Thank you to those who support me via my Paypal account: The government doesn't read my poetry. You do. Out of over 370 poems here on this blog by me, I hope you find one or more you like.

Follow by Email

Friday, May 22, 2020

Morning in America

Morning In America

On the edge of a bed
facing the window
open to the sound of day
construction on the highway
distant sirens chasing
or rushing to some scene

The images of my mother
and her sister
begin to dissipate
and the urgency of cleaning
the carpeted floor
where a broken mirror
and  light bulb fragments
have me spinning
from dreamland catastrophes
these two siblings created
Worry of injured feet
have my vanishing thoughts
joining this world
rather than the imagined
visitation of specters

I begin to push aside the night
to once again isolate
from all I know 
and have known
to escape an illness
just being in my home
doing the dishes
taking my pills
realigning the cans
in my cabinets
throwing away the useless
as I realize how useless I am
producing little nothings
at the edge of language

It takes the music of Glinka
to spin me up
from this reverie
to go on
into my day
as if I had value
locked in a cage
behind my prison walls

Where are you?
You have never 
come to visit
You are the only one
I would let in without
a mask
to protect me
from the one thing
I sometimes desire
So I wait for you
reminded of our days
and how few they were

All this from the edge
of a bed
as the curtains breathe
in and out
the lung of my house
unaffected by the disease
currently in fashion

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, May 10, 2020

The Switch

The Switch

I found myself searching
for the switch
to turn myself off
giving myself
to the universe
for all time
I'd close my eyes
throw my head back
relax every muscle
only to fail my desire

This comes from loneliness
and the need for touch
A kiss or a hug
from someone who loves me
each of us unable to live
without the other
How can I find this person
in an age of isolation
topped by fear
of all joy

I know what this is
in depth of soul
It has come over me
before surrounded
by millions in a big city
more people
than my entire home state
where family was known
and I was welcome
before I changed my image

The search for the switch
ends at the wall
I try to penetrate
only to realize it will visit
when it is good and ready
on a day I will not choose
in an hour
when I will lose
the chance to turn off
the road of no return

I require no help
to stop my dark feelings
since there are reasons
to stay with this world
the continuation of atonement
for what others
call my sins and shortcomings
I dream each day
for an end to shame
life's gratitude can cease

Barry G. Wick

Saturday, April 25, 2020

A Future Test

A Future Test

My life does not belong
To me
It is the constant creation
Of all the stars
Of all the galaxies
What is between
What is close
What is faraway
Unnamed things
That move
with gravity's finger
Of an unseen hand

I move the small bits
That move past
And through me
I sing its honor
Unheard except by walls
That vibrate so slightly
Dampened by the felt
Of atoms in motion
They are the beat
Of my heart
The love and the touch

I thought I belonged here
As the spirals of this planet
Were woven on aether's looms
It's strands pulled through
from one side to the other
A great garment of light
Pulsed from my body
To cover me

This small space of me
Becomes a voice
In a choir of random notes
Unheard and unvibrated
In cold and darkness
Where I will rest
Until I'm needed again
To paste a language
Upon skies
Pulsed by my small glow

Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

The Visit

The Visit

I want to wake up
In that place
Two minutes before
I die
To know it's that place
I chose to visit
At the last

There were always dreams
Of building it
Making my arrival
A special occasion
To be greeted
By all the art
The music
The poems
The love I created
In my life
A giant collection of me

Needed me
To matter to them
So I let them take
Small pieces to abuse
Or rather take them
From me

Those important
Seconds at the change
Will belong to only me
As I slip away to greet
The only friend
I ever wanted to see

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, March 22, 2020

The Never

The Never

for years
no one has touched
your skin
or hugged you,
it's then you know
you are dead

A defeated magic
touches your lips
as the heart
fails to kiss
the inner walls
of a chest
filled with a vacuum

The never
takes over
one windless day
at a time
spread like tasteless jam
on dry bread
more dust than sustenance

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Corona Bologna

Corona Bologna

Rich, poor, or well-connected,
This thoughtless virus has you selected.
You may have tested negative,
But get too sick you'll beg ta live.
In simple rooms I wait alone,
I have no fear as I atone
For all mistakes that I have made
That memory now my world invade.
All across this wide wide land
The tempest life again has planned
To separate, to take me whole
From all I've  known in my brief role.
Collect your money, collect your things
This virus thrives as death it brings.
It doesn't think about your dreams,
These simple proteins, your cells it reams.
So, hoard away or take from others
As breath of life it simple smothers.
Who gets what or who gets tests
Will never matter in earthly rests.

Barry G. Wick

Friday, February 21, 2020

Medical Shine

Medical Shine

The days speed up
agreed to by my pillbox
full pockets of time
and time-released
joy and sorrow
it dispenses daily
as if some lead-footed driver
moonlighted as a dealer
modern moonshine
that rushes on the highways
which creates this new sport
for the masses at racetracks
Hopped-up vans 
with delivery drivers 
who toss secret packages
to the aged and infirm fans
as they round the track
at broken back speeds
full of those little rainbow
enticements to feel better
feel good or feel normal
delivered to the pharmacy
No need for hidden tanks
No worries for revenuers 
waiting in the dark 
No moonless shootouts
in the deep mountain hollows
shouting epithets 
from behind the trees 
I watch the cheering thousands 
from the stands
waiting for their meds
the tiny miracle cures
promised by great pharma
who live gloriously behind
legality guaranteed 
by government
cheated for the pleasure
of fat kittens of industry
their yachts swaying
in warm waters

Barry G. Wick

Friday, February 14, 2020

February Loss (for Kelly)

February Loss (for Kelly)

February loss hangs

in mid-air

It refuses to fly on

A frozen kestral

Which thinks of voles

Asleep in their grass beds

Deep beneath the frost

I yawn with them

In dark hours

To pass long nights

With little to calm my

Thoughts of this month

That took a friend

Who gave me

Ripples of memory

To long passed days

When his love held me

In his arms

Those endless nights

I want back

His life now flies

Frozen in my mind

As warm as ever

Barry G Wick

Friday, February 7, 2020

The Vacant Hills

The Vacant Hills

Too often dream hauls me back
in it's old yellow truck sold
to someone who will fix it
It sat outside the house until
rust became an issue or
the battery failed to spark

Somewhere beneath me are farms
from the distant past with corn
never to poke their giant stalks
toward the sun they love
The land rolls unlike the steep
rock-covered crags over us then

We shoot imaginary antelope
at the park fifty years ago
on a license of special qualities
after we crawled over a mound
that shielded us with high grass
only to Winchester it dead

Then there is the pine tree
when the bark gets pulled
with young hands on the way
to an old school over the hill
behind the rock through sand
that blows down in south winds

The rain could be seen coming
one range after another blocked
by sheets of drenching summer
lighting striking the west side
seen from the redwood deck
on the home left behind

All this disappears and more
as people forced idyllic places
into hatred and discrimination
crating humanity inside law
written from their ancient books
that ends youthful dreams in fear

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, January 16, 2020



Nearer my godd to thee

oh smartphone

I walk the halls

of your great palace

with my head bowed

bumping into your believers

falling at the curbs

as you help me

towards death of brain cells

the last of my intelligence


as playful cats

and flop-earred doggies

assail my eyes at the edge

of chemical traffic signs

inside my skull

their dim assault

prepares me for the next

instant message

about the bosses' latest

design of stupidity

in search of the almighty

dollars leave my bank

as the latest useless

geegaws pile up 

in dusty corners

may I truly be worthy

of the one use

I grace it with

now send me my underwear

so that under my pants

I can feel naughty

in deference to my misery

as I twist my ankle 

missing a step

failing to grab the bar

as I hold you in my hand

securing my pack in the other

oh small glowing godd

pretend with me

that I shall win the lottery

as I select the six numbers

you insert into my thoughts

from the seventy or so

designated to guarantee

I steer my yacht 

from this cubicle

this mental collapse

I so richly deserve

banging my knee 

into the bumper of a taxi

of which you dear Lord 

failed to notify me

as my worship of you

diminishes my field of view

may I forever sit with my dearest

as we search your bright horizons

with our coffee-trembling fingers

listening to your banalities

as we index punch you 

in the star-bright face

in the hope you'll deliver

another life-altering message

of self-worthlessness

Barry G. Wick