Freedom
We're suppose to think
we're free to think
to read
to see
to understand
When you get
a few years older
you'll recognize the limitations
imposed by higher powers
on your rights
Books films magazines
important information
all restricted items
you can't know
won't be known to you
unless you ask
for them
Enjoy what you think
is your freedom
You're not allowed to think
You're not allowed to decide
for yourself
You're not allowed to know
which is the basis of asking
for what you want to know
Shhh
Be a good little slave
It's all that's left to you
Barry G. Wick
The Rules of Limitation
It is the way it is
because I say so
You are my chattel
You are my servant
This is what you are
from the day you are born
I allow you nothing
but what my thoughts
my rules and limitations
dictate
Don't like it
Then tell me from the day
you are born
and I'll release you
to the world
It's that simple
I'll put you in the street
for someone to pick you up
Oh can't talk or complain yet
That's the way I like it
You cry to be fed
Stop it
I'll feed you when I feel like it
Dirty diaper
When I can't stand the smell
I'll change you
Don't like living with me
tough kid I own you
unless on your day of birth
you told me different
So
you can't be what you want
you can't talk back to me
you can't do anything
unless I grant you permission
don't talk
what you say is unimportant
I have been everything to you
and will be forever
tiptoe into my presence
with your head bowed
yes you have to practice piano
I buy clothes for me
so I look beautiful
so I feel good about myself
I will drag you everywhere
I get satisfaction
for my own well being
You will go to shoe stores
You will go to fabric stores
You will go to my seamstress
You will go and be respectful
Keep your head bowed
and shut up
I buy clothes and shoes and
everything I want every week
You get what I give you
once a year
It's the least I can do
and too much for you
then you go to school
and learn all the rules
of the world around you
Add them to your inventory
You must believe in godd
It is the way we control you
inside your own mind
You will learn so much
about godd
that you will create your
own limitations
We like that you are limited
We like that we don't have
to make any more rules for you
You destroy your own soul
because that is what we were taught
about ourselves
Barry G. Wick
Love: the old poetic topic
Feeling love is the problem
Feeling that another loves
is a really deep problem
A generalization: the people
who don't feel loved are
teenagers
old people
and everybody else
Fat or thin
Able or disabled
Conscious or unconscious
Nobody feels loved
So
How do we change this?
If you have an answer
Please comment below
I haven't a clue
Barry G. Wick
Afternoon Nap
I decide to lay down
Saturday afternoon
With my buds in my ears
Listening to my jazz station
Out of California.
A yawn or two
And I'm out.
Then it's a dim club
Somewhere.
I've been in too many.
I see a corner booth
Like Capone's
At the Green Mill
In Chicago.
I'm alone as
The waiter
Puts a string
Across the other
Opening which
Assures I'll be alone
I order a drink
Except I haven't
Had alcohol in years.
I sit there when
The waiter picks up
A phone adjacent
To the booth.
I grab a sawbuck
Sliding it towards
him pointing
First to the bill
Then to him
Indicating its his tip.
No response.
Then my eyes open
And I'm back on my bed.
Would my ten have worked
Like it did in Missoula?
Ending the night
With the handsome waiter
In my bed at the attached
Hotel on the river.
I doubt it.
Ten bucks meant more then.
Now I'm just a lonely
Old queer with nothing
In my last home
Waiting to die.
It's the pandemic
Of the 2020s
When anybody with
Half a mind is just as lonely.
My bed is a dark bar
Giving a queer drunk
Something from memory
Of younger days.
I had dreams then
In Chicago.
Now I'm just a lump
No man would look at.
Dreams now are just
As lonely as they were.
Though now ten dollars
Is food for three days
Not a night's warmed bed.
Why is this music
Still feeding my afternoon?
Hunger doesn't end
Like one night stands.
Dreams do end also.
They end in a sigh.
Barry G. Wick
Hyper-change
All the change
I now hate
Is filled with
My bad decisions
Mistakes and screw-ups
Everything is different
For me
It's my fault
My world is no joy
No hugs and no kisses
Boo hoo
So get over it shithead
It's why I chose
To be born
And why I decided
To live
Every time I wanted
To die
That time is coming
For me
So rather than making
It happen
I will let it when it does
Until then
Find a little bouquet
With no flowers
They're all around
It can be appreciated
Even with no odor
The smell of a rose
Is in the dirt somewhere
Barry G. Wick
Shrink
I'm getting smaller
sliding away from all this
Each year is slippery
as the mind finds
new memories
to make pain
which didn't exist then
seem eternal and obvious
No one told me
lonely years hurt
So I tell you
Each moment comes back
Fill now with kindness
You may be forced
to explain to your
wandering mind
six questions you'd pay
a shrink to ask
to make you understand
all you ever did
Barry G. Wick
Truth
How narrow your loincloth
is directly proportional
to the size of your fine
Donuts are depressed
Elvis is eating lunch
Angels have hollow bones
Whatever you believe
Is true
Barry G. Wick
Poem of Day
Here come the drums
Their sound not unlike
The crunch of dry needles
Strewn upon a pine floor
Sometimes rocks tumble
In the creek at night
Heard outside my room
In the basement
Where the glass door
Slides open
And the water sings
To me in the dark
In the morning turkey
Feed in the grass
Visible through screens
On the door and porch
Oh I miss that home
That comes back
In dream and memory
But it belonged to her
Neat and perfect
Where I live now
Chaos and confusion
Breakfast now over
The piano of dark melody
Mysteries of quavers
And depressed peddle
Hanging on the moment
Cross the room
From the radio
At one time my fingers
Now enjoying the temple
Of his left hand
And the odd ghost line
Speaking across my emotions
I am sound of life
That was my training
Where words came later
Both appeared for me
In these short years
I am the better for these gifts
Barry G. Wick
The Last Gasp of Similitude
Before
So much depended
Upon being like something
Copying an image
Doing a curtsey to an equal
Your children must fit
The mold
So out they came
Little automatons
In suits and sport coats
Dreaming of their statues
The same fires
From the same sparks
No one prepared
For vive la difference
Well aren't you confused
As you search the world
Of images for you
The tired clone
Subway bumping
Midst the brothers and sisters
Larking at beaches
Comparing every body part
Every gesture of adjective
And compromise
What happens when
Expected visions
Gladiatorial spectators
Discern a change in the card
Oh my the confused
Strike their drums
Polish their cymbals
Tear apart their symbols
Anguish and gnash
Destroy and punish
Curse the variant
And so we separate
Into our villages
Seeking our dreams
Only to usher away
The seeker
You have seen similitude
In all it glorious patterns
Only to spit upon it
Clouding the waters
With your feces
Great angels
With gaping mouths
African river monsters
Floating above it all
Barry G. Wick
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