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.

Saturday, January 15, 2022

A Broken Branch

A Broken Branch

My son no longer talks to me
Just as I no longer hear the crows
On the flagged ponderosa
Next to Hangmans Rock.
His children know more about me
Than I know about a crow's breath.
It twisted down the hill to my face
As it flutters the fuzz on a young ear
That cannot fathom the confusion of
A son's first sounds just fresh
From his mother's womb.
My lonely hours inside this trailer
Beg for any voice to speak
One kind word that first
Came from his mouth. 
I am so proud of him
That he has thrown me away
Like a match that failed to strike.
I am no man to him
As most gay men are to their families.
We are men in name only
As we hold ourselves aloft
Our black feathers brushing worn bark
Our toes holding fast to dead branches,
Screaming unintelligible verbs
At loosely arranged north winds
Hoping other crows will find this tree.

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, January 13, 2022

A Time for Moats

A Time for Moats

It's no fun guessing.
You were there
Then you weren't.
I couldn't  know
What you were thinking.
You came to my place
Nicely dressed
Like you were going out.
You didn't call.
What could I know?
All these years now
Are bricks stacked
Against each other's walls
Ready to make new ones.
I say the wrong thing.
You begin to cry.
You won't get angry.
What can I know if
You say nothing
Along with your tears.
I give up.
Is this the way it is
To be with everyone
I want to love me?
There is only one way
Out of this silence.
It's time to get concrete
Mixed for the bricks.
There are only walls
To build between me
And everyone else.
I'll open no doors.
I'll start no calls
And answer none.
In here must be
Some kind of happiness.

Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, January 5, 2022

Good Morning


Good Morning

The fan on the furnace

spins for longer and longer

as a horn on the radio

plays its concerto

of a cold morning

The machine on the counter

plays my dishes clean

Electric lights right and left

and over the stove

All this to disappear?

My fragile world

disappears imperceptibly

as it crawls through the hours

its low slung belly

drags upon the hard ground

There are no heights

for it has been the demon

of all lives

waiting for its time to bite

A simple breakfast

will make it disappear

if only for temporary seconds

Which will hide you more?

Eggs or bran

Coffee or tea

Butter or jam

If we give it choices

it will stray from its

muddy path

and lose itself in decisions

I send it to the stars

A few parsecs and it will

forget about me

Barry G. Wick