Patron

Thank you to those who support me via my Paypal account: rikwrybac@yahoo.com. The government doesn't read my poetry. You do. Out of over 560 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, October 29, 2023

Busy in the Kitchen

Busy in the Kitchen

To be a chef this time of year
Takes guts no fear
Carefully
I choose this soup's flavors
I ignore the ravers
They know what's ahead
As the chopping board
Turns bright red
First a Norwegian stout and strong
A Chinese laborer gave me a frown
Then African and Indian
Polynesian and Russian
This big pot has me in awe
For my Halloween mirepoix


Barry G. Wick



Wednesday, October 25, 2023

Fame

Fame

The story was about a teen boy
Who killed his family to be famous
I write poems to be forgotten
When I tell someone I write poems
Their eyes glaze over in a stare
Who knows what images crackle
Inside their voluminous brains
I feel as if I just exploded before them
It's a comfort that I've planned 
To be so little to most of humanity
Poets recite at inaugurals
To forgetful applause
Unpublished and I'm certain
It's a social death greater than HIV
There are pills for that now
A cure for forgotten poets
Will never be found
Even in rat infested gutters
Where clubbing rats is lauded

Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, October 24, 2023

Phosphorus and Hesperus

Phosphorus and Hesperus

(after a painting by Evelyn De Morgan, 1881, at the De Morgan Centre, Guildford, Surrey, England)  for Brian and Patrick    (this poem lost a contest for ekphastic poetry that cost me 3.5 British pounds to enter.)


Two young men

Sit on a beach enjoying the twilight

Phosphorus is going to sleep

From a hard day as the morning star

Hesperus is rising to brighten the evening

Their arms intertwined as lovers might

Hold each other tenderly

They are naked and not afraid of it

Anyone who sees them should not

Take notice or offense

For love is no offense


We sympathize because one

Starts the day and the other

Starts the evening

They live opposed

Yet find time to enjoy the twilight

With the gentle moment seen

In this painting by Evelyn De Morgan

She understood the love of young men

Giving it a platform to be seen

That hangs on a wall

We all know love is not something

That hangs on a wall



Will they play in the surf

Seaweed enrobing their manhood

Foam on their lips

They enjoy a sky love light

That doesn't exist on cloudy nights

Stars are so lonely that they

Gather in faraway clusters

Each with a different color shift

Reflecting their souls in chemicals

To the uneducated in searches

They do wet themselves in shallows

With sand that becomes a gritty shot

Of thrills for lovers on bare feet


It lives always both night and day

Phosphorus is the evening star

Hesperus is the morning star

Leave it to the Greeks to give

These lovers their names

Based upon what is seen in the sky

We do not judge them for their love

And those who do are probably from Troy


Phosphorus has gone to sleep

Just as Hesperus will 

After the work is done

Their love spills over Troy’s walls

That will come down forever

Just as forever these two 

With love 

give light 








 and Hesperus

(after a painting by Evelyn De Morgan, 1881, at the De Morgan Centre, Guildford, Surrey, England)  for Brian and Patrick


Two young men

Sit on a beach enjoying the twilight

Phosphorus is going to sleep

From a hard day as the morning star

Hesperus is rising to brighten the evening

Their arms intertwined as lovers might

Hold each other tenderly

They are naked and not afraid of it

Anyone who sees them should not

Take notice or offense

For love is no offense


We sympathize because one

Starts the day and the other

Starts the evening

They live opposed

Yet find time to enjoy the twilight

With the gentle moment seen

In this painting by Evelyn De Morgan

She understood the love of young men

Giving it a platform to be seen

That hangs on a wall

We all know love is not something

That hangs on a wall



Will they play in the surf

Seaweed enrobing their manhood

Foam on their lips

They enjoy a sky love light

That doesn't exist on cloudy nights

Stars are so lonely that they

Gather in faraway clusters

Each with a different color shift

Reflecting their souls in chemicals

To the uneducated in searches

They do wet themselves in shallows

With sand that becomes a gritty shot

Of thrills for lovers on bare feet


It lives always both night and day

Phosphorus is the evening star

Hesperus is the morning star

Leave it to the Greeks to give

These lovers their names

Based upon what is seen in the sky

We do not judge them for their love

And those who do are probably from Troy


Phosphorus has gone to sleep

Just as Hesperus will 

After the work is done

Their love spills over Troy’s walls

That will come down forever

Just as forever these two 

With love 

give light 











Wednesday, October 18, 2023

The Throwaway Poet

The Throwaway Poet

Thumbing through the offerings
Of an online low price book store
A book of collected poems
Of a famous poet whose life
Spanned part of mine 
Came with a very low price
Paperback I thought
A book I did not purchase
When it hit the stores
Just five short years ago
Because I did not have
The muti-decibuck price
For such a hardback tome

Here the same book shows
For less than the price
Of a small beef roast
I would have devoured
With all the drool deserved

It arrives in the post with another
Group of collected poems
Only these two great lives
Have set me back
Less than five dozen eggs
And a gallon of milk
Depending on the market
And the health of the flock
I'm udderly shocked

These great writers penned
Their lives upon these pages
Published most in small
And mainstream magazines
Gaining fame and stature
And here collected in books
Post life upon this earth
I could Ill afford when first
Their empyrean language
Was laid upon gold-covered
Shelves in fancy book stores

One book in paper so moderately
Priced I could scrape the price
From my bill of rotting food
The other hardback in hundreds
Of pages of fine paper
Covered in preserving plastic
A library so gently blessed
For all its readers now marked
Officially withdrawn from
The eyes of educated patrons just
Five years after publication
Now sitting so graciously
In front of my eyes bulging
With the voice of this god

So here is your life dear Sir
For me to gobble and ponder
The fate of my unpublished
Life and mediocrity galore
But such are the lives
Of all poets tossed upon
The heap of burning paper
The fuel of my cremation
Another throwaway poet
Devoured by worms and years

Barry G. Wick


Monday, October 9, 2023

To the Sea

To the Sea

I cannot speak to the Sea
I've been on its shore infrequently
Here I know it's predecessors
The rain the rivulets the gutter water

I have seen the remnants
Of the fast water in volume
That came down deep canyons
Destroying old banks of simple creeks
Scraping trees and rocks
Into torrents that rammed houses
Into kindling and people into graves

I have seen the Sea as adult
But mostly as a child falling 
From the sky to begin it's gathering
Into creeks and rivers
The teenagers of water 
That grow to fill the Sea 
I have seen the Sea as a youth
Petulant greedy for a bigger life
Away from small towns
That only remembers the father
That only remembers the mother
Oh you are the son of the June storm
What was it's name that doesn't matter
As all names that disappear into time

Soon surrounded by more and more
Waterfalls as they roll to the Sea
Does a river learn more or see
Itself corrupted by the society of water
As it heads towards your incessant
Lapping as if it were a thirsty dog

Even the breath goes high
Into the air to create the puffy screens
Hiding sun and stars appearing
And disappearing into the earth
All people are promised to you oh Sea
This ends all I know or suspect
All that surrounds the animals and plants
Who live in you that you surround
Be kind to me when I come to you
Let me see what I do not know
Even if your terrors split me dry

Barry G. Wick



Saturday, October 7, 2023

Reflections

Reflections

Up this morning tuning
My internet gateway to music
Sitting in my walker
At the sink and the mirror
Shocked at my face
With long hair and beard

How many mirrors has
Seen this face and think
The first mirror was
On Quincy Strreet
From then on every day
Until the face stares back

Mirrors in three countries
Have seen this face
Not enough travel for most
But every emotion seen
From self-hatred to ecstasy
I'm in the mirror reaching

Barry G. Wick