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, June 22, 2016

Roller Coaster

It became my Mother's home
on Rapid Creek up the hill
on nine miles of two lane
from where her condo
had been destroyed
by the great flood
down canyons
It had been
lightly flooded
but the old couple
who had lived there
decided to move away
rather than risk another
Mother was brave that way

The house came to me
at the end of her life
as she lay in a bed
at a town home
where nurses
could do little
with her swallow
all wrong and gagging
food and water impossible
to take in at her advanced age

It all was sold to pay the bills
furniture and everything
gone in an auction
and I slept
on the floor
of that house
until two weeks
before it quickly sold

An empty house yields
its darkest secrets
wall cracks
all you movers
there is no one to move

Barry G. Wick

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