Patron

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 work...like 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: rikwrybac@yahoo.com via Paypal. I thank those who support me one way or another.

THANK YOU!

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)yahoo.com

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Thursday, March 26, 2015

An Old Story


My Aunt used to tell me
stories I had told her
about where I was
before I was born

The older I get the more
I seem to know that place
exists beyond time and space
a separate place for all

There we cross the bridges
we could not cross
in the life just finished
looking towards the life ahead

In all its glory perhaps
just a simple room
with someone to talk
about the mistakes we've made

It all seems a dream
pictures flash across the brain
of what it was like
and what it will be again

The next won't be different
because the soul sees
through the haze of dream
to learn the higher phase

Oh great universe let me step
beyond this pain to the new
through the silver door
that reflects where I am


Barry G. Wick



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