The Voice

Somewhere between

the unheard beep

of a bat

and the low rumble

of the elephant's roll call

the human voice

plays through the silence

of dictionaries

or sitting at desks

in the habitats

of darkness

dreams tossing words

through oblivion

Across the sea by cable

or the alleys of the old

the voices betray

everything we are

though strange

to the rest of our companions

we walk with

yet the dog may know

the meaning through repetition

the chimp by sign and ear

But what does the crow

across the creek

think of this yell

to leave my sleep undisturbed

by the racket so many create

Whatever they say to each other

I'm damn mad

and by their continued bird rants

I'm diminished

to the level of stupid humanity

who can't even fly

without some idiot's contraption

strapped to my back

as it sputters and spews

a smell the ass of a crow

could never fart

So off they fly

in a laugh

at me who thinks

all the world is mine

as I stand on a balcony

to squeak at crows

as the resplendent unseen letters

of this unknown language

explode from my mouth

upon their bothered conversation

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick All rights reserved.

The Hard Fall

The hard fall is here

with its

alternating skies

switchblade breezes

tree-blown fruit

jaundiced leaves

perch-pecking turkeys

arcing squirrels

hesitant bucks

nervous snow

Away you summer furniture

checkered tablecloths

candle-lit breakfasts

to be covered with plastic

Time for boredom's chores

And now the words open winter

with desiccated thoughts

when libraries become shields

from the revenge

of poor sentences

The Bradbury

labels October

a rare month for boys

from his lake shore

Waukegan cubbyhole

me at sixty

wishing I could lay in leaves

with a pen

and a crackerjack line

for each detached parchment

that floats to my desk

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick All rights reserved. 

In the Wind

The first few leaves of fall

were blown to ground

Oh, I'd seen the colors change

from brightest green to yellows and reds

all around

I had not expected to see leaves fall

yet I knew all would

I've seen this many times before

this year somehow

To see leaves fall for the first time

came as a shock

as if I'd seen a crime

Have I become that sensitive

that the change of seasons

the on-going constant

would upset me to such a degree

an invisible grip would squeeze

the center of me

the visceral knowledge that calls

another end to this season

these visions of life

that send me dreaming

away from my world

behind these walls

For now the summer fades

and cooler winds chase birds away

soon squirrel, turkey and deer

will be just prints in snow

that show which way the cadence

of their wild hearts shall take them

and I shall stare instead of follow

with my own wish

to fly outside in any wind

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

Love in the Internet World

There is a light breeze

through the spruce

The apple trees droop

laden with ripening fruit

that only the squirrels and deer

will eat to keep away

the cold of winter

that approaches in just two months

From far down the wires

there are tentative notes

from those who want friendship

perhaps more

Their world is desparate

for a real touch

a message that will stir them

into heights of emotion

the sense that someone cares

I feel no such need to raise

the heat of my heart

It is enough for me to see

the first sun painting the tops

of the trees to the south

as darkness receeds to the north

in this canyon

the last darkness of a cool night

The mountain rises across the creek

where trees begin their pirouette

into yellow and reds

The words can be sent

but not the feeling

of the twitches in my muscles

from the chill of a fall morning

And soon I shall return to sleep

with another day of the same

day after day and the repetition

of the same words the same smiles

the same questions

from the aged head I guard

It is not love from distant souls

or readers of the lines that tumble

across the streambed of my life

I tell the world

peace is what I need each day

in moments all by myself

when no one wants me

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

There is a Bird

I know there is a bird

sitting on the trough

that gathers rain

from the covered porch

at the back of the house

the rain that falls when it wants

to fill these small rivers

that become larger rivers

This bird is there

if only for a few minutes

before he flys away

to poo somewhere else

because that is how I knew

he was there

Suddenly a white glob

dropped through my

line of sight

between me

the air in the house

the double pains of door glass

the screen on the door

the air on the porch

the screen on the porch

me looking at the tree

and poo falling to the ground

from the ass of a bird

Oh Bird with poo of white

please take your unclean ass

to another porch

where there aren't poets

who see everything

and dream of a world without

white poo

It wasn't what I wanted to see today

I'd had thoughts of living on the prairie

while putting a bedspread in the washer

living alone on the prairie 500 years ago

trying to survive the hail and the winter

Instead

oh imageless bird

because of you my thoughts

are of poo

now poo on the prairie

herds of great pooing buffalo

and one dumb naked poet

dodging enormous flops of poo

hail stones and winter snows

and it's not even time for cocktails

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Justify Sonata for Brain and Colon

What I bought I now sell on Ebay

to gain a few bucks for what

I no longer use

which I used to justify

my existence

and the string of bullshit

to which I attached myself

Now I realize

the manufacturer

is bidding up the price

on my used item

against the great unwashed

in order to keep their new product

valuable in the marketplace

so that snobs will keep buying

what they probably make

for pennies on the dollar

They bid on my thing

to keep their thing posh

(It's like tattooing your cock

with the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

instead of a barber pole)

And that's the point isn't it

to build a stack of shit so high

that people will feel good

they've hired you

or bought your product

and you thought this

was going to be a poem

filled with rare Amazonian orchids

and nectar drool snot droplets

with rare and phantasmagorical fauna

enough for ten expeditions

and one-off high-buck phrases

to make you feel justified

to spend this time

to absorb what I write

when a poem is only a piece of shit

sticking out of the poet's colon

able to make that musical splash

in the toilet of your imagination

So how is that a sonata you ask

(the poet references the title

of his majestic creation)

hey it's a musical term that makes

you think I'm edjikated

and trying to pull

images from various encyclopedias

of human experience

when all I am

is another corporation

to be sure a poor one

trying to game you

into a purchase

at a price that will make you

believe you have something

of value

Thank you

dear reader

because my share

of your unconscious mind

is now assured

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Boiling Mind

Too much sour stimulation

images, text, video

and I physically start to heat

then looking out the window

toward the secrets

of the back yard

I see the moving water

of the creek that roils

by our house

every minute of every day

ten thousand mirrors

in seconds to calm

and I know that I was

never meant to let

my brain boil away

on the stove of my computer

so I turn it off

with just one glance

that removes the pot

to make a cup of tea

soon, it's cool enough

to sip my own

lightly-sweetened thoughts

Copyright 2012 by Barry G. Wick
Follow this link to the audio version of this poem read by the author.



xxxx

The Darwinians Eat Steak and Salad

                                     for Mike and Jacqueline

As the engine of life

ripples across its stones

friends share a meal

and conversation

a blue jay flies by

and disrupts my thoughts

about last night's dinner

This is typical.

I try to honor something

so simple as an evening

meal with friends

from Colorado

and a colorful bird

takes me through time

to now

and what I wanted this morning

was to write a special honor

for a visit

only to be interrupted

by the spreading blue and white

wings of a dinosaur

yes, we believe in evolution here

we believed in evolution last night

damn us liberals anyway

Copyright 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Green Nurse

The light is limited

by clouds and rain

yet

bright green spring

stands between the hill

and me

across the creek

only last week

clouds of pollen

obscured the view

from where I sit

most every day

I've been in pain

for several days

from a back

the twists me

like a private earthquake

so I seek comfort

in this view today

from this damp nurse

of leaves that fills

the emptiness

I saw all winter

He doesn't take my temperature

or cuff my arm

nor feel my head

and change the sheets

instead his comfort

leaps into my eyes

to fill me with desire

to take the first steps

to wish myself better

The colors of this season

sit near me

in green attire

to pull me through

another day

to hold my hand

and say

“There, there. It'll be alright.”

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

How Rude the Eagle

A blue sky above

a yellow checked tablecloth

where Mother sits to face the creek

for breakfast

above

a bald eagle makes circles

above the eastern slope

of Norris Peak

when the sun is right

we see the flash of white

from its tail and head

first several circles one way

then several in the opposite direction

a quick turn away to the north

to seek some other space

where it can't be seen

by an old woman in her wheelchair

and her son who nears 60

who both dream of such freedom

she from her age and many infirmities

and me from daily chores

that make the knee and back

feel like they've broken

when mother asks if the eagle

would like to use her handkerchief

and have a piece of her granola bar

And all I can think about is a snot-nosed

American bald eagle

about to munch on a whitetail carcass

and needing to wipe it's bloody beak

on mother's handkerchief

No Quaker Oats granola bars for thee or me

The nerve of that bird

when it's got all those flags

that flap in the breeze

just ready for eagle boogers

red white and blue

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick

A Waltz in March-time

You can't imagine what 38,000 years

will do to change the world

and yet attitudes will remain the same

Human are humans after all

The great weather had come

and stayed

The deserts became verdant

years of peace and plenty

Where Mogadishu had been desert

a city of mud brick

now great forests

gardens of fruit and vegetables

as it was all across Africa

Yes oil in Saudi Arabia

but giant forests of redwood-like trees

The world burned wood

and the great greenery of the planet

sucked up all the evil

man could put into the air

He told me he couldn't love me

because love hurt too much

Nothing changes

even the dreams are unbelievable

snow in Timbuktu

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick