Patron

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 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.

Sunday, January 22, 2023

The Mystery (for Jon R.)

The Mystery(for Jon R.)


When a person knows
The depth of their failure,
I mean all the misses
And all the hits
That couldn't have been
More wrong,
There is a sense
The road has come to an end.

It's easy to think
The end would be easy,
Except, one always has
To see what's around the corner.

Everything has pain
Associated with every memory
How much pain
Can our victim stand?
Well, more than you know.
It's the self-punishment
That's the goal
Of this disgusting life.
Pain.
It's the least that should happen.

Every photograph,
Every situation seen,
Is a source of horror.
Should this be an end?
Nope. Box of spiders?
Gun to the head?
Rope?
All jokes aside,
A cloudy day is enough.
Be good to this poor soul
Who has no soul.
Your reward will be simple,
But I'm certain I don't know
What it will be.

Barry G. Wick


Wednesday, January 11, 2023

Last Poem

Last Poem

Will someone who writes
The last poem
Please turn off the words.

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, January 8, 2023

The Old Bracelet

 The Old Bracelet


Though all the storms of these past years,

A small token of a mother’s love remains.

A bracelet sheathed in a thin layer of gold

With solid links that are hard to open.


It may have belonged to her mother

Though I am unsure of the ownership.

It could have been a start of  a charm

Or a gift from someone loved for years.


On this bracelet three charms hang

Attached to one end in combination.

Here a small crown less than an inch

Next, a gold plated wing and name plate.


All three tell some story I cannot surmise

Yet, I am drawn to this bracelet today.

On the back of the name plate,

Mother’s name in simple line inscribed


Perhaps others items were upon it

Charms that meant much to her mother

Or perhaps this was all that was there.

My wrist now shares this bracelet.


At the end of my arm before my hand

Three things simply hang in discord:

A striped sweatband of blue and white,

Rainbow beads on white cord, and this.


The significance of all this escapes me.

I’ll wear them for awhile to find

What they will mean to me today

Or tomorrow, time brought them all.


Barry G. Wick


Wednesday, January 4, 2023

Illusion

Illusion

Father makes a funny face.
Mother wears the best clothing.
Other children are friends.
The piano teacher compliments.
A recital audience applauds.
Young men become attractive.
A magazine tells their truth.
Another features exciting photos.
Food is given.
The weather changes.
Teachers select readings.
A first job pays.

So little lasts,
From generation to generation.
It is possible to watch
The changes over a lifetime
Provided with long life
And care for it.
The qualities diminish.
Less courtesy.
More violent language.
More hurtful words.
All mistakes return
Nearer the end.
Expectations wane.
Gradually the stare
Takes over all things.
Even with a bright mind
This all darkens.
There is no relief
From this final pain.
Children now will suffer.
None of their joy remains.
The old sit on benches
To watch their past
Come skipping by.

Barry G. Wick



Thursday, December 29, 2022

On the Porch

On the Porch

The winter sun is low
In the warmer afternoon.
I think about
What I sew.
Wispy clouds hang overhead,
The sky's tangled thread.
Snow melts to send
Rivulets of water
Down sides of the street.
Slight wind damage to the home
Next to me has peeled
The skirting down half the side
Which faces me with a reason
To call the office to complain.
No no no. I'm not that sort.
My complaints are about me.
They cover my eyes before sleep
To wonder about all my poor choices
And the basics of my gay life
Or lack of it now.
Old men need partners that began
In the warm days of life
When porches never needed me.
Sunny life follows those days
As two men should follow each other.
I lived in fear of everything around me.
Every thought was a question.
Then the day came I stood for myself.
It was just a minute.
Those seconds have guided these years
Into the quiet and alone.
I make my peace with those I hurt
Many mostly in silence.
There's no one to call.
There's no one to help with dishes
Or to share the handle of a vacuum.
Now the breeze gets colder.
The sun is deep in the West.
So I am needing to find some warmth
Off the porch to be forgotten.

Barry G.Wick


Monday, December 19, 2022

Evolutionary Tears

Evolutionary Tears

Behold!  Oh stop with the religious angelisms.
To the future I listen from rhombic speakers.
I float in the air like Caesar's thirty molecules
Brushing through your veoli in search
Of mushroom seeds and rabbit turds.
I am still a being in the time of solar dawns
That tear at atoms releasing their contents,
A bag corn chips scattered on pavement
Trampled by oxen that pull covered wagons
Made of glass and unknown metals.
My descendants settle in cracks 
In the concrete of black holes and super giants.
I disturb all conventions with a dedicated thought.
Monster of Motion, be not still at the end.
Your fight against the calm goes on
As it screams for me to hear its familiar octaves.

Barry G. Wick


Wednesday, December 14, 2022

Freedoms

Freedoms

This is a time of confusions
When people are full of delusions
Their freedom is all
They want a tall wall
Between them and other's conclusions

Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, December 7, 2022

The Piano Man's Money

The Piano Man's Money

I know the song. The words didn't click for me when music was the Empire State of mind.  I did play piano before these dwindling word-soaked days.   A synth in the middle bedroom has 64 keys.  Good enough for sensual Bach.  I wish I had a piano with 88 writhing keys, hot and loose.  There are many free. I can barely move groceries and know few muscled lovers.  There's hire it done, but wealth escapes me faster than honey scooped by a greedy remover attacked by bees.

Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, December 6, 2022

First Base

First Base

The calling to an old 
Form of paranoia
Has me suspicious
Out of my day
And having conversations
In my mind
With people I hardly know
/
Who are you
I say to my imaginary nemesis
There is no answer
Because he doesn't know himsf
Inside my head
Which probably says
More about me than the person
Who occupies my imagination

So I travel.though all the possibilities
As related to my own history
With other paranoid people
Who studied me in another life
I had been lassoed by circumstances
I couldn't say no to
I grit my teeth realizing
The mess I'm in now

I can't say no to the new attacker
Who is likely just as lonely
Why would anybody
Want to meet me in this state
This magic of love will defeat itself
In a whirlwind of dust and smoke
From neurons rubbing themselves
That starts fires in the heart
Or wherever emotions
Lay at the bases of mind.and body

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, November 20, 2022

Where Seldom Is Heard

Where Seldom is Heard

There are tears
Where only laughter
And smiles should live
People who believe
Love is love
Already know
Hate is hate

There is a search for answers
With deep sighs
And momentary shaking
Does this ever end
For everyone across the world

We are at war with every person
Of every belief
And every status
It is so easy to find something wrong
With the other we do not know

We live in our corners
Where we think safety's wall exists
It's not there
The dead are not there
With death on a classroom floor
At Sandy someplace
In a library at a high school
On a street in a protest parade
At a supermarket
In a tall building
In a nightclub

The names are not vocalized
At the next act of hate
Hundreds are forgotten
Except by those closest
To the grass and dirt

The moment of deepest anger
Or when we think we know
What is best for someone
Bulldozes another garden
For weather beaten stone
To wear away 
To disappear in ten thousand years
Only hate 
and maybe a little love
Is remembered

Barry G. Wick