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Thursday, December 29, 2011

Poem on the Passing of the Dear Leader

Our bodies have turned to tears
and we run to the rivers
as fast as all tears flow
to get away from this grief
that consumes us
We shall be free of this grief
when our bodies meet the ocean
that has become the tears of the world

We give up all our food
so that you may eat in the next life
Your strength of purpose
comes from our empty pantries
as you fight for us
our enemies
beyond this world

And then our tears shall turn to steel
the steel of our weapons
and the muscles in our arms
as we join you to destroy
the imperialists who shame themselves
that they cannot see your greatness
and feel the love you had
for the peoples of the world

Our hearts are now empty
and etched with the letters
the great purpose of our lives
to be close to the heat
the was
your great name
We shall always remember

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Another Prison for this Glorious Day

I must rush now

the day speeds away

when it occurs to me

my world around me is larger

than I think it is

despite my place

attached to my elderly mother

a fleshy ball with an invisible chain

of memories and feelings

There were times I ventured

beyond these walls

and thought myself so fortunate

to have met so many people

and let my body brag and dance

away from this creek and valley

Those experiences inspired very little

and pushed no words to the creamy top

of that murky milky life

There is much more for me in the quiet

and the shade of the evergreens

than all the pain the beyond created

Because here I can finally see

the dried leaves of the woodbine

that hangs on the screen

the patches of snow

that remain through the winter

and the water that swirls and roils

through the backyard

even if only through

a few dirty windows

which sun barely slides

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

How Rude the Eagle

A blue sky above

a yellow checked tablecloth

where Mother sits to face the creek

for breakfast


a bald eagle makes circles

above the eastern slope

of Norris Peak

when the sun is right

we see the flash of white

from its tail and head

first several circles one way

then several in the opposite direction

a quick turn away to the north

to seek some other space

where it can't be seen

by an old woman in her wheelchair

and her son who nears 60

who both dream of such freedom

she from her age and many infirmities

and me from daily chores

that make the knee and back

feel like they've broken

when mother asks if the eagle

would like to use her handkerchief

and have a piece of her granola bar

And all I can think about is a snot-nosed

American bald eagle

about to munch on a whitetail carcass

and needing to wipe it's bloody beak

on mother's handkerchief

No Quaker Oats granola bars for thee or me

The nerve of that bird

when it's got all those flags

that flap in the breeze

just ready for eagle boogers

red white and blue

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick

Monday, December 5, 2011

A Waltz in March-time

You can't imagine what 38,000 years

will do to change the world

and yet attitudes will remain the same

Human are humans after all

The great weather had come

and stayed

The deserts became verdant

years of peace and plenty

Where Mogadishu had been desert

a city of mud brick

now great forests

gardens of fruit and vegetables

as it was all across Africa

Yes oil in Saudi Arabia

but giant forests of redwood-like trees

The world burned wood

and the great greenery of the planet

sucked up all the evil

man could put into the air

He told me he couldn't love me

because love hurt too much

Nothing changes

even the dreams are unbelievable

snow in Timbuktu

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick