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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Friday, May 6, 2016

May I May You?

Be warned
to stand back

When thrown
the month of May
tossed around like a dirty ball
could hit
causing damage
that changes life

There are flowers
new and bursting in color
petals are flying in every direction
hand grenades
beneath breeze tossed bows

Grass unseen in winter
now needs the violence
of a mower
a few good yanks
to start or fail

There is love
that hides to suddenly
send its hot steam
that cooks all the sanity
from a winter-fed brain

While the search goes on
be leery of hidden corners
where new eyes hide around
viciously blinking
their lonely code
as a bump sends books
upon the ground
to grant the players
a hesitant touch
of crimson-faced dreams
in darkened rooms
with torn sheets ablaze

Dramatic as all this is
cunning patience
proofs its dough
in pump-swelled chests
where bravery meets
it's frozen match
in arid glares
displaying full knowledge
of the lusty game
begun with traps
behind the needs availed
in wilted blossoms
with chocolate coats
on red fruit coils

One tug on the rigging
to start the fall of May
as it spills its marvels

everyone plays with marvels

May I May you?



Barry G. Wick






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