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

Follow by Email

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Halloween 1973

The knock on the door
It's Harold Simon
Harold gives me some acid
He invites me to his party
just blocks over
from where I lived
Here
take this
come to my party later
okay
as I put the small piece of paper
on my tongue
Harold leaves
I shut the door

I sit down to wait
but in a little while
I look at the sunset
as a Roman Trireme rows
across the orange sunset
west of Pullman

It's time for Harold's party
a swift walk across the hill
to a shabby house
Harold lives upstairs
I knock
A beautiful gypsy woman
answers the door
Harold wears a magician's robe
and pointed hat covered
in tin foil
his head is covered in tiny mirrors

Sharat Chandra holds the crowd
from his comfy corner chair
as I sit on the floor listening
and for the first time
I understand poetry



Barry G. Wick
Post a Comment