The Doorbell Rings

The Doorbell Rings

If I had a doorbell

My eleven year old self

Would ring it while I was reading

A book by a Buddhist advisor

What do I do with the feeling

Of being interrupted

I'm expecting a visit

I discover the doorbell 

Doesn't work

Graciously inviting me

To knock hoping I'll

Come open the door

Or should I just turn

The metal know to find me

Opening I instantly recognize me

But I squint turning my head

Back and forth

Up and down

I've seen my face my whole life

But I've never seen my old face

From eyes at eleven years old

I'm fourth or fifth grade

Old me is seventy-some grade

There is instant fear

I tell him to go back only

To return tomorrow

Neither of me

Knows what to say

He/me walks down the ramp

Head lowered just a bit

I/him close the door

My eyes wide and stunned

The couch finds my back

My eyes find that book

Thus endeth the lesson 

Barry G. Wick

Somewhere Godd Sits

Somewhere Godd Sits

Somewhere Godd sits

On a clump of galaxies

As if they were flowers

In a meadow

He looks across the valley

to see another hillside

Where the photons sparkle

He's crumpled this area

Far too long 

This glow of bright petals

Could dim under his weight

In the distance He hears

A flute sing

Perhaps this player

Will write more of these notes

Than Mozart did

Godd is hope

For great composers

On all living planets

He creates the creators 

Turning hand-like powers

This way and that

Even He fails perfection

Every so often

So He leaves some music

For his varied populations to discover

That's His generosity

His Wife looks at the chasm of stars

Knowing She allows His ego

To think it all belongs to Him

He'd be surprised at who plays

This flautic melody 

She returns to Her garden

A bit cross she has to fluff

These stars again

On His favorite pillow

Now she hums a simple tune

This time He doesn't hear

Her soft music

He's creating planets again

Barry G.Wick

Rejection

Rejection

It's important to feel

The pain of rejection

Because it's the only way

I can control my thoughts

And feelings

I reject myself

I don't belong

Being is punishment

Barry G. Wick