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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Saturday, June 30, 2018

This and That


Slippery vision slippery thought
It is what it is and sometimes not


Sometimes the squirrel
barks at the dog
Sometimes the snake
is et by the frog


We stand by a tree to sing a song
and all the while the tree's asleep
It hates all singing, it thinks it's wrong
the prettiest melody makes it weep


Given time to observe
everything's a learning curve
A rope is tied deep in our mind
Untie the knot and you might find


Sit and watch do not expound
keep your feet upon the ground
Let no word take glorious flight
until it's certain that it's right


The thing we buy the thing we try
is likely something to make us cry


The look of love is oft desired
but then it gets unruly mired


Beware what's writ on glowing screens
and what's said in Ways and Means
Politicians want your vote
not what's writ in a four page note


We beg the stars to keep their shape
to stay the same for children's sake
What stories will the sky tell then
in twenty thousand years or when


We dance around this planet
as if the universe we own
until we realize it's size
we're just a seed that's sown


Surrounded by convention
we think it is quite normal
even if our clothes are ripped
it's truly all quite formal
Someone wears a loincloth
someone underwear
It's all really just the same
that we refuse to bare
In the jungles deep and dark
people wear no clothes at all
You envy them their bodies svelte
and gym yourself a bill that's tall
So to the jungle with you now
and shoot down monkeys from the trees
No clothes at all is you at birth
Swim in the river and dry in a breeze


You there in your suit quite tidy
thinking you're all high and mighty
Without electric this and that
the dirt accumulates
And everything you wear
will soon entomb your fate
A spot upon your tie so fine
will grow so green with mold
and everything you own
will look so shabby and quite old
Don't criticize those upon the street
whose bath was weeks ago
They're human and complete
and know something you don't know
Civilization isn't planned
it's a train wreck pure and simple
Tomorrow's world infection
begins with just a pimple

Barry G. Wick
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