[Poem]

[Poem]

A new cloud

Imagines me

Laying upon a changing ground

I change my shape so often

I forget what animal I am

Or I'm created in chains

Of wisps of vapor

Colored by emotions

I no longer understand

To roll in this muddy life

Gives the changing sky

Dreams that fall away

I am sleeping 

Hoping to awaken

In a new belief

A new set of unruly pictures

Sliding around on glass

Barry G. Wick

Sad People

Sad people

I've begun to see

The images presented

As if I belonged here

With sad poets in old pictures.

The downturned mouth,

The eyes on the edge of blank,

From another time.

He looked like I could know him

But we're a hundred years ago

And I'm now wherever and whenever

That is.  That is.

My father described the kind of man

That I am.

The picture of my old love was sad.

Am I sad?

Only because I see

What others can't see.

I'm not special.

The illusions.  Every illusion.

It's almost as if

Well that won't work.

These are just words.

I'm lost in them.

Green gray blue red.

Impossible.

 Barry G. Wick

poem

Risk

Risk

It's a board game played

To give common people

A sense of power

Once only available

To kings and generals

Who saw that taking

Land and people brought

Great wealth and power

Every man becomes a king

When he is loved

by another

Love is the greatest risk

My country pieces

Have been removed

From the world map

I am now an unloved

Subject

A subject eats cheap hotdogs

Letting them fry in a small pan

The heat makes them pop

As they turn themselves

When a side becomes

Blistered and burned

Burned blisters come

from battles

In Risk

Barry G. Wick

(poem)

Few will understand me

Or remember me

Hate or love me

In as short as twenty years

Or even yesterday

Will you buy my perspective today?

I thought not

At the least I offered

What does anyone expect for free

The cost to each of us gives value

I've lost everything

So I must be rich

Barry G. Wick, part of 500 poems written by this author at https://agereasonmistake.blogspot.com

(poem)

Here is your daily dose of throwaway 

art

Here is your daily dose of throwaway Music

Here is your daily dose of throwaway Words

Here is your daily dose of throwaway

Sex

Here is your daily dose of throwaway

People

It's all headed for Mars and faraway

Stars

The oceans are filling with plastic

Ain't that fantastic

They come from a planet you can't

Pronounce only known by the ounce

Stuff me in your rectum play me with your

Plectrum

It's all a loss so says the boss now make

My eyes gloss with sphagnum moss

Holy roly poly Renato Podjoli

Fizzle me twizell gisele me bizzell

Modgrobble me bobble ubgobble yer tobble

Barry G. Wick

Https://agereasonmistake.blogspot.com

   

[poem]

Your last breaths seemed painful to me

I am certain of your last thoughts

As mine may be the same as I say good-bye to the world of pain I created

Speaking to you like Neruda speaks

To his mother would not be possible

I am tired beyond those black years

When I constantly cared for you

I did tell you I loved you as I put

My flabby arm around you that you

Could not put around me like your sister

Who showed me affection I missed

Your mother's words came to me

In missed caresses as you explained

Her cold Norwegian upbringing 

And the distance between you and her

What did you get from her in those

Years of vocalizing in Dakota's enclaves

As I remember her in her last year's

I felt little warmth in my failed heart

These vacancies have passed down

To my children and to me doubly

In these years of distance and emptiness

That have been left to me unpolished

Barry G. Wick

Parade of Kings

Parade of Kings

Out with the garbage

To the bin on the porch

Sit down in my walker

Slight cool on my skin

One then two gray squirrels 

Chase on the open street

In front of my home

A dozen or more tails

Round about a white car

Up on the tires or tailpipe

I think of the shooters

In Merry Ol' England

Entertaining by video

The viewers with death

Of these joyous creatures

Perhaps they damage

But where I wonder

The corn is not planted

No beans in small pods

So chase as they must

Play on my street

I am content to watch

More than I've ever seen

Tomorrow I'll take some

Nuts from my freezer

Try coaxing them up 

To where I sit in cool air

The years on my brow

Squirrels reign on my street

Barry G. Wick

Conundrum

Conundrum

The Buddhist chef says

"When you wash the rice,

Wash the rice."

Mindfulness of task.

I brush my teeth

In a mindful way.

My nose says "Hold on!

I'm dripping now. Mindful this."

No, I'm brushing my teeth.

"I'll drip through your mustache

And into your mouth," it says.

What can I do? I'm brushing.

"Mindful of my needs, please."

Throughout my day

Nose interrupts.

Obviously nose hates

A student Buddhist

Who hates nose.

Hate does not appear

In the Buddhist student handbook.

Barry G. Wick

A Memory

A Memory

This morning colder as I sit

At an old plastic sink

Brushing my graying hair

The man in the mirror

Looks at strands in a comb

Pulled from his thinning head

Across the room a radio

Plays a piano trio

Adding to the age

Of the moment

Someone listens to hip hop

They don't miss or know

This piece from an olden time

Just as I don't know theirs

Now there begins a sweet thought

Given to the time of day

A change in the eyes annouces

Both at the same time

Just minutes from the dreams 

Reflections meet each other

In a tear of a better past

That happens more in these days

Barry G. Wick