustapha His true son.

So judgment rolls across the sand
sad in its history
looking for unbelievers
where Moustapha sleeps,
for sleep is a sign of power.
Here is Moustapha's bed
as a drain turns the desert red
for next to it
is Moustapha's head.

Barry G. Wick 2015
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