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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Friday, September 2, 2016

Strange Morning

Up earlier than expected
the want to sleep more
the want to make coffee
hot water run for dishes
then the business of health
then the business of bills
as hunger creeps over a tongue

The numbers have been logged
with a late mother's silver pen
or on an aging computer
that was once fast
and now begins to show
how there is a need
for something newer and slick

The body ages quicker
one pill makes this ache go
another makes movement easy
here are these two
that silence the electric feet
another raises some number
that makes a doctor happy

One friend gave a small statue
of the Hindu god Ganesha
the elephant sitting here
all powerful unable to fix
that friend who now lives
his last days confused
with a tumor that eats his brain

The bills create another ache
Morning sun does not bring joy
Its reminder is the passage
of time that cannot be stopped
of failed love and loss
the want to return to night's dreams
where sleepers play unashamed

Barry G. Wick

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