Wee Hours

Wee Hours

There is no sleep
when an old brain wakes
There is no dream
when the dark night breaks

Each sound spins up
when the ear grasps creaks
Each mouse ear jumps
when a wide yawn peaks

No drink will calm
when poured in a glass
No marks are made
when a scratch meets ass


Barry G. Wick

We Bring You This Message

We Bring You This Message

The wind enjoys its command
as it is slowed by the mills
just long enough to be seen
like a bird on the sill
the small dance of fluffed feathers

We belong to the sky
as we parade on the ground
our floats gather no attention
as children creep to doors
costumed in hopeful colors

Trumpet jazz centers
a singer between the eyes
clarinet fingers
More fires blaze with smoke
a saxophone army at war

There a piston jumps
the snap of walnut seeds
Under a bridge of bones
wrinkled mayors hang
nominations cease

What are the conclusions
of a grape with no leaves
Jackalopes storm the walls
in a season full of bricks
volatile napkins cover dolls


Barry G. Wick

The Morning Sun

The Morning Sun

The morning sun peeks
above the  trees in fall colors
lower to the south

Winter chills begin
with its rude expenditures
of relentless frost

Radio talkers
moan with hidden emotion
in leaf-dry voices

Outside travels slow
with thoughtful preparation
mindful dark lengthens

Warmer socks come out
coats from the back of closets
they puff up with pride

Mice rustle at night
in search of hard won meals
evil traps readied

Stores sell snow shovels
ready new holiday lights
covered shoulders shrug 

This change demands dreams
there is a summer ahead
beyond winter's chill

Don't count these photons
useless larger numbers fly
their wings clipped at dusk 

Barry G. Wick

Gray Leaves

Gray Leaves

My black plastic brush
with black plastic tines
topped by purple beads
needs the hair cleaned
from the puffed surface

I use a handy scissors
to lift the hair
above where it's rested
for weeks until today
as I stare out the window

October is outside
with a cool temperature
Rain has knocked leaves
to the lawn of green spears
that becomes mostly yellow

Hair now sits above
the brush as I clean it
It's a tangle of gray
that belongs to this month
as these two befriend the fall

Barry G. Wick

The Shopping List

The Shopping List--(not necessarily in order of importance)

Peace on earth
love
The Beatles come to visit
a book publisher
a better attitude
towards small poetry journals
a new paradigm
a couple of artificial knees
without all the pain
a friend who comes to visit
more money than I know
what to do with, and not
THAT much
a sunny day
a real house with a fenced back yard
for a small dog
politicians who are nice to each other
who think of the people they
represent and not the next election
motivation to tie-dye
an Indian classical music trio come to visit
for a private concert with friends
who would like it
patience with myself
time with my children and grandchildren
            and being important to them
to so something nice for distant friends
            who have been generous with me
a gathering of deeply-missed relations
            who are no long with us
a life of regret-less memories
            without mistakes and bad decisions
a concert grand piano
a giant theater organ and building to hold it
better dreams
a lack of desire for things
appreciation and gratitude for what I have
             for where I am and what I do
a much smaller shopping list
             filled with my deepest thoughts
a peaceful and pain free last day
             filled with laughter and people I love
no more lonely tears


Barry G. Wick

Iowa Rain

Iowa Rain

A million fingers tapping on my roof
I decide to shop for groceries
when there is a roar in the store
from the ceiling
with the rain at its heaviest
After checkout
I sit at a gray bench by the door
waiting for the drops to slow
I am patient
only to decide
I don't want to wait
for myself to stop being silly
ready to enjoy the dark puddles
shiny with rippling targets

Barry G. Wick