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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Thursday, January 28, 2016

The Changing of the Dreams

With pride in each move
the dreams from the old world
march away from sleep

Each button shined until
it sparkles
with its invisible
mission to hold
the night together
While shoes are never seen
in these dreams
they are carefully prepared
mirrors of discovery

Each piece of leather gets
a coat of wax
still alive as if attached
to the steer from which it squirms

No animal is hurt in this dream
yet bits and pieces show
their contributions to this soldier
at attention whose efforts
make him a man
where no ceremony generally
exists to help men become men

Some feathers of flying birds
flap in unseen breezes
on top of ceremonial hats

Inflamed honors
for emboldened souls
change position for the crowd

Complete silence is demanded
with straight-back officer phantasms
pointing an index finger
crossing the lips
from the first joint
direct to the tip of his nose
with the head tilted
eyes widened
in a discouraging rage
to whispers from spectators

Dreams change infrequently
which draws an audience
that stands night after night
to wait for the somber moments
complete with militaristic music
composed by pacifists

Always led by the flag
the guard notices
it is not a flag
but a flapping hand
waving good-bye
to the old guard
the old dreams
heading off the platform
to become awake

Barry G. Wick

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