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, May 19, 2016

The Librarian's Sternutation

Among the dusty stacks
the silence was entertained
by a stifled sneeze
that shook the evidence
of writers' obsessions.
Terrified, the young librarian
quickly rose from her search
to race to the front desk
where the Managing Librarian
kept a proper desk
thoroughly clean
except for one project.
An apology meant a demerit
in a neatly kept notebook
that would one day
be a part of the same library.
Instead, the young librarian
queried the presence of the dust
to a face whose mouth descended
below the depth's of Nemo's submarine
and wider than Jonah's whale.
The dust protects every living book
was a perplexing answer.
If we really cared about these books
responded the young librarian
we would remove the oxygen
from this room every night
sealing the library
in a cloud of nitrogen
so these words would never age.
One never lectured the Managing Librarian.
words only age as the best writers create
for new thesauri
and readers to find.
Outwitted, the young librarian
returned to the stacks
red-faced and fully aware
why the Managing Librarian
had achieved that position.
It would be years
before the young librarian
would rise to that exalted position
having spent a life in search
of new words
as the dust created a scale
as if the books were pangolins.

The cyberwarriors might never
timesuck the stacks of books preferring
to head away hangry for cakeage
wishing permadeath
for the new Managing Librarian.
At the least, this Managing Librarian
would be ready to downvote
any attack from a young librarian
who adorbs themselves so much
as to humblebrag in defense of cleanliness.
In this new Managing Librarian's time
t'ain't no dumbphone here
especially with an aptronym
like Mr. Manual Booker.

Barry G. Wick

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