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, February 8, 2016

The Unfinished Hurts

Birth with all its pain for the mother
is painful for the child

The pain of a child's first fall
is still with the child as it grows

A parent's separation and indifference
is still with the child as it grows

The first time a child is told “no”
remains with the child forever

The first love is a constant pain
when the love is squelched or lost

The loss of a friend for differences
is a pain that stays inside

The pain of an unfinished project
resulting in a lost improvement

Missing childhood for a parent's dream
is a pain that only grows stronger

Denying yourself the love of another
to please someone else is pain that grows

Reaching an age when there is no love
is a pain that grew when it wasn't noticed

Mistakes that remain unspoken
are crashed cymbals when praying

Rocks thrown in play hurt the same
as rocks thrown in anger with a lasting pain

The deepest scars are the ones we put
inside ourselves with our hands and words

Barry G. Wick

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