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Monday, January 15, 2018

This Winters Day for The Magic of Love--(Manuel de Falla “El Amor Brujo”)

Some tardy leaves swirl
across the top
of a thin snow
Knuckles of the apple tree
can be seen wishing
a warm palm
would be welcoming
A small clutch of sparrows
circles concrete
under a roof
more protective
of a black car
than their anxious circus

Is there some kind of seed
upon this barren shelf
of an open air freezer
It's hard to tell
as some move in and out
under a sculpted evergreen
or in search of something
beneath the apple
though these singular hoppers
refuse to stay
where there is nothing
Though there is no sun
it seems too bright too cold
to leave the curtain open

Manual de Falla
wrote this music
for the warmth of Andalusia
We could use a Ritual Fire Dance
today in Iowa.
We wonder which of these birds
are in the passionate flame
behind this libretto
a Scarlet Tanager
which doesn't seem to belong here
at this time of year
arcs by the neighbor's storage shed
This is the misplaced fire of winter
that dodges snowflakes
as easily as the magic of love
slips between the notes of music

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Simple Plan

A bag of garbage in the hall
sat there demanding
in charge of all it blocked
ego-inflated plastic
the used and useless
in haughty perfection

The hand extended
plucks this maniac
from its perch
as the door opens
to reveal its partner
the snow and sleet-covered porch

The conspirators of spoiled odor
once again deny extraction
to this hallway commander
its access to a bin of waste
as fear of slipping foot
foils a simple plan

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Iowa: At the End of November

There's lots of turkey and noodles
turkey and rice soup
turkey vegetable soup
turkey bouillon
turkey pot pies
It doesn't seem to be centered
in Des Moines or Iowa City
just kinda all over

The harvest is pretty much over
oh sure some farmer is just
finishing up the 160
over by the river

It's have turkey and fall asleep
until after Christmas
with all the annual service work
It's not actual sleep
It's the kinda sleep
on automatic
There's the tree and shopping
Cousin Shirley needs something
Nobody is giving away her secret

It's also the time of year
when Iowa
decides its motto
for the next year
Missouri next door
just keeps the same one
year after year
That's how boring Missouri is

Someone will have a bright idea
but as always down by the river
it's hold that thought
and wait a hundred years

Nobody cares that
the great-great grandfather
settled in Afton in the 1830s
or that the move back
from some other state
was a really good idea
You mean your family left
And now you recognize
your familial mistake
and you're trying to make up
for it
That begins the Iowa Shame
There's no albatross to hang
around your neck here
It's an empty corn cob
festooned with dried soy leaves
and a fresh pig's tail
You wear that until it falls off

Last year's motto was
always the same
It came from the 1928
Iowa Bin of Great Thought
Notice there's only one thought
in that bin
I'm told there'll be another bin
in fifteen or twenty years
I'm thinking real hard

Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Humming With Bach

Pianist Glenn Gould
famously hummed
with his recordings
of Bach
He gave me a gift
of being
there and here

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Out Damned Spot

I look deep into their eyes
and the lines upon their faces
knowing they aren't here
but gracing the shadows with frowns

I remember the sudden spill
that seemed to cover the world
sitting beside the waves of lace
on a red mahogany ocean

Somewhere my grandmother still
tries to clean the stain from threads
handed to her by dear enstrustors
who well knew little boys' wild arms

It's not who puts a spot on cloth
but the ghosts who return
to dance this family love upon it
sliding through the gravy of time

Barry G. Wick

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Darkness at the Edges

There is darkness at the edges
just night that removes colors
without permission
automatic deception
after daylight
before the morning refreshes
all the important thoughts
I am not depressed
I am just dull
and not able to keep
an interest in myself
at this hour
I know the sky
is packing sunlight
into empty suitcases
for a trip around the world
The sky and the air
that surrounds us
is an illegal immigrant
without a passport
unable to do any
reasonable work
except to provide us
with air to breathe
and protection
from the emptiness
of unconquerable space
So there is an opportunity
to let it fill out the paperwork
we so desperately require
The questions we have
on our forms
are not given enough paper
to answer
unless we allow
the answers written on atoms
even then
we aren't willing to learn
the language it speaks
we try oh yes
our mismatched intentions
are similar
to giving a tuba
to Thelonious Monk
which I have no doubt
upon which he could
make some kind of music
The question
on a high numbered line
might be
would it be his best music
With that I've run out
of space to provide answers
to anything important
The sky and its unpacking
the light of day
have me seeking
a dark closet or empty drawer
for a gas-filled mind
waiting in the spark of light

Barry G. Wick

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Fascination Haiku----for BF

how we could have danced
just funky enough to jazz
your husband's anger

Barry G. Wick