Seven Rules from Thick Air

If you have to protect yourself

then you have created the enemy

If you have to love yourself

then you turned away all who could love you

If you have to feed yourself

then you have taken food from others

If you have to go somewhere

then you have never invited enough people to visit you

If you feel surrounded by uneducated people

then you have never told them what you know

If you have no one to touch

it is because you have refused to be touched

If you cry when you are lonely

it is because you never dried the tears of lonely others

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick all rights reserved

The Communal Campfire

The night surrounds us

and we are not alone

A mother feeds a child

A father worries over debt

Someone has pain

in their back

in their legs

in the emptiness of their soul

The enemy is just over the rise

Workers fulfill their duties

or ignore them
 

This darkness

might as well be a cave

water drips

bats fly

insects crawl through slime
 

The fire just started my refrigerator

burns inside four bulbs

and sends me across the worlds

to where you are

I wish you'd finish

decorating my loincloth

I'm feeling a bit chilly

sitting on this folding rock

listening to Vivaldi
 

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

Two Hunters

On this moonless night
after wind and snow
a hunter steps
over the mountain top
His sword and kilts
hide all worlds behind him

He pauses

His distant lanterns
help me gather wood
to raise the fire
His slow pace shows me
his hunter's patience
I learn what it means
to see the moment

As the fire grows
jagged-toothed predators
turn away

On the shadow of my breath
The huntsman smiles
We have seen each other
always from far away
both of us lonely
for homes
full of memories
of arms and comfort

Though his heart is empty
he continues to trudge
over endless trails

Tonight's gameless hunt
in his eyes
Orion is visible now
to one vagabond
who wants to share his fire


Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick

The New Spring

“I have never considered a difference of opinion in

politics, in religion, in philosophy, as a cause for

withdrawing from a friendship.”  ---Thomas Jefferson


My old friend is no longer my friend.
It was going to happen.
It's happened before with others.
I have been in winter with my country
and the people around me
since I was frozen just out of the womb.

You cannot support the north winds of hate,
those who freeze me
from my human rights
and expect to get my warmth,
my inner sun.
I've read enough about
my homosexuality
to know others haven't.
They prefer to maintain
their ignorance of my reality,
my being,
while they hold on to a few lines
from a two thousand year old tome
that has wrapped the tombs
of millions who were denied and died.

The new books know something new.
The Sunlight of the Universe
has made revelations
to us, to me:
that I am what I am.

To keep me from my flowers,
from the budding of my branches,
is to follow an evil season
to maintain an ignorance
that light, the Power's Light,
has difficulty penetrating.

I shall be the last generation
to hold the hatred inside of me.
It breaks up even now
like old ice melts in the spring
in shaded areas
when after days of warmth
a few sheltered shapes
end their cold, impenetrable dominance.

My friendship is not for sale
with a smile or a memory
of what we were as children.
This is now.   This is me.
I am forever changed.

What I have wanted and needed
was denied to me even when
I thought I had found it.

I gave my love
and found the cold,
this world built around those I loved
and around me.

The walls melt.
The dams of ice now belong to the few
who remain stuck in their frozen beliefs.
I am thawed in a new spring,
the kind that never ends.



Copyright (c) 2013 by Barry G. Wick  All rights reserved

In Your Own Skin

((This poem spoken by the author))

Whose skin were you going to wear?

The prophet is no longer available.

There have been plenty of them

and most have grown much bigger

than the flesh they wore in life.

Poet has been over done

since so many made the ultimate

statement by jumping ship

or outliving their youth

when they were passionate.

Parent was given up some time back

when the word queer attached itself

to a torn psyche full of guilt

now past history of torn rainbows

but still it's what was learned.

Protestant seems to fit

without all the religious baggage

carried on a long train

full of previous nailers who now yell

something disrespectful in a crowded tomb.

So, now to run out of “P” words

means a start where the alphabet

separates itself from grunts

and gestures with means unknown

though some were wrinkled when worn.

To look at these hands that pound

out a simple language

with gaps that search

a forgetful noggin for the “right” dictation,

the scars belong here to no other.

So what is found is owned:

a cloth of memory that surrounds

all that has pretended and accepted

this year of simple messages,

this skin that passes its owner's test.

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

A Note to Someone Who Doesn't Feel Loved

This is a happy day

because of this discovery

Laugh into your hands

then write

love is missing

on your onion skin soul

Perhaps love plays a childhood game

of hide and seek

Was the count

to one hundred completed

as all the little lovers

escaped into their hidden selves

or was love disguised

to the point of invisibility

a camouflaged bug on the bark

of a tree

or it crawls beneath rocks

swims in dirty water

ready to attach itself

a leech

You face New York City

with hope to make

it's world see you

when it's blind

to pictures you take

to show you are

what it wants

You might be better going home

to the small town

from where you came

The nightlife will be horrible

The people more than real

each digging their cisterns

ready to catch

your love as it falls

from the cloud

you live on

Soon

these drops

will nourish new growth

in the soil of your dreams

something concrete and steel

never could

and who knows

I might just pop up

from this cracked mud

ready to kiss your feet

your sequined feet

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick

The Cocktail Party

The hour is late after mother

is put to bed

Windows reflect this room

where the conversation

turns into buzz and laughter

spent here away from the world

This imagined is a cocktail party

with others in conversation

about their stumble in love

success at work

the political topics of this cold day

how to make palatable chip dip

The other guests sip their daiquiris

the advertised beer their fingers

unconsciously harvested

from a liquor store cooler

Martinis olives pool at the end

of Soviet flagged toothpicks

Soft piano melodies rinse the room

of any darkness

Then a trumpet plays familiar notes

this handsome crowd notes

with a nodded head and gestures

of green blue and red stereo light

This imagination is still work for me

since my ear is cocked

towards the dark hallway

and her bedroom

These invisible guests surround

this silent observer who just listens

Individuals could be described

a blue turtleneck hopelessly

out of style

mustachioed black leather jacket

with worn elbows

a younger man receiving glances

But none of them are really here

despite my need to be with others

while mother slips

into darkened dreams

This is my party alone

in deep blue shallows

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick

The Apples, The Turkeys, and The Election

In a good year

two varieties of apples

load trees on the south side

of our home in the Black Hills

The two trees closest to the creek

are spotted red even in this drought

the roots reach deep to the water that flows

This late September day a flock of turkeys

has attacked these trees with some

trying to roost close to the apples

turkeys in the apple trees

heavy birds on branches

twenty-five or more

on the apple strewn

ground excited

by the few

that fall

Much like the unemployed who queue

for jobs where jobs can be had

hundreds gather beneath

the greedy corporations

that only give enough

to protect wealth

and power

election

apples greed water

turkeys drought branches

election wealth jobs 

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

To Make Sense

It's dark with the only light

a screen across the room

upon which I type these words

The fans of the computer

The fingers pounding out words

The refrigerator in the kitchen

chugging out ice

and ice smashing back and forth

in a plastic container with a handle

You can't call it a glass

it's not a plastic glass

because it's not glass

it's a plastic

I must have spent 20 minutes

looking for the recipe

because I wanted to make

some sense

I know

trying to make sense

in the dark

when a yawn comes upon

and the stomach growls

I just have to wait

and go to the store

common sense

what is the price today

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

In the Breeze

The birch is either green

or mirror

The spruce is either blue

or pipe cleaner

The woodbine is either orange

or screen

Light of sifted leaves

Dust of melodious sandpaper

Fingers of tense air

Spider silk

Water stains

Dirty windows

Hand on throat

Body on couch

Feet on floor

Reflections

Shadows

Barriers

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Blunders

The Blunders are guests in this house

who live all around me

They touch my hair

They stroke my hands

but mostly they just rattle around

like a marble in a tin can

alerting my soldier mind

of their forage into my territory

Often, they come in the dark

in dreams

strange allegories blended

with the pinpoints of stars

and wisps of smoke and dew

as hard as I might try

I cannot get them to leave

They are embroidered on my clothes

and often sneak beneath my skin

The older I get the more annoying

they become

all of them are the child's mind

I once possessed

when I'd just as soon forget

them at the side of a country road

an unwanted pet wandering

without the love of family

Oh, don't think of me as cruel

they have taught me morality

patience of thought and deed

the importance of passing time

and distant colors I'd thought were gray

but come back to blaze

through my thoughts

fires burning out of control

I only want doused

but no, they don't put out

they put me out and I am annoyed

by their constant caresses

Copyright 2012 (c) by Barry G. Wick

Rules to Guarantee a Short Life

((Author's Note:  This poem/rant has been written in response to many Christian conservatives claiming being gay is a culture that worships death....despite the fact that Christianity is a middle eastern death cult in itself promising life after biological death.  This poem/rant contains unsettling images and is recommended for mature audiences.  The author hopes to live a long, full life to old age in good health and suggestions contained here-in are not  what he really believes.))
This poem read aloud by the author

Please remember

you are likely to wind up

in a toilet before you

are big enough to be born

If this is your goal

you will have succeeded

in not having a life at all

Acquire and wear make-up

prior to birth to look

like a different race

from your mother's husband

so that when you are born

you are guaranteed to be hated

by at least one person

Put cellophane tape on your eyelids

to look Chinese

unless you're Chinese of course

Stay in your mother's womb

eventually someone will force you out

kicking and screaming

often with sharp instruments

Try running into one

Start smoking just after birth

and request daily contact

with drugs and hazardous chemicals

though some call it eating

Since you are likely to be human at birth

these substances may have already

given you flippers

which means

you'll be given sympathy

making it difficult to find

an early exit from life

About circumcision for boys

try jumping just as it's happening

assuring you of ambiguous genitalia

everybody out here hates

people who don't know their sex

You will be hated for this immediately

Speaking of food

don't eat much

food has become poisoned

with all sorts of bad stuff

if you insist

eat nothing but butter

and raw pork sausage or better

eat nothing but uncooked hot dogs

Don't drink the water

or the milk

instead concentrate

on convincing your mother

to give you martinis when you cry

Immunization can be a good

or bad thing

Ignorant parents will

eschew shots for you

Be sure to give them

intelligence tests

before you are born

Better still

be born in a Taliban family

Never go to school

instead read books

without pictures

or learning

any alphabet first

Education often guarantees survival

which means Sesame Street

is a big no-no

Stay naked

The older you get the more

fun you will have walking

into religious meetings

where you will discover a power

greater than yourself

Draw and post

pictures of a middle-eastern

prophet who shall remain

nameless

playing American football

and eating bacon

A significant number

of people will be unhappy

with you for even thinking

about it

Collect pets like

rattlesnakes

funnel web spiders

grizzly bears

and powered tree chippers

Fall in love

with cliffs and tall buildings

eventually you may find

one that will reject

your romantic advances

Remember that

green means go in China

and stop in the US

Have gay sex in broad daylight

on any corner

in St. Petersburg, Russia

or at Robert Mugabe's birthday party

though if you've followed the

rules to this point

you're not likely to have

achieved sexual maturity

If you live in a democracy

don't vote

if you live in a dictatorship

run for the highest office

if you live where

there is no government

suggest forming one

this will guarantee

some kind of hatred

that might provide an early exit

from life

if somehow

you've grown up

to be a productive

member of society

you have failed

Ropes guns pills and skydiving

were invented

for your particular problem

even then these things

can fail

Lastly, if everything has failed

to this point

to provide you an exit from life

and you are now

late middle-aged

divorced

living at home

and paying child-support

try caring for an elderly parent

This will likely kill you

before the parent dies

Failing even that

refuse Social Security

buy a tent and live

in or very near a forest

or a tall mountain

Pray for a dry year

and lightning

If you've completely failed

to heed the intent

of all these suggestions

you're wondering if there is a gODD

The answer is no

These rules have always been here

They've always been written for you

and

you

citizen of the universe

are a complete fuck-up

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

A Man Alone

"A man alone is obviously crazy."--Paul Goodman

here at night

I look at the dark

and edit the instrumental

parts of a song

not unlike

snipping pieces of my memory

and pasting them

forwards and backwards

in my mind

as I try to come up

with something that means

anything to me

the visions of the past

youth and growth to manhood

the sparks of a past life

create lightning in my closed eyes

and all the while this music

echos through the house

trying to find its way

back to where it came from

these notes are lost

to the new generation

who have their own revolution

to pretend they can win

and no matter what I do

I want to race into the street

and scream for the world to change

for wars to dump their arms at sea

for hatred to change into hugs

for hunger to slink away starving

as the gaunt turn into the chubby-cheeked

All this time alone has turned to years

and I can't decide

if what I feel

are the sharp edges of sanity

instead of the smooth curves

of a happy day

filled with what I once wanted

flowers, peace and love

flowers, peace and love

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

The Empty Life

I've been wondering all my days

why I haven't found you

and why the ones I find

are always wrong for me

in some overt or secret way

You're always with me

I always know you're there

but every street is empty

when I check on every face

and look through passing hearts

Did I forget the time I sensed

you nearly touched my hand

or driving down an empty road

you head-on drove towards me

and my headlights gave you form

And when I talk with others

I always wonder if I've found

your voice that's heard inside

the emptiness I've come to know

sweet music in each word

With verdant flowers of spring

I've decorated our painful lives

because I know you feel the same

the emptiness of rising daylight

half dark half light half life

I'll keep my vigil though this hour

searching through every minute

for you I've never found

and send my every thought

my deepest love for you

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Obituary of a Gay Man in a Small Town

Narlo Titian Schmederlickenberg, age 27

passed away suddenly

from a work related accident

in the family home

in Yayferbville

on Plowday, the 4^th of Whadember.

He is remembered

for having established the need for and fondled

the local theater group eight years ago.

He especially enjoyed children,

as they were of him,

or so his neighbors thought.

Narlo was an exceptional cook

always challenging Grocer Fatts Germainski

to find piqued oysters and morose beef.

When not working on the family farm,

he would sit for hours creating costumes

for the productions at the Yayferbville Opera Auditorium.

His long, family illness prevented him from being seen

as he wore a large ox mask at their insistence

on his daily rounds of Yayferbville and

the Gillbenfurfer County seat of Hoof City.

He always talked of leaving Yayferbville

for unknown reasons, but just never got around to it.

He is survived by his numerous friends and large family

that includes his parents,

Mendro and Yerka Schmederlickenberg,

brothers Bedot, Kerfit, and Synoshish,

sisters Colvae and Opplolly,

plus numerous aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and cousins,

many of whom refused to talk with him
alone
without all his happy family around
to celebrate his presence.
He touched them all
or so the family thought.

He will also be remembered

by his special male friend, Herty Wahndertut,

who had recently

moved far away to Malcrington on the coast

and didn't leave a forwarding address.

Services for Mr. Schmederlickenberg will be held

10 RD, on Grubersday

at Our Savior of the Unforgiving Prairie

with Father Axy Marfcob officiating.

Services are being provided

by the Yayferbville Funeral Home.

Miss Gelvina Flaaharty will play with his organ

at the church which he never

did himself until he donated it

several years ago

to the church he barely attended
only when Father Axy was there
since he was a child.

Narlo loved flowers, dogs and cats.

You may dissect any of them to the funeral home
before the service.

Large knives and cutting boards

will be provided
before the wake.

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Old

It is darker than normal

on this windy day

stone wears grain by grain

even new leaves are ripped from branches

as the air sneaks through tiny cracks

forced by invisible fingers

that sing in ghostly moans

the fireplace flue squeaks

as even here something tries to get in

it is The Old

that pries the gaps

between the outside and in

it comes for us

laying some extra fat here

a wrinkle there

a forgotten set of keys

god knows where

cracks open in the finish

of the furniture

a bit of paint peels unnoticed

and this lessened light

is pondered by a murky brain

to suggest that cataracts

begin to form on drier eyes

on these days The Old prowls

to scratch its grim messages

across this place

where even the water

slows its acheful meander

as its joints creak

through a rocky canyon

On such days I am cranky

enough to think I can

argue with this vagabond

that splits the ages

into torn down walls

and roofs that sag

The Old laughs

as it turns

hopeful into hopeless

I am your future it says

in a voice filled with chasms

and featureless plains of sand

I am what you fought to get

away from in your mother's womb

I am the torn skin of your first cut

I am the regret of lost friendships

from senseless words

I am the given on days

of sadness and rankor

I am The Old who tears your pages

and turns them to dust

I am these words

whose meaningful gaps

widen into the misunderstood

And as my wind sings to you

you close your eyes

for the last time

for the very last time

this is my victory

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick
Follow this link to a recording of the author reading the poem.



xxxx

The Great Soul Glows from the Body Electric

Who could hold the wings of these wingless butterflies?

As they flutter through the air to Great Souls unknown,

When the words ceased in that long ago,

We knew that everyday begins another year,

And every word you wrote begins another tear.
Through wars and peaces yet unknown
We feel the rocks beneath this water,
With feet that once walked across your friends
Now floating in the air and in the deep.
O Walt, my Walt! You sing today across the wires.
O Walt, my Walt! Your body lays upon my desktop
Full of life for all the cheers where my screen is docked.

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Folly of Faggots

Farley is a fireman

from Fargo.

Farley's fella Fritz is a fiberglass finisher

from Faulkton.

Farley and Fritz:

fun, fashionable,

fapping and frenching friends.

Farley and Fritz are fathers

for Frank and Felicia,

founding a family

from failed flings.

Father Fred fulminates inflexibly,

“Foolish faggots,

freedom is for fundamental families,

forebears of forever!

Faggots forsake families!

Freedom is a folly for faggots!”

For Farley and Fritz

Father Fred is a freak

and a fuddy-duddy.

Father Fred influences fanatics.

Friday, the first of February,

Farley and Fritz

feel fractured fingers, forearms and faces

failing to fend off

ferocious fighters forging fatalities:

fiends of the fist in a frenzy.

Finally,

Farley and Fritz

are phantoms,

a foundation for a field of flowers,

favorite of the foxes.

Frank and Felicia are afflicted

and facing fears of the future.

Farley and Fritz:

fallen friends,

forever focused,

famished for freedom.

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick