Thank you to those who support me via my Paypal account: The government doesn't read my poetry. You do. Out of over 400 poems here on this blog by me, I hope you find one or more you like. Thank you for my readers. Thank you for your comments.

Saturday, January 15, 2022

A Broken Branch

A Broken Branch

My son no longer talks to me
Just as I no longer hear the crows
On the flagged ponderosa
Next to Hangmans Rock.
His children know more about me
Than I know about a crow's breath.
It twisted down the hill to my face
As it flutters the fuzz on a young ear
That cannot fathom the confusion of
A son's first sounds just fresh
From his mother's womb.
My lonely hours inside this trailer
Beg for any voice to speak
One kind word that first
Came from his mouth. 
I am so proud of him
That he has thrown me away
Like a match that failed to strike.
I am no man to him
As most gay men are to their families.
We are men in name only
As we hold ourselves aloft
Our black feathers brushing worn bark
Our toes holding fast to dead branches,
Screaming unintelligible verbs
At loosely arranged north winds
Hoping other crows will find this tree.

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, January 13, 2022

A Time for Moats

A Time for Moats

It's no fun guessing.
You were there
Then you weren't.
I couldn't  know
What you were thinking.
You came to my place
Nicely dressed
Like you were going out.
You didn't call.
What could I know?
All these years now
Are bricks stacked
Against each other's walls
Ready to make new ones.
I say the wrong thing.
You begin to cry.
You won't get angry.
What can I know if
You say nothing
Along with your tears.
I give up.
Is this the way it is
To be with everyone
I want to love me?
There is only one way
Out of this silence.
It's time to get concrete
Mixed for the bricks.
There are only walls
To build between me
And everyone else.
I'll open no doors.
I'll start no calls
And answer none.
In here must be
Some kind of happiness.

Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, January 5, 2022

Good Morning


Good Morning

The fan on the furnace

spins for longer and longer

as a horn on the radio

plays its concerto

of a cold morning

The machine on the counter

plays my dishes clean

Electric lights right and left

and over the stove

All this to disappear?

My fragile world

disappears imperceptibly

as it crawls through the hours

its low slung belly

drags upon the hard ground

There are no heights

for it has been the demon

of all lives

waiting for its time to bite

A simple breakfast

will make it disappear

if only for temporary seconds

Which will hide you more?

Eggs or bran

Coffee or tea

Butter or jam

If we give it choices

it will stray from its

muddy path

and lose itself in decisions

I send it to the stars

A few parsecs and it will

forget about me

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, December 23, 2021

Hosing It Away

Hosing It Away

I rinse the night
As one might wash a driveway
Dreams flow to the gutter
Of morning
On their way to the sewer
Their life is better than mine
Full of people with no purpose
Unlike me who moves
From unfocused room
To blurry staircase
Shifting panels
Of relentless triptychs
Their liquid paint
Drips from my sleepless sunrise
Steel yourself sir
This prison and it's fears
Awaits your decision
Cereal or pancakes
Two or three eggs
Potatoes or leftover biscuit
Coffee or tea
All the important choices
Behind the scrim
That hides your shadow
From this audience

Barry G Wick

Wednesday, December 15, 2021


Twisted brown ghosts 
Swirl in the street
Then one direction up
Then down to the corner
Some jump around
The railings of the ramp
I sit waiting for their message
A few dance up to me
Who wonders what they think
Of a man who enters
His 71st year
They only had one summer
Each screaming their green joy
In the sun whose trip
Brought warmth to this town
Now life bent them
Into dry curved phantoms
That haunt me in a fall wind
There is no moaning
Or distant vocal tunes
They have no mouths
But speak to me of days ahead
When they will crumble
Like my old bones 
In coming years
Around whose porch will I be blown

Barry G Wick

Sunday, December 12, 2021



For what I am about to receive
I will truly be grateful

For what I have received
I am truly grateful

For those who raised me
I am truly grateful

For those who befriended me
I am truly grateful

For those who taught me
I am truly grateful

For those who endured me
I apologize

For those I wronged
I am sorry

For those who love me
I love you more

For those who hate me
I have changed

For those who pity me
I have everything I need

For those who fear me
I am no longer what I was

For those who come after me
I am forgettable

For those who question me
I no longer have answers

For those who remain
I saw a different world

For those who explore
I prayed to the universe

Barry G Wick

Thursday, December 9, 2021

Racing Thoughts

Racing Thoughts

And coming to the straightaway
It's a memory in a bar
from year 21
Followed by saying no
To a family friend
Parked in an A&W drive in
They are neck and neck
Speeding to the finish line
When now streaks in front
And makes them crash
Just before the finish line
Now does that all the time
It should be banned
From the speedway
The race is over
Now takes us back
To the studio
Atop my fantastic bed
At just after five in the morning

Barry G.Wick

Tuesday, December 7, 2021



I am an old photograph
In a closet
Passed around electric
Torn upon the floor
In an old building
Filed in a discarded book
That slowly decays
Nothing can bring me
Back to life
By the time
You see me
Everyone will have forgotten
The way I laughed
The sound of my voice
The list of my loves
Or what I'd eat for breakfast
I wrote this already dead
My bones became dust
When the title was written
I'm sorry I can't touch you
Or caress your skin
With my rough lips
As we share our beds
I neither care about
Or listen to news
On the radio
In a video
I am not heard
I am not seen
I claim no grave
Nor space in the minds
Of my descendants
My dreams are all black
Printed on failed atoms
Split for new stars
Come here now
I call for you
Be nothing today
Evaporate into meaninglessness
We will be happy together

Barry G. Wick

Saturday, November 27, 2021

Banned in Texas

This poem
Will be banned
In Texas.
It was written
By a person
Who has read
A book,
Seen modern art,
Hoped for alternative energy,
Can spell in American,
Has drunk wine,
No longer owns guns,
Thinks there's hope
For Hispanics,
And worst of all...
Has had sex.
I'm certain I could
Offer up some other
Shocking life experiences
That someone in Texas
Could find offensive
Such as having ribald
Dreams on occasion.
Mice in my home 
May also have had sex.
My neighbors might be
I have electricity that's
Reliable in winter.
That alone will
Get this poem a
Triple X rating
In Dallas and Houston.
Far worse,
I write letters and poems
And have family in Texas
Who are literate
Just like me.
They might be
Thank you, Texas,.
For banning this poem.
You have boosted my career
To the emperean.
I expect to have,
At the very least,
Attracted one more reader
That doesn't pay me
For anything I've written.
I also put ketchup
On hotdogs.
Now I'm banned
In Chicago.

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, November 25, 2021

Black Time

Black times shine through 
Out from the days
Into the empty nights
Bragging their nonsense
With dreams and colored visions
That never can be possessed

I am tears that wait
To be brushed away
By a welcome finger
Not my own that reap
The sorrow of golden days
That never came together

The descent into this morning
Of promises begins lifeless
Seeds of caution expect
Their blooms of change
Overloaded with pillars
Of racing sun caught wild

Barry G. Wick