Thank you to those who support me via my Paypal account: The government doesn't read my poetry. You do. Out of over 400 poems here on this blog by me, I hope you find one or more you like. Thank you for my readers. Thank you for your comments.

Thursday, December 23, 2021

Hosing It Away

Hosing It Away

I rinse the night
As one might wash a driveway
Dreams flow to the gutter
Of morning
On their way to the sewer
Their life is better than mine
Full of people with no purpose
Unlike me who moves
From unfocused room
To blurry staircase
Shifting panels
Of relentless triptychs
Their liquid paint
Drips from my sleepless sunrise
Steel yourself sir
This prison and it's fears
Awaits your decision
Cereal or pancakes
Two or three eggs
Potatoes or leftover biscuit
Coffee or tea
All the important choices
Behind the scrim
That hides your shadow
From this audience

Barry G Wick

Wednesday, December 15, 2021


Twisted brown ghosts 
Swirl in the street
Then one direction up
Then down to the corner
Some jump around
The railings of the ramp
I sit waiting for their message
A few dance up to me
Who wonders what they think
Of a man who enters
His 71st year
They only had one summer
Each screaming their green joy
In the sun whose trip
Brought warmth to this town
Now life bent them
Into dry curved phantoms
That haunt me in a fall wind
There is no moaning
Or distant vocal tunes
They have no mouths
But speak to me of days ahead
When they will crumble
Like my old bones 
In coming years
Around whose porch will I be blown

Barry G Wick

Sunday, December 12, 2021



For what I am about to receive
I will truly be grateful

For what I have received
I am truly grateful

For those who raised me
I am truly grateful

For those who befriended me
I am truly grateful

For those who taught me
I am truly grateful

For those who endured me
I apologize

For those I wronged
I am sorry

For those who love me
I love you more

For those who hate me
I have changed

For those who pity me
I have everything I need

For those who fear me
I am no longer what I was

For those who come after me
I am forgettable

For those who question me
I no longer have answers

For those who remain
I saw a different world

For those who explore
I prayed to the universe

Barry G Wick

Thursday, December 9, 2021

Racing Thoughts

Racing Thoughts

And coming to the straightaway
It's a memory in a bar
from year 21
Followed by saying no
To a family friend
Parked in an A&W drive in
They are neck and neck
Speeding to the finish line
When now streaks in front
And makes them crash
Just before the finish line
Now does that all the time
It should be banned
From the speedway
The race is over
Now takes us back
To the studio
Atop my fantastic bed
At just after five in the morning

Barry G.Wick

Tuesday, December 7, 2021



I am an old photograph
In a closet
Passed around electric
Torn upon the floor
In an old building
Filed in a discarded book
That slowly decays
Nothing can bring me
Back to life
By the time
You see me
Everyone will have forgotten
The way I laughed
The sound of my voice
The list of my loves
Or what I'd eat for breakfast
I wrote this already dead
My bones became dust
When the title was written
I'm sorry I can't touch you
Or caress your skin
With my rough lips
As we share our beds
I neither care about
Or listen to news
On the radio
In a video
I am not heard
I am not seen
I claim no grave
Nor space in the minds
Of my descendants
My dreams are all black
Printed on failed atoms
Split for new stars
Come here now
I call for you
Be nothing today
Evaporate into meaninglessness
We will be happy together

Barry G. Wick

Saturday, November 27, 2021

Banned in Texas

This poem
Will be banned
In Texas.
It was written
By a person
Who has read
A book,
Seen modern art,
Hoped for alternative energy,
Can spell in American,
Has drunk wine,
No longer owns guns,
Thinks there's hope
For Hispanics,
And worst of all...
Has had sex.
I'm certain I could
Offer up some other
Shocking life experiences
That someone in Texas
Could find offensive
Such as having ribald
Dreams on occasion.
Mice in my home 
May also have had sex.
My neighbors might be
I have electricity that's
Reliable in winter.
That alone will
Get this poem a
Triple X rating
In Dallas and Houston.
Far worse,
I write letters and poems
And have family in Texas
Who are literate
Just like me.
They might be
Thank you, Texas,.
For banning this poem.
You have boosted my career
To the emperean.
I expect to have,
At the very least,
Attracted one more reader
That doesn't pay me
For anything I've written.
I also put ketchup
On hotdogs.
Now I'm banned
In Chicago.

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, November 25, 2021

Black Time

Black times shine through 
Out from the days
Into the empty nights
Bragging their nonsense
With dreams and colored visions
That never can be possessed

I am tears that wait
To be brushed away
By a welcome finger
Not my own that reap
The sorrow of golden days
That never came together

The descent into this morning
Of promises begins lifeless
Seeds of caution expect
Their blooms of change
Overloaded with pillars
Of racing sun caught wild

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, November 7, 2021

Before Long

Before Long

When was that?

Or when will that be?

I stand in awe

Of the colors I see

In those two words.

The yellow of the fall grass

Where I'd sit on the knoll

South of my childhood home

On Hangmans Hill.

What dark green ponderosas

With black and gray bark

Torn to rose by finger nails

Stands in the way of my eyes

As I spent time thinking

Above the town where I grew

With no plans or dreams

Of my own.

I satisfied the dreams

Of others hoping I could

Feel a love for which

I searched and still do.

Did the radioactive rock

Deep beneath my chosen perch

Burn the drive out of me?

I'd look down upon the town

The descending path

Behind me with its curves

From the skyline above

Ends here with the redwood house

On my right and my future

On my left where the rain

Would cross the bands of hills

I could see in summer.

Is it long now, as my mind

Goes there to rest

In these lonely years?

Is it before long

When life's longest rest

Takes me to the edges

Of the universe?

This reverie in limbo

Has me dreaming

Of sitting here

In a past where my mind

Was blank of everything

That was important

Or could be.

I'll never really be

There again,

Alone, so alone,

Watching all that tiny life

from above

As if I were a godd

Unable to control anything.

It is the same now,

Without the browned grass

To pluck and place

On youthful lips,

Or tiny stones to toss

To the edge of this gentle mound

That comes to me from memory.

Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, September 21, 2021


I found out
Two great composers
We're lovers for forty years
Nobody told me in the wasteland

I needed to have water
In my chest was
A thirsty horse
Who needed

I followed paths
That took me to lost
When I couldn't read

It's too late to runaway
There's no hope of rebirth
I'm in a growing darkness
Full of shame and guilt
Looking back at all the people
I hurt

Destined as I am
I live to punish myself

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, July 25, 2021

Night Travels

Night Travels

My dreams give me life

In the dark

I search for home

And fail to find it

Or am turned away

By people I don't know

Sometimes walking

Sometimes on a bicycle

I then search the night

For another place

I called home

There is no feeling worse

Than waking up

Having found nothing

To satisfy the desire

To return

Welcome to my search

I've found you

Rummaging through my thoughts

For what answer do you search?

I don't have it

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, June 24, 2021

Ten Thousand


Ten Thousand

Dance steps

the noisy kind that turn the head

through drifting picnics

on soft grass

The surprise of it

Note of music

soft passages with open windows

mixed dark dreams

lightning in clouds

water pressure released

Lines of yarn

blue and red on indigenous looms

to wrap a horse

with falls from grace

extended hands shunned

Frightened dogs

a pleasing yip of joy

the walkers stumble

climbers grab at straw

jars of beef broth

Wet finger tips

wrinkles in the cotton shirt

wilting chrysanthemums

squirrels chase in the yard

the vibrations of Bach

Barry G. Wick

Monday, June 14, 2021


It. (For Nancy)

Have you selected your "its"

It is a bottle of vodka

Filtered and re-distilled

It is an eclair with choco icing

It is stylish clothes

Or your newest friend

Who has your heart in a skip

There will come a day

When it won't matter

Any it will not matter

Oh you'll seek butterflies

And unicorns grazing

In fields of pale blue flowers

Their hooves flinging gold

Into a spring morning

When some it grabs you

With muscled arms

That enfold you

Only for a moment

Until you remember 

It doesn't matter

This isn't surrender

Or giving up

This is acceptance

That this moment

Will be more important

Than the it that scrapes

Your remembrance

Of your first breath

And bright lights

In a cold room

When life became your it

Your focus changes

All those other its don't matter

They all release you

From your promises to them

This and that it doesn't matter

You are now free

To be

To be it

Barry G. Wick

Monday, June 7, 2021


Dear Readers and Friends,

Blogger by Google is changing.  Instead of allowing you to received my poems, as you are one of my subscribers, via email, they are no longer going to allow that.  I suspect the day is coming when I will no longer be posting here.  None, the less, if you wish to see my poems when I publish them, please send your email address to and I will alert you when I've put a new poem up here.

You may or may not know that I am not a fan of the publishing world.  I'm certain there are people smarter and more refined than I who bring small magazines and books of poems to the public.  They are to be lauded.  I hate rejection beyond everything.  I've been rejected ao many times by editors that the pain of rejection is beyond my ability to stand it.    Now, some will say, toughen those tits, Barry.  Yeah, but after a life where I was always trying to be tough and never could be, well, maybe I hope you'll understand why I don't try an publish...sending out my simple ruminations into a dark world.  Thank you for being among the view who read what I have to write.  Remember, to send me your email address and I'll alert you.

Barry G. Wick

Sunday, June 6, 2021

Ancient Wisdom

Ancient Wisdom

(with thoughts of Lao Tzu)

Little thoughts have bounced

around my head

for years

Lao Tzu figured it out

thousands of years ago

In my old age I understand

what he wrote

in another way

or the same way

depending upon his age

One failure becomes two

Two failures becomes three

and three failures becomes

the ten thousand failures

Anything I write after that

is just trying to keep your attention

which is another failure

because you'll go on

and never remember me

which is one of my

ten thousand failures

Barry G. Wick

Saturday, May 15, 2021

Gauguin Weeps

Gauguin Weeps

Here apart from all of you
What is seen is failure
Deepest black
An empty jar full of sour
Photos that fill memories
Of jaunts there to find
The basic nature
Of green and brown
And yellow
That fail to show
The real colors
In a false world
Of sales and business

Too many conquests
Are robberies
That leave nothing
Nothing that remains
So off to new worlds
Where dreams spill
Their canvas in the night

Barry G Wick

Wednesday, May 12, 2021



We're suppose to think

we're free to think

to read

to see

to understand

When you get

a few years older

you'll recognize the limitations

imposed by higher powers

on your rights

Books films magazines

important information

all restricted items

you can't know

won't be known to you

unless you ask

for them

Enjoy what you think

is your freedom

You're not allowed to think

You're not allowed to decide

for yourself

You're not allowed to know

which is the basis of asking

for what you want to know


Be a good little slave

It's all that's left to you

Barry G. Wick

Monday, May 10, 2021


The Rules of Limitation

It is the way it is

because I say so

You are my chattel

You are my servant

This is what you are

from the day you are born

I allow you nothing

but what my thoughts

my rules and limitations


Don't like it

Then tell me from the day

you are born

and I'll release you

to the world

It's that simple

I'll put you in the street

for someone to pick you up

Oh can't talk or complain yet

That's the way I like it

You cry to be fed

Stop it

I'll feed you when I feel like it

Dirty diaper

When I can't stand the smell

I'll change you

Don't like living with me

tough kid I own you

unless on your day of birth

you told me different


you can't be what you want

you can't talk back to me

you can't do anything

unless I grant you permission

don't talk

what you say is unimportant

I have been everything to you

and will be forever

tiptoe into my presence

with your head bowed

yes you have to practice piano

I buy clothes for me

so I look beautiful

so I feel good about myself

I will drag you everywhere

I get satisfaction

for my own well being

You will go to shoe stores

You will go to fabric stores

You will go to my seamstress

You will go and be respectful

Keep your head bowed

and shut up

I buy clothes and shoes and

everything I want every week

You get what I give you

once a year

It's the least I can do

and too much for you

then you go to school

and learn all the rules

of the world around you

Add them to your inventory

You must believe in godd

It is the way we control you

inside your own mind

You will learn so much

about godd

that you will create your

own limitations

We like that you are limited

We like that we don't have

to make any more rules for you

You destroy your own soul

because that is what we were taught

about ourselves

Barry G. Wick

Monday, April 26, 2021

Love: the old poetic topic

Love: the old poetic topic

Feeling love is the problem

Feeling that another loves

is a really deep problem

A generalization:  the people

who don't feel loved are


old people

and everybody else

Fat or thin

Able or disabled

Conscious or unconscious

Nobody feels loved


How do we change this?

If you have an answer

Please comment below

I haven't a clue

Barry G. Wick

Saturday, April 17, 2021

Afternoon Nap

Afternoon Nap

I decide to lay down

Saturday afternoon

With my buds in my ears

Listening to my jazz station

Out of California.

A yawn or two

And I'm out.

Then it's a dim club


I've been in too many.

I see a corner booth

Like Capone's

At the Green Mill

In Chicago.

I'm alone as

The waiter

Puts a string

Across the other

Opening which

Assures I'll be alone

I order a drink

Except I haven't 

Had alcohol in years.

I sit there when

The waiter picks up

A phone adjacent

To the booth.

I grab a sawbuck

Sliding it towards

him pointing

First to the bill 

Then to him

Indicating its his tip.

No response.

Then my eyes open

And I'm back on my bed.

Would my ten have worked

Like it did in Missoula?

Ending the night 

With the handsome waiter

In my bed at the attached

Hotel on the river.

I doubt it.

Ten bucks meant more then.

Now I'm just a lonely

Old queer with nothing

In my last home

Waiting to die.

It's the pandemic

Of the 2020s

When anybody with

Half a mind is just as lonely.

My bed is a dark bar

Giving a queer drunk

Something from memory

Of younger days.

I had dreams then

In Chicago.

Now I'm just a lump

No man would look at.

Dreams now are just

As lonely as they were.

Though now ten dollars

Is food for three days

Not a night's warmed bed.

Why is this music

Still feeding my afternoon?

Hunger doesn't end

Like one night stands.

Dreams do end also.

They end in a sigh.

Barry G. Wick

Saturday, April 10, 2021



All the change

I now hate

Is filled with

My bad decisions

Mistakes and screw-ups

Everything is different

For me

It's my fault

My world is no joy

No hugs and no kisses

Boo hoo

So get over it shithead

It's why I chose

To be born

And why I decided

To live

Every time I  wanted

To die

That time is coming

For me

So rather than making

It happen

I will let it when it does

Until then

Find a little bouquet

With no flowers

They're all around

It can be appreciated

Even with no odor

The smell of a rose

Is in the dirt somewhere

Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, March 30, 2021



I'm getting smaller

sliding away from all this

Each year is slippery

as the mind finds

new memories

to make pain

which didn't exist then

seem eternal and obvious

No one told me

lonely years hurt 

So I tell you

Each moment comes back

Fill now with kindness

You may be forced

to explain to your

wandering mind

six questions you'd pay

a shrink to ask

to make you understand

all you ever did

Barry G. Wick