Asleep in Her Chair

Beside her every day

I sit to watch and keep

the world spinning

while she sleeps

after breakfast

Today I play

Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade

and wonder if an old memory

now keeps her in tune

with a time she and Dad

lived in New York

during war

And the future asks of me

which war was that

and even though I know
let her have her memory

as the saxophones and clarinet

climb through tall buildings

It was a time

when she was happier

before children

before her Nanny died

before her brother and father passed

when the world was engaged

in the great project

when she and my father

were in the great city

where they felt like winners

at the end of the war

couples kissing in the streets

I won't tell you who fought

It's enough that her dreams

of Flushing Meadows

the library where she worked

her singing lessons

cross the darkened room

with Glenn in charge

of the war

trombone in hand

a great weapon that tolled the moon

into the lives of lovers

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 Composer, the Critic and a Saint

Johannes Brahms in his mind

at two pianos

playing variations

on a theme by Joseph Haydn

on a path in the forest

with Saint Anthony sneaking

about someplace.

Saint Anthony whispers to Brahms:

Being a composer is not as complicated

as being

gODD,

who makes a tree and

then says, “i'LL have another,

only different,”

in a variation that only hE understands.

gODD hopes the second tree

will swing along with the original,

so, hE knows the trees

have to practice daily

in order to know

how their branches

will sway in the breezes together

to end on the same note;

the same beat.

Imagine the entire forest

as each tree grows and sways,

as each tree pulls water from the soil

to push out leaves:

an orchestra of trees

under one cOMPOSER

who also conducts

this green orchestra.

And then fire:

the critic in the first row,

wiping all the notes from the page:

dissing the cOMPOSER.

“yOU had a chance to make it rain.”

says the critic.

which is why gODD

refuses to read reviews

about the trees hE makes

“Stupid critic,”

grumbles gODD.

“I was in a mood to try

some dry humor

and you could not feel

mY creation:

absurd and funny.”

so the critic walks from the theater

with ashes on his coat

and fire for his words

printed in the daily

to admonish gODD

for destruction of a forest

Brahms

with just two pianos

balanced between his ears

fully understood

the relationships

between fire and forest,

between critic and creator,

and

between ashes and empathy,

as he walked through the trees

hands clasped

behind his back

listening to the Saint

rustle the leaves

ever so gently.

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



xxxx

A Bunch of Grapes

(for Camille Saint-Saëns)

You played piano
then exhorted the crowd
to choose
which of 32 Beethoven Sonatas
they'd hear for an encore

At 11 years old

yes
a genius
but only youth demands such a choice
of its audience
being handed a bunch
of unique grapes
each with the taste
of its own perfect vineyard

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick

No Moon Tonight

22:55 and just returned
from the Safeway
where Roma tomatoes
were a buck and 29 a pound
and I chatted with a lady
listening to an audio book
on a Fujitzu portable computer
Her son favors hard charging
games at high speed
on lightning Internet

Now, 9 miles west of Rapid City
the yard light sends its orange hue
to the neighbors and beyond
when the howling begins.

I can listen to Chopin
but when the coyotes talk
on top of Norris Peak
there's no chill like an old chill
and I'm in the darkened cave
eyes wide open
spear stick at hand


Copyright © 2011 Barry G. Wick