Saturday, September 30, 2023
The Shutdown
Thursday, September 28, 2023
We
Monday, September 25, 2023
Pitchman
Wednesday, September 20, 2023
Beneath This Minute
Sunday, September 17, 2023
The. Plastic Bag of Youthful Death
Monday, August 7, 2023
hikikomori
Sunday, July 9, 2023
We the People
Thursday, June 1, 2023
[Poem]
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Sad People
Wednesday, May 24, 2023
Sunday, May 21, 2023
Risk
Monday, May 8, 2023
(poem)
Sunday, May 7, 2023
(poem)
Thursday, May 4, 2023
[poem]
Wednesday, April 19, 2023
Parade of Kings
Monday, March 27, 2023
Conundrum
Saturday, March 25, 2023
A Memory
Thursday, March 16, 2023
Three Years
Sunday, February 26, 2023
Empty Spaces
Wednesday, February 8, 2023
From Father to Son
Monday, February 6, 2023
Not Me
The Poet"s Garbage Can
Saturday, February 4, 2023
The Begging of Nobody
Friday, February 3, 2023
Pronoucements
Sunlight and Bills
Sunday, January 22, 2023
The Mystery (for Jon R.)
Wednesday, January 11, 2023
Sunday, January 8, 2023
The Old Bracelet
The Old Bracelet
Though all the storms of these past years,
A small token of a mother’s love remains.
A bracelet sheathed in a thin layer of gold
With solid links that are hard to open.
It may have belonged to her mother
Though I am unsure of the ownership.
It could have been a start of a charm
Or a gift from someone loved for years.
On this bracelet three charms hang
Attached to one end in combination.
Here a small crown less than an inch
Next, a gold plated wing and name plate.
All three tell some story I cannot surmise
Yet, I am drawn to this bracelet today.
On the back of the name plate,
Mother’s name in simple line inscribed
Perhaps others items were upon it
Charms that meant much to her mother
Or perhaps this was all that was there.
My wrist now shares this bracelet.
At the end of my arm before my hand
Three things simply hang in discord:
A striped sweatband of blue and white,
Rainbow beads on white cord, and this.
The significance of all this escapes me.
I’ll wear them for awhile to find
What they will mean to me today
Or tomorrow, time brought them all.
Barry G. Wick