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Wednesday, April 27, 2016

My Fear

It quivers deep in my stomach
that which I've filled with gold
joyful food and celebration

It's loyal and stays close always
the rubbery brood of which
I cannot give birth

In sudden dreams
that pass through wakefulness
my half sleep shudders

This will not be named today
because it slides through
a spiraled pipe of senseless vibration

I have longed to capture
the harried animal out of reach
as it turns to flash its teeth

Magnificent beast who yawns
red-eyed at my boredom
inspect what you create

This tied-up creature tugs
at the edges of every me
that brings the end so suddenly



Barry G. Wick

Eye Movement---a countdown nonet

If old memory tries to be fresh,
it is to be the course of day,
that once the time in play
a thought or two around
the fingers of youth
twirled between
now and then:
think and
blink



Barry G. Wick

Saturday, April 23, 2016

Image


It’s not what you are that counts, it’s what they think you are.”
- Andy Warhol

I wake up today
to put on my loincloth
of gray jersey
one of two I bought
at the big and Indian store

there are no feathers
falling to earth in front of me
for a headdress
so I will have to pretend
I'm not an Indian
I'm not
but that doesn't matter

my tomahawk quietly
dips into my raisin bran
so I have to be careful
not to scalp my lips

the lady sits on her porch
sending smoke signals
with her cigarette
telling me her husband
loves her in a special way
I made that up
I have no idea what she's saying

Some of us are going
to hunt buffalo
at the big box store
or the buffalo are going
to hunt us
like the stupid tourists
who get gored every year

I'm an old non-Indian
Nobody smokes a pipe with me
to ask my advice
I don't have a pipe
I hate smoking
and I know enough
never to give advice

when I ride a pony
the hair chafes my thighs
loincloths don't protect
like they should
Vaseline brand Beargrease
that'll help
I don't have a pony
but if I did
I'd still wear a loincloth
they're kinda sexy

today I will shoot arrows
to get food
the store hates it
when I hit the scanner strip
tearing it so the laser can't read it
I don't have a bow and arrow either

The neighbor's dog is barking
I think I'll cook it for dinner
No I just think it
I couldn't catch the damn thing
if I tried

The big hot ball
is setting in the west
so the day is over
I wish the kids wouldn't
burn their rubber balls
they smell terrible

Soon the stars will come out
and we'll sit around the fire
telling stories
It's the Tonight Show
I don't know who's on
I miss Dave


Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Somewhere


Somewhere today
your spirit resides in the shadow
where I cannot see you
My eyes strain
to find a line on your face
that has disappeared to the place
where neither sun nor incandescence
will take me again
to the times we laughed

I think of opening the black door
only to realize
my time will come
when this chariot of flesh
will jump the ruts
sending this wisp of life
sprawling in search
of what came before

There is no laughing at memory
because it leaves me as soon
as I look away
from its frightful pages
perching me on this gleaming woe
from which I cannot be dislodged
these feathers that fail to find air
an invisible bird
in an undiscovered cavern
of the heart

Barry G. Wick

So Many Choices

The crunch of cereal in the mouth
or the crunch of bones as a drone flies
dropping bombs on an accidental
group celebrating a wedding

Crispy  fried chicken
or what's left inside a tank
after an anti-tank guided missile
struck just an hour ago

Having a gray beard
when buying beer at the corner
or having an identification ready
when having to pee

Turning off the engine
of world oil consumption
or turning this planet
into a baked puppy

Eating a whole bag
of chocolate candy
or having a foot removed
from a diabetic infection

Voting for the compromised candidate
or voting for the loudmouth
who seeks attention

Marrying the person who's loved
or pretending to love someone
in order to be accepted

Accepting the facts of science
or believing the candidate
who says the voice of god
is his guidance



Barry G. Wick

Friday, April 15, 2016

Small Comforts v. A Writer's Life


the end of shelling
a bit of food
two hours of sleep
clean socks
someone's puppy
mother's voice
a torn blanket
walking to someplace safer
some rain in silence
clean water

v.

a title
the first line
an important word
inspiration from the radio
reading another writer
crossing out a word
crossing out a line
foot tapping
fingers tapping the keys
the end of the thought


The winner is

children in war

who hope
they all become writers
who can't think
of the next line
with a full refrigerator
a comfortable chair
soft music
in a neighborhood
without the sound
of gunfire
and screaming


Barry G. Wick




Wednesday, April 13, 2016

The Facts of Now

A trip postponed
the cellphone's battery
needs charging
Another freedom lost

saxophone from the radio
bubbling from the fish tanks
warmer weather heats this home
the budget for next month
develops beneath a light
reflections of closed curtains
in a seven inch screen
as I type to the computer

This is not a time to meditate
only to just be here
Patience is rewarded with thought
that I wish weren't here
Worries about money
then I'm not here
I'm faraway in another eon

Are there a few more bars
on the battery mark
I don't get that many calls
using one fifteenth
of the phone's allotment
The older I get the less of everything
gets used due to reasons
beyond my control
My love was the first to go
since there's no one to love
with me close
no one to care for
My dreams are full of places
I cannot go
I move with youth in them
rather than the heaviness
I have

These are the facts of now
Looking out from the cave
is not the same
as looking at the shadows
on the wall


Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Little Black Book


If found, do not open.
If opened, do not read.
If read, do not understand.
If understood, do not remember,
If remembered, do not tell.
If told, say you lied.
If you said you lied, say you were sick.
If you said you were sick, puke for effect.
If you puked for effect, wipe your chin.
If you wiped your chin, throw away the rag.
If you threw away the rag, take out the trash.
If you took out the trash, watch it carefully for pick up.
If you watched it carefully for pick up, follow the truck.
If you followed the truck, be sure it was emptied.
If it was emptied, go back home.
If you went back home, stay there forever.
If you stayed there forever, look for something to read.
If you looked for something to read, don't see a little black book.



Barry G. Wick

Monday, April 4, 2016

Love Rant


Why can't I be beautiful
with my loaves of fat
buttered around my body

Why can't I be loved
because I have places
you can love those skinny boys
never will see on themselves

Why can't I be touched
because my skin feels the same
its not hard and bony

Why can't I be your teacher
because I've lived though
what you've never seen
know what you do not

Why can't I be your friend
because I do not have one
since I'm old enough
to have had many friends die

Why can't you love me
with my octopus knees
my limps with a groan
pain-filled feet
on stumps of trees

Why must love shave me
this beard has its secrets
my mustache rakes you close

Why do you stay away
just a few miles not far
because there you are safe
because here you are loved




Barry G. Wick

Friday, April 1, 2016

Lobster in the Pines

It was the only place
I could think as a child,
which was a time
of confusion.

My Father was addicted
to optometry, scotch, golf,
socializing, telling jokes,
his own masculinity,
and proving he knew
more about everything
than you. Oh, and Nixon.

My Mother was addicted
to singing, clothes, fabric,
reading, spending money, socializing,
proving she was
more feminine than Jesus,
and dragging me
to shoe stores, clothing stores,
fabric stores, and choir practice.

My Brother was addicted
to reading science fiction,
math, silence, and auto mechanics.
It was the only way he could
deal with our parents.

I was addicted to confusion,
trying to please my mother,
and wondering why
my father sided with her
when she said I shouldn't
play baseball because
it would hurt my hands.
I was nine and crushed.
So I further became addicted
to food, an opaque shell,
sex, marijuana, alcohol,
writing, lying, and shame.

My addictions
have worked well to this day
which keeps my children,
my friends,
and anyone I might love
guessing.
Nobody cracks
my hard shell,
which is why
I am a crustacean.

They should throw me
in a boiling pot
when I die
and have a beach party
with beer and salad,
somewhere in the pines,
which isn't a beach party
so all the guests
can be confused.



Barry G. Wick