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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Wednesday, April 13, 2016

The Facts of Now

A trip postponed
the cellphone's battery
needs charging
Another freedom lost

saxophone from the radio
bubbling from the fish tanks
warmer weather heats this home
the budget for next month
develops beneath a light
reflections of closed curtains
in a seven inch screen
as I type to the computer

This is not a time to meditate
only to just be here
Patience is rewarded with thought
that I wish weren't here
Worries about money
then I'm not here
I'm faraway in another eon

Are there a few more bars
on the battery mark
I don't get that many calls
using one fifteenth
of the phone's allotment
The older I get the less of everything
gets used due to reasons
beyond my control
My love was the first to go
since there's no one to love
with me close
no one to care for
My dreams are full of places
I cannot go
I move with youth in them
rather than the heaviness
I have

These are the facts of now
Looking out from the cave
is not the same
as looking at the shadows
on the wall

Barry G. Wick
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