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.

Sunday, January 22, 2023

The Mystery (for Jon R.)

The Mystery(for Jon R.)

When a person knows
The depth of their failure,
I mean all the misses
And all the hits
That couldn't have been
More wrong,
There is a sense
The road has come to an end.

It's easy to think
The end would be easy,
Except, one always has
To see what's around the corner.

Everything has pain
Associated with every memory
How much pain
Can our victim stand?
Well, more than you know.
It's the self-punishment
That's the goal
Of this disgusting life.
It's the least that should happen.

Every photograph,
Every situation seen,
Is a source of horror.
Should this be an end?
Nope. Box of spiders?
Gun to the head?
All jokes aside,
A cloudy day is enough.
Be good to this poor soul
Who has no soul.
Your reward will be simple,
But I'm certain I don't know
What it will be.

Barry G. Wick

Wednesday, January 11, 2023

Last Poem

Last Poem

Will someone who writes
The last poem
Please turn off the words.

Barry G. Wick

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

Wednesday, January 4, 2023



Father makes a funny face.
Mother wears the best clothing.
Other children are friends.
The piano teacher compliments.
A recital audience applauds.
Young men become attractive.
A magazine tells their truth.
Another features exciting photos.
Food is given.
The weather changes.
Teachers select readings.
A first job pays.

So little lasts,
From generation to generation.
It is possible to watch
The changes over a lifetime
Provided with long life
And care for it.
The qualities diminish.
Less courtesy.
More violent language.
More hurtful words.
All mistakes return
Nearer the end.
Expectations wane.
Gradually the stare
Takes over all things.
Even with a bright mind
This all darkens.
There is no relief
From this final pain.
Children now will suffer.
None of their joy remains.
The old sit on benches
To watch their past
Come skipping by.

Barry G. Wick