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Thank you to those who support me via my Paypal account: rikwrybac@yahoo.com. 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.

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Tuesday, October 22, 2019

Monet's Dog

Monet's Dog

In rare film
now turned to video
Claude Monet paints
in his garden
at Giverny
When he leaves his canvas
we see a small dog
follow behind him
To that small dog
Monet was everything
Perhaps somewhere the name
of that little dog
is mentioned
though Monet's painting
of the little dog
is just called
"Head of the Dog"
It didn't matter
to the little dog
that Monet was Monet
It doesn't matter
to us the name
of the little dog
nor the name Monet
We just see what Monet saw
after his paintings
became more than his garden
became to him
The little dog just saw
the garden and Monet
who stood there doing something
while the little dog panted
in the heat of a summer day
Monet likely held that dog
on that quiet evening
comforted by the company
of a small dog
I want to be comforted
by a little dog
to have that little dog
be everything
that Monet's little dog
was to him
and his paintings and my poems
to mean more to my children
than they do now
to Monet
and to me

Barry G. Wick





Tuesday, September 24, 2019

Checker Bored


Checker Bored

Invisible chains hold the woman
behind the register
She is not the daughter
of the original owner
who owns a multi-million dollar yacht
who plans to add another to her fleet
This woman has children
maybe a husband
maybe
for whom she scans and bags
until her mind is numb
on the little money
this corporation pays
Each little thing she does for me
I thank her
I'll compliment the “corn rows”
or the hijab she wears
I'll smile as much as I can
knowing well few will thank her
for her aching feet
the simple paper cuts
the rough skin of her fingers
If she puts the bags I provide
full of the food and products
I will use every day
into the basket on the electric cart
I will thank her as many times
as I am able
smiling whether she see it
or not
If she lives with her family
are they also burdened
with people who care so little
with long hours of repetition
unfamiliar operations she learns
as she grows into this job
she might leave in days from now
because the boss is strange
because a customer complains
because someone showed no respect
because a man was condescending
because someone told her
to go back to the country
from where she came
escaping the guns bombs and murders
escaping the poverty of the neighborhood
in the state next door
A thousand reasons will cross her mind
until I don't see her again
until she finds a place in this world
where the owner
will take less and give a living
to her and those with whom she works
Thank you for your help today
Thank you for smiling just a little
Thank you for saying hello
to an old man
who will only talk to you today
returning alone to his quiet house


Barry G. Wick


Sunday, September 8, 2019

Poem

Poem


A Sunday at the typer

In a quick store

Watching shoppers come in

And go out

Thinking of where

I should go next

In a dream or with the wheels

This isn't the norm for me

Idle in public or indecisive

Even at home I'm active

Doing nothing

There is wind today

A chance of rain

I'll let the moving air

Direct me to a baptism

Sure of no belief at all

Aimless as this galaxy

Pointless as this universe

Controlled by god

With his explosive finger

Please don't pull it

It smells bad enough

As it is


Barry G. Wick


Friday, August 23, 2019

Narcissus

Cephissus and Liriope
Were really hot for each other
Liriope had a thing for river gods
Cephissus had a thing for nymphs
They did it on the shore
Of still waters

Liriope was knocked up
And had a kid they named
Narcissus

His parents thought he looked
Too hot for his clothes

So he took them off
To go sit by the still waters
Looking at his reflection
Until a fish splashed his face
He got bored with that

Asking his parents for an iPhone
Nope no way
We don't have Zeus pockets kid

Narcissus went out and found
A sugar daddy who fondled him
Bought him an iPhone
Whereupon he's been standing
In front of a mirror applying make-up
For 3,984
Of the last 4,000 years
Looking at himself
Posting selfies
Covered in layers of Max Factor
He applies with a trowel

Hey kid, you look mah-vel-ous
You really do
(I don't have the heart to point out
His wrinkles)

Barry G. Wick

Poem of summer 2019


Poem of Summer 2019

Humidity
Turbidity
Vapidity
Senility
Argue these auspiciously
Regulate suspiciously
This pot is stirred
My life is blurred
Nothing's meant maliciously

Barry G. Wick

Friday, August 16, 2019

(Haiku Stream)

(Haiku stream)

Fingering my way
Through a keyboard alphabet
Phone words save big trees

Somewhere squirrels play
Unaware we have saved trees
To save life for all

Heating our planet
At a frightening death rate
Cars boil oil

Only we can know
What we daily do to earth
Destruction's our way

At work or at play
We file our plastic waste
The water trash bin

Belching smoke still reigns
Despite an earth awareness
We know smoking kills

Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

(Poem)

Flying on a dream

Falling in love

With an arm around someone

Who pushes me away

To later see them talking

To someone else

Even in my dreams

I am rejected

My question becomes

Wondering if this is karma

Or me rejecting myself

Waking to sadness

The dream holds me

When no one will


Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, August 7, 2019

(Poem)




A small light creates shadows
In the dark of my night
Awake as an old man
Traffic is heard 
as it bumps over bridges
Tires sing their Doppler song
I touch my leg
In a wish for your hand
And soft voice that asks
if I'm alright as I return to bed
You're not there
You have never touched me
You are a dream for me
That speeds through the night
To take your love
Far away from a small light
Which dims in my heart
Never to have met you


Barry G. Wick


Tuesday, August 6, 2019

(Poem]

     

        Drops of last night's rain

           Remain upon the window

     Their tiny magnifications

        Slowly drying

     The eyes of the dead

        Upon cement

        Their last vision

             Revealed by hate


          Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

The Bore-a poem

The Bore-a poem

The bore had one or both parents
and relatives
who could talk on for hours
about the most meaningless things
forcing those around the bore
to either fall mentally asleep
or wishing they could leave
since the bore knows how to capture
the audience in a corner
or behind a desk

The bore never knows when to


Barry G. Wick