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, May 29, 2015

On the Edge

The sound of fresh coffee
the odor of jazz
smokey noise scratches
somewhere in the background
a fan perhaps
inside is full of clouds
that threaten rain and mayhem
outside the sun hides
beneath a pile of blue rocks
yet to throw off sheets of light

It's a marginal morning
when only a loincloth
keeps the level of decency
primitive just above
a reptilian image
on the back of eyes
still unused to multiple lids
where movement is the only
assurance of protection
animalia in procession

Rise oh useless human male
a cause for this sensation
lies just around the May pole
from reasonable badgers
who begin their infiltration
juggling words in defiance
of all earthly order and meaning
pressed into service
before a measured phrase
unveils itself at computer speed

Barry G. Wick

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