E.D. Ridgell [Ed]is a multifarious artist. He has BFA and MFA degrees from MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art) with a minor in Art History. Ed taught secondary art for the Baltimore City Public Schools and retired from teaching in 1999 after thirty years as teacher, department head, and grant writer. In a career paralleling teaching, he has been an active antique dealer and is still the sole owner of Line State Antiques, LLC, a business founded in 1980. He participates in antique shows up and down the East Coast and his principle establishment is in Golden Lane Antique and Art Gallery in New Oxford, Pennsylvania.
Ed has deep roots to Maryland especially to the lower Chesapeake Bay; its history, culture, and environmental preservation. His other interests include world history, art history, genealogy, finance, and art therapy.
Ed lives in Northern Maryland with his significant other and is the proud grandfather of three grandchildren.
E.D. Ridgell [Ed] has read poetry in readings hosted by The Samaritan Counseling Center of Lancaster Pa.
Six poems appear in 'A Bouquet of Poetry' an anthology compiled by S.M.Zang and Jean Lewis, c.2007. Details on ordering can be found at the bottom of page 5...a great gift, safe and appropriate for the older child or teenager who may be tomorrow's budding poet laureate.
Ed is a featured poet at Wordflair, [See links] a poetry site dedicated to all aspects of poetry. His featured poetry, there, deals specifically with his roots to Maryland and particularly to the Lower Chesapeake Bay.
Ed also is one of Wordflair's moderators hosting the forum
"Taking Risks - Stepping Outside of Our Comfort Zone!”- A forum where the poet is encouraged to experiment and push themselves to new heights in the craft of writing poetry.
Ed can be found meandering through cyberspace under the pseudonym of Hephaestion [AKA Heph] or variations on the name thereof.
___________________________________________________________ THE MOST RECENT POEM
He Lay Atop a Stainless Steel Table
waiting to be boxed and sent to a crematorium.
In living he is much loved but not too liked.
Much about him is an enigma
for he closely coddles his inner sanctum,
and no one understands the core of him.
He is forever carding his contradistinctions,
and he comprehends this passage well enough
to not take it too seriously,
or to dismiss too lightly that solemn progress
that senses the unveiling of what is righteous
from what is not.
“Luctor et emergo.”
This is a spiritual man
who does not argue or debate creeds.
He senses the more empathic the being
the closer that being
is to the Source of all that is good.
He is humble enough to know that in living
he can know nothing of the Mystery,
and when if ever can he die?
“Hypotheses non fingo”.
The shedding shell upon the table
is now silent before the secret.
Its dry remarks
and humorous innuendos
to lighten the solemnity of life
are stalled somewhere in-between.
“Hoc est enim corpus meum.”
I am the eagle,
the stark predator
back dropped by the dazzling sun.
I measure and reckon upon details;
the direction and velocity of winds.
My talons clutch in a last grip
and the beak, razor edged, rips and tears.
The aerie lies near the lake
in the shadow of the high mountain,
unlike the hawk roosting in the valley nearby,
deep within the screeching woodland.
Many take no heed of me
bewaring nothing soaring so faraway,
meandering in a distance too foreign
for them to see, or fear.
But, coming into that geography,
the boundary and parameter of my sharp sight,
I only need to pounce in a lightning catch and
swoop them up into some convenient perch.
Unlike them, trapped in a scheme
not of their making, no carrion do I seek.
No trap awaits me.
They are sited movement caught by my eye,
a tribute to be taken; ripped and torn,
pieced just so, for ripe and particular appetites.
The first course is mine and measured to my need.
The second, gleanings of the harvested carcass,
the smaller, savory pieces, I deliver to
frenzied, nestled eaglets hungry for my return.
