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.

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