The Crimes of Spring

wind-played green
as breezes
sparkle the leaves after rain
in early sun the morning bright
tired eyes dazzled in it
typing this green that green
every green
fresh green
sun green
shadow green
green on flowing water
boiling through green yards
of tall grass
fast green too fast to mow
green creeping though chain links
green hiding and playing in new dawn
silly green joking green
and as the morning breeze calms
a serious green ready to work
green rolling up its sleeves
chopping up the sun
butcher of light
bloody green
knife and fork green
two-fisted green
eating up the bright
in great mouthfuls
dripping down the chin
of stuffed leaves
fat leaves
greedy green leaves
splitting the pants branches
spitting its buttons
across the yard green
It is the rich summer
of green stuffed wallets
stalks of green
shocks of green
frightening green
it's masked robbery
of everything in the sky
the steel leaf at my eye
green hammer cocked
green bullets spraying everywhere
ducking for cover in the green
and wiping the green sweat off my brow
surviving this criminal spring
this cool calculated green spring


Barry G. Wick

(MP3 of Barry G. Wick reading this poem)

The Optometrist (for my father)

As my eyes begin to fade
and the paper turns to mush
I've grown quite fond of 'puters
and the way they make me rush.

I push one button here
and all the letters jump
large letters make the read so easy
and the page no more a clump.

Perhaps it's not a screen I need
nor buttons easy tapped
but glasses clearing up the world
with blurriness quite zapped.

There's not a moment I don't think
upon my father dear
an optometrist who helped the blurred
and held good vision near.

I should see him with my fuzzy need
and knock upon his door
alas, he's gone on fishes' trails
to permanently snore.

(MP3 of Barry G. Wick reading this poem)


Copyright (c) 2010 by Barry G.Wick

The Bat

What's that? A bat!
Zinging through the air
singing his radar
way far
on a dark, moonless night
seen in the light
of a lamp on the street.
Neat!


copyright 2005 (c) by Barry G. Wick

A Better Mousetrap

After crushing
the rancid peanutbutter
sandwich cookies.
I completed
setting a mousetrap
called
The Frightened Nun.
Then I see a man
ice skating
on two pontoons
filled with hydrogen
sailing across
the interior
of a large warehouse.
As I awaken
I'm overcome
by the complexity
of the sculptured mousetrap
and the simplicity
of setting it
and wonder
if such a thing
would make my fortune
in this world.
Such fortunes await dreamers
who float through sleep
making better mousetraps.

(mp3 file of Barry G Wick reading this poem)

copyright 2006 by Barry G. Wick

The Last Petals

Brief minutes before
I get mother
from bed to chair
I stare at the creek
high for this year
and the crabapples
late at this altitude
having just lost their pink.

Perhaps trees
lose their minds, too,
their beautiful thoughts
as the years rise
longer than normal
in this late spring.



copyright (c) 2010 Barry G. Wick