My Fear

It quivers deep in my stomach

that which I've filled with gold

joyful food and celebration

It's loyal and stays close always

the rubbery brood of which

I cannot give birth

In sudden dreams

that pass through wakefulness

my half sleep shudders

This will not be named today

because it slides through

a spiraled pipe of senseless vibration

I have longed to capture

the harried animal out of reach

as it turns to flash its teeth

Magnificent beast who yawns

red-eyed at my boredom

inspect what you create

This tied-up creature tugs

at the edges of every me

that brings the end so suddenly

Barry G. Wick

Eye Movement---a countdown nonet

If old memory tries to be fresh,

it is to be the course of day,

that once the time in play

a thought or two around

the fingers of youth

twirled between

now and then:

think and

blink

Barry G. Wick

Image

“It’s not what you are that counts, it’s what they think you are.”
- Andy Warhol

I wake up today

to put on my loincloth

of gray jersey

one of two I bought

at the big and Indian store

there are no feathers

falling to earth in front of me

for a headdress

so I will have to pretend

I'm not an Indian

I'm not

but that doesn't matter

my tomahawk quietly

dips into my raisin bran

so I have to be careful

not to scalp my lips

the lady sits on her porch

sending smoke signals

with her cigarette

telling me her husband

loves her in a special way

I made that up

I have no idea what she's saying

Some of us are going

to hunt buffalo

at the big box store

or the buffalo are going

to hunt us

like the stupid tourists

who get gored every year

I'm an old non-Indian

Nobody smokes a pipe with me

to ask my advice

I don't have a pipe

I hate smoking

and I know enough

never to give advice

when I ride a pony

the hair chafes my thighs

loincloths don't protect

like they should

Vaseline brand Beargrease

that'll help

I don't have a pony

but if I did

I'd still wear a loincloth

they're kinda sexy

today I will shoot arrows

to get food

the store hates it

when I hit the scanner strip

tearing it so the laser can't read it

I don't have a bow and arrow either

The neighbor's dog is barking

I think I'll cook it for dinner

No I just think it

I couldn't catch the damn thing

if I tried

The big hot ball

is setting in the west

so the day is over

I wish the kids wouldn't

burn their rubber balls

they smell terrible

Soon the stars will come out

and we'll sit around the fire

telling stories

It's the Tonight Show

I don't know who's on
I miss Dave

Barry G. Wick

Somewhere

Somewhere today
your spirit resides in the shadow
where I cannot see you
My eyes strain
to find a line on your face
that has disappeared to the place
where neither sun nor incandescence
will take me again
to the times we laughed

I think of opening the black door
only to realize
my time will come
when this chariot of flesh
will jump the ruts
sending this wisp of life
sprawling in search
of what came before

There is no laughing at memory
because it leaves me as soon
as I look away
from its frightful pages
perching me on this gleaming woe
from which I cannot be dislodged
these feathers that fail to find air
an invisible bird
in an undiscovered cavern
of the heart

Barry G. Wick

So Many Choices

The crunch of cereal in the mouth
or the crunch of bones as a drone flies
dropping bombs on an accidental
group celebrating a wedding

Crispy  fried chicken
or what's left inside a tank
after an anti-tank guided missile
struck just an hour ago

Having a gray beard
when buying beer at the corner
or having an identification ready
when having to pee

Turning off the engine
of world oil consumption
or turning this planet
into a baked puppy

Eating a whole bag
of chocolate candy
or having a foot removed
from a diabetic infection

Voting for the compromised candidate
or voting for the loudmouth
who seeks attention

Marrying the person who's loved
or pretending to love someone
in order to be accepted

Accepting the facts of science
or believing the candidate
who says the voice of god
is his guidance



Barry G. Wick

Small Comforts v. A Writer's Life

the end of shelling

a bit of food

two hours of sleep

clean socks

someone's puppy

mother's voice

a torn blanket

walking to someplace safer

some rain in silence

clean water

v.

a title

the first line

an important word

inspiration from the radio

reading another writer

crossing out a word

crossing out a line

foot tapping

fingers tapping the keys

the end of the thought

The winner is

children in war

who hope

they all become writers

who can't think

of the next line

with a full refrigerator

a comfortable chair

soft music

in a neighborhood

without the sound

of gunfire

and screaming

Barry G. Wick

The Facts of Now

A trip postponed

the cellphone's battery

needs charging

Another freedom lost

saxophone from the radio

bubbling from the fish tanks

warmer weather heats this home

the budget for next month

develops beneath a light

reflections of closed curtains

in a seven inch screen

as I type to the computer

This is not a time to meditate

only to just be here

Patience is rewarded with thought

that I wish weren't here

Worries about money

then I'm not here

I'm faraway in another eon

Are there a few more bars

on the battery mark

I don't get that many calls

using one fifteenth

of the phone's allotment

The older I get the less of everything

gets used due to reasons

beyond my control

My love was the first to go

since there's no one to love

with me close

no one to care for

My dreams are full of places

I cannot go

I move with youth in them

rather than the heaviness

I have

These are the facts of now

Looking out from the cave

is not the same

as looking at the shadows

on the wall

Barry G. Wick

Little Black Book

If found, do not open.

If opened, do not read.

If read, do not understand.

If understood, do not remember,

If remembered, do not tell.

If told, say you lied.

If you said you lied, say you were sick.

If you said you were sick, puke for effect.

If you puked for effect, wipe your chin.

If you wiped your chin, throw away the rag.

If you threw away the rag, take out the trash.

If you took out the trash, watch it carefully for pick up.

If you watched it carefully for pick up, follow the truck.

If you followed the truck, be sure it was emptied.

If it was emptied, go back home.

If you went back home, stay there forever.

If you stayed there forever, look for something to read.

If you looked for something to read, don't see a little black book.

Barry G. Wick

Love Rant

Why can't I be beautiful

with my loaves of fat

buttered around my body

Why can't I be loved

because I have places

you can love those skinny boys

never will see on themselves

Why can't I be touched

because my skin feels the same

its not hard and bony

Why can't I be your teacher

because I've lived though

what you've never seen

know what you do not

Why can't I be your friend

because I do not have one

since I'm old enough

to have had many friends die

Why can't you love me

with my octopus knees

my limps with a groan

pain-filled feet

on stumps of trees

Why must love shave me

this beard has its secrets

my mustache rakes you close

Why do you stay away

just a few miles not far

because there you are safe

because here you are loved

Barry G. Wick

Lobster in the Pines

It was the only place

I could think as a child,

which was a time

of confusion.

My Father was addicted

to optometry, scotch, golf,

socializing, telling jokes,

his own masculinity,

and proving he knew

more about everything

than you. Oh, and Nixon.

My Mother was addicted

to singing, clothes, fabric,

reading, spending money, socializing,

proving she was

more feminine than Jesus,

and dragging me

to shoe stores, clothing stores,

fabric stores, and choir practice.

My Brother was addicted

to reading science fiction,

math, silence, and auto mechanics.

It was the only way he could

deal with our parents.

I was addicted to confusion,

trying to please my mother,

and wondering why

my father sided with her

when she said I shouldn't

play baseball because

it would hurt my hands.

I was nine and crushed.

So I further became addicted

to food, an opaque shell,

sex, marijuana, alcohol,

writing, lying, and shame.

My addictions

have worked well to this day

which keeps my children,

my friends,

and anyone I might love

guessing.

Nobody cracks

my hard shell,

which is why

I am a crustacean.

They should throw me

in a boiling pot

when I die

and have a beach party

with beer and salad,

somewhere in the pines,

which isn't a beach party

so all the guests

can be confused.

Barry G. Wick