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Before you yell treason, Never mistake the "voice" of the poem for that of the poet. It may be. It may not be... That is for
the artist to know...
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Like A Drone
For the mind’s eye
I dream to fly
O’er Castle Howard
Only to get caught
In the memory
Of that priest
Who gave you last rites.
Like Lord Marchmain
I knew you could
hear-
I’d shout your name
Just to see you stir.
Hovering
o’er the rattle,
I told you a last lie
In the hope there might be
Anything like a merciful God.
E. D. Ridgell. 2018 ______________________________________
Forked
Tongues! Bigots set their victims up. Line them us like ducks
in a row. When they start shooting, it’s with words,
One word at a time, one word after another, Tumbling into sentences and phrases, Until
the hitting starts, the poking, the jabbing- Then out come
the knives, the sharp blades For dicing and slicing the chosen
ones up, To toss into the flaming pit of a Dante-drawn hell.
I
was chosen. They set me up. They poked and Jabbed me with
their foul-mouthed, rounded words, Come down sometimes for
centuries, To cut me, slice me and mine up. They tried to
toss us. Some cut, fell, but not all, not this time!
We stood like a knife, slashed stonewall. Stonewalls scratch but they do not bleed! We feel nothing, now, the elders.
Nothing! We feel no guilt, nothing! We stand stoic and solid as an old stonewall. They’re standing the young ones up, again, row after row, But some of us are here with words of warning, graffiti To
beware! Take care! They speak with forked tongues!
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2014 _________________________________________________________________________
I Could Just Woke up frightened Put my angry armor on It’s 2018 Teacher recognition my Ass I could just Didn’t get no watch Just stinging choking grief Oh yes that pension check That goads them almost as good as a nap I could just Write it out Get it out Spew the
hurt out Let them swallow
it I could just What profit a man There are few men anymore Wyman Park’s gone dead Round and round you go I could just Everybody
and everything’s for sale Too
little money chasing too much stuff Nobody wants anyway Another
scapegoated generation I
could just YOU are the same age as This POTUS with the most-us God help us all Somebody bump me I could just They’re
selling crack Taxing weed And boosting heroin up It’s the newest just say no YOU know I could just Feel the words begin to work The pressure comes down It was just a silly pipe dream Of a teacher bleeding from the lip I could just Sweet little companion cat Eyes announce breakfeeee God but I’m tired and hurt Never, never, never give up I could just... E.
D. Ridgell 2018 ______________________________________________________
Flying
The Stars And Bars From My Pickup Truck Got fucked up yesterday.
Drove south and cop'd some mighty fine weed.
Got so lost in horse
country,
Never thought I’d make it home. MADD would lock me up,
Only I’d pass the sobriety test!
I’m
a downhome country boy nesting a beer in my crotch
And my hunt’n dog next me side the seat. Ain’t got no use for the law-
Never did nut’n but lock me up.
Give me a still and a softball
game
With good ole boys three, shit, sheets to the wind! Sorry if I disappoint,
But
God’s got me,
And I seem fit enough
When you need a soldier boy!
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2014 **********************************
Come On Doc! Carve Will Ya!
With just the littlest of luck I'll get out, now, At the end of this enviable feast!
It seems to me, I’m blessed
with unusual luck, And not just a little pluck to find myself At so bountiful a largesse 'Fore the final
feast of worms.
By
my reckoning, I should have been Shot and bagged long ago- Far too close in range did I frolic so!
Oh, where’s a heartbeat stopped when you need it? How do you summon the reaper? I’m ripe in my high risk demeanor.
How now, but I tell you; I’m shot, plucked, stuffed and dressed- I
can’t contain myself much longer.
The Lion de Coeur literally blew up, A bloat at too slow a service
rendered! He craved haste!
Come on Doc. Operate! We
both know, it’s been a queer journey. I’ll leave it to Your discretion. Just carve by God, carve me prettily, Dressed carcass
up will ya?
Let em
have their will in due course- "Take what you need and leave the rest." I'm grateful and more Than satisfied with
what's left!
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2016 _________________________________________________________
In The Heat Of This Pandemic For o’er seventy years I’ve tap-danced, hopscotched- Pole-vaulted o’er this Ouija Board, Only to find I could be corona kindling In the heat of this pandemic. I’ve
tippy toed through ordinary, And
weary as I am, I’ll chance
another time To cast this sink-box
decoy O’er board for “I will not bend to the marriage.”* E
D Ridgell 2020 *…A Man For All Seasons. _________________________________
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You Irreverent Little Queer
[ Dedicated to Harvey Milk and Sean Penn ]
You irreverent
little queer;
So near to the line,
Always testing boundaries,
Stepping on toes.
Who knows
what motivates
Your mouthed views,
Bent and unsacred
Psalms echoing from atop
A Castro soapbox,
Preludes to another march
To and up the marble steps
Of the Temple in
Hilly San Frisco.
You
rarely lie,
And are seldom believed;
Too near the mark,
A black sheep,
Never dipped,
Yearly
sheered.
Just you wait,
You irreverent little queer!
Winking doll,
So lickerish and ticklish,
You shock and stir
Disapprovals,
Leavened with slurs,
So loud it’s got ‘a hurt.
Good!
Sundry laws spew
From the divers camps
Of kings and bishops
Concerning you.
States legislate
Words white on dark slate
To silence you.
Cement your diseased orifices
And here’s another in
lead-
You irreverent little queer,
With your reminders of
Things better forgot;
Gardens of good
and evil.
Jesus hangs
From recycled crosses,
Among the markdowns
In the sanctified aisles
Of
a mighty nation’s
Many splendid Walmarts-
Misgotten and easily forgotten
Are the pink stars
Ploughed under in graves
Unhonored and unmarked.
Die Faggot, die!
Anita loves you!
And there’s
the straight shooter
Out in five and
Self-done in two.
That’s your doing, too.
Serve but don’t
you tell-
You irreverent little queer!
Just disappear, just disappear!
© 2009 by E.D. Ridgell
| LUCY MERCER |
|
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| Copyright belongs to Marine Magazine |
Amidst
and Amongst the Wandering Jews
Franklin and Lucy would drive out
through Georgia marshlands in a waning wait,
rejuvenating earlier times-
amidst the wandering Jews.
Both new and neither voiced
the inevitable.
In medias res-
it did not matter. A war was won-
amongst the wandering Jews.
He had always fought inner
battles.
Only now could he admit the cripple;
that insecure hero-
amongst the wandering Jews.
Only
then could he patiently pose,
lay down his pen,
and die-
amidst the wandering Jews.
© 2008 by E.D.
Ridgell
 __________________________________________
Thank God it's Benedict!
No one
else could cuddle the empathy, Key to Alan, that chap, like Crisp- Sod-all damp cold to Merrie Olde England!
For
o'er half a century, ironic, Enigmatic, and cumbersome to explain- An absent pardon for so long!
Finally, by
Her prerogative, Justice of sorts, far after the deed is done- "Dip
the apple in the brew, let the sleeping death seep through"!
c. E. D. Ridgell, 2014 __________________________________________________________________________________________
Tadzio
Lido, Pubscent Pole. Depart, dribbling, leaking , Cholera
on Lubeck gossip. Driftwood!
Venice, Soddenly Doge. Recede, stinking sinking, Prostitute of Paris pillage. Lagoon!
© E.D. Ridgell, 2006 ___________________________________________
Enough!
“Queer Eyes for the Straight Guys!” It’s
ridiculous until it’s your son Who’s blown the top of his head
off- Finger on the trigger of your prized rifle!
We are so sick of you- Finally fighting back at another blue-badged raid, Tumbling out,
en masse onto Christopher Street, To defend our stonewall retreat we would
not surrender!
You’re
so vain You probably think this poem is about. It’s not. It’s about centuries of martyrs- Ridiculed,
beaten, tortured, and killed.
Look to the streets of St. Petersburg. I’m stripping it of
Lenin or gaze on innocents, On the nose bled streets of Moscow, who as I
write Are suffering again these centuries old biases.
Apostles, disciples, monks and more Carded and bequeathed their interpretations Combed
from teachings empty of any of His condemnations- Then twisted and turned
their feeble thoughts into codices.
Who rests in the Tombs Of Unknown Soldiers- All straight guys, no
gay guys, Really? This shame bears dishonor on so many Who gave the full measure. Enough!
Worms have feasted on eyes, swollen, blackened, and blue, Or gouged out altogether, leaving empty white skulls The martyred,
murder victims- markers to teach us the Manifold, multifarious working
of God. Enough!
E D Ridgell 2018 ________________________________________________________________________
A Box Of Chocolates
In the front parlor,
A room little frequented,
She offered what
little she knew
Of musical skill. It wasn’t much
But it opened her up to me
Like never before.
As time raced by,
I had fewer and fewer
friends on which to rely.
Many were wanting,
none more than I.
She had silently seduced what
Little faith I still relied. All
Was corrupt and sullied.
Just
once
She let the throttle out,
Took her rings off
cockled her husband,
And abandoned her boy.
She died slowly, painfully
Still dumping her
anger
In public, in view of the whole ward.
Done up in clown’s makeup,
she broke his heart one last time.
He
put her in a shipping casket
To be stuck next her father-in-law
whom
She had shed tears for such a short time before.
My eyes are as heavy as my mood,
And I would sooner it be over
Than
dig any deeper in a
Futile endeavor to make
The memories pleasanter.
Life is not a box of chocolates and
All
the memories are not sweet.
E. D. Ridgell, 2019
_____________________________________________________________
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So The Eagle is wounded. Dying a slow death- Or am I a footnote to history? I hope so. I
remember the possibility Of
feathered ghosts. Were they
not saved? I thought so. The tribal chiefs Always squabbled. It was in the DNA. I worry so. I am an old patriot, A tired hippie Used to street fights. So? These braves They know the words. Bowls teach them the basics. Is that not so? Truth is it’s never easy. Rows, white crosses in Lovely fields of France Attest
so. I have offerings. Words on wings Not carcasses yet Soon it will be so. E.
D. Ridgell, 2018
______________________________ e e cummings
i can’t find me its always that does anyone feelings
that ricochet and tumble weed never stationary never sure
childhood defenses abandoned abused fear of everyone goes except
you cant find me cant loose me son of a bitch
better angry than depressed use it old ally struggle
mustnt no boom the shock fore catalpa trees
e d ridgell 2020 __________________________________________________ God Knows
A thousand years prior And we were in the bleak
mid-winter, A time when writing had been lost and That elixir cement seemingly lost.
Science was witchcraft and Mathematics dark reckoning Not to be scribbled about Less you forfeit your
soul.
The individual
dare not and The group not yet there. All about was darkness and The light shown not.
In the underbelly That was the boot There was a glimmer That only needed the spark of hope.
I know nothing of the Big Bang But I know much
of fire. It was fire that begot Self
fulfilling curiosity.
Ever
forward into history Not yet made We venture up and out Into a light that only God knows…
E. D. Ridgell 2019 ________________________________________________________
Far Far Too Short
It is possible me thinks To be religious and moral- More too, me thinks the opposite can hold.
Then too, me thinks one can be moral With no religion at all. Worse though Is to be irreligious and immoral.
Too much religion Can prove immoral as Bloody Mary is no historic
hero.
The last Tudor Seemed to strike a middle mark. Lo, today she is
still esteemed “Great”.
Many would and could Espouse to be “Great”, While falling far, far too short!
E. D. Ridgell, 2019 ___________________________________________
Pass The Geritol! Just once I’d like not to Anticipate that shoe, The one that drops, plop! Lately, it’s
raining shoes. I feel like
Bush Two, Dodging incoming
fire! When Iraq fell, They kept slapping Sadam O’er and o’er with a shoe. You’d think I’d be Better healed by now- Well, I’m not! I’m sick and tired Of being sick and tired- Pass the Geritol! E.
D. Ridgell, 2018
_____________________________________________ The Real Housewives of Surfside Beach
“The chairs are from Georgio’s, you know- Frightfully expensive but just
right. They
help block anyone from Coming right
up the path and past us. We had Anzio’s do the patio, you know.”
“I know. Don’t you just hate that Our beach is free, for just anyone? I love the chairs though- You always get what you pay
for! You’ll
need side tables or something For drinks and all, won’t you?”
“Too much bother, Dear, And we never leave the patio-- Drags sand in, you know. We’re only
down for July anyway. Isn’t the sunset pretty, and all?”
“Gracious, I would think so. It cost enough, you know!
E. D. Ridgell, 2009
_____________________
Sway Jesu
Sway
Lay me gently down God For I am weary of Assyrians And warrior clans Laden
down with bronze.
Ishtar, Stormy Daniels An Esagila prostitute, Femme fatale For his
just deserts.
Abide with me my Lord That changeth not- Who never did diseave me On mine
long journey.
Lay me gently down, then, Fallen out my well worn chariot One too many times- Sway
Jesu Sway.*
E. D. Ridgell, 2017
Go God Go… South Park
________________________________
Rest In Peace Scottie!
I love the early seeds Spewing
forth meandering down, Tumbling down in timeless lines that end. Never-mind, there are branches higher to
circle round.
A case
in mind, Ian is the last McCullen. He has actor ancestors though.
“Will the last person to leave please turn out the lights?”
Where was I? Oh yes,
the memorial When Jeff’s mom spoke-
“A Golden Promise is one That must never be broken. It is made in
one's heart to another heart That’s just departed this life."
She asked us to” …commit… “random acts of kindness And senseless
acts of beauty' ... Maybe, just maybe, Together we'll be able to repair the damage done To this lowly
little world by the passing Of this gentle minstrel."
Her boy!
“We were treated to a full concert. There were pictures on a wall in the backroom, And
a poem by Jeff. His siblings mingled in the room, Taking time with well-meaning fans.
We left that night, Feeling like we had a
higher purpose, That things did matter. We left with songs in our hearts, And on
our lips. We played our kazoo's On the streets of New York as Mary
had asked. Life will not go on as it always had. Life will go on as it always should have.” Rest
In Peace Scottie!
c. E.D. Ridgell 2017 _______________________________________________________
Robin’s Not Angry Anymore! There was always just a
touch of pathos, An underlying sadness to his genius-
Centuries old coupling of comedy facing off tragedy- Come down from ancient amphitheaters, Places of viewing both sides, and around, And around, and around we go-
Flashes of naked truth delivered open-faced With no enmity or snippets of half-voiced thoughts, Spun comically, and made digestible. We laughed at ourselves, And others with equanimity, momentary, universal, humanity; The chuckle, the belly aching guffaw, giggling
and all sorts of laughter, Served up lightning fast with impromptu
delivery- Our beloved, silly bard to match a serious Shakespeare
Whom we can’t find a replacement for- Another hole in humanity’s soul.
Robin’s not angry anymore! _____________________________________________
Community Service Listen on swift and sundry Cleaving hot air from cold: The rounds of unrepentant rifles Ripping into the
issued uniforms As the Diocese’s, duty-bound boys
Marching to cadences Bandied with an esprit de corps.
Then stare upon the consequences, The results of patriarchal tutorials, Begotten
on homeland hunting grounds Anointed with the blood of game
And cultivated on winning fields; The baseball fields, The grid ironed
fields, And now the killing fields, No longer communal, civic or civil.
Tag the toes and Reckon the score Of these dead; Dancers just a year ago, On a floor
strewn with white carnations Dropped at their senior year
prom; Pledges from your sanctimonious, Recruitment tour.
A squad of body-bagged dreamers Who just yesterday lust they To
lie and roll in beds less deep and More kindly and timely
fitting than these- Come home now to lay in folds to
Crease our churchyards. Paste another bumper sticker,
To mask the high school’s Printed avatar gone redundant; Something
to attest that your vehicle, Is now a fading, dead child’s
billboard to Community service!
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2014 __________________________________________________
A Street In Madrid In The Summer
Of Seventy Six, She
could not speak English, And she did not speak it, courteously, With kind, knowing eyes. Fat, dressed in black, receding with a gait, A
straw shopping basket in hand, Shards of Spanish light Cut her into sharp shadows. She was colorfully colorless. Franco had banned
color. She would not be muted though- She had bade time for a lifetime. Grown old and obese on collected memories, She
knew the cost of the loss of freedom- Red blood stains on black and white
photos, Hot, bright hue on no color and all color, definitive. Receding down the sunlit street, at siesta- Burned into my memory, a scenario; That gait had
once been flamenco, And kind, knowing eyes had blazed for the bull fighter.
© 2008 by E.D. Ridgell _____________________________________________________________________
Sweet
Virginia
We had come to that place
A farm where you could
Wipe
the shit right off your boots
Looking for pot or hashish
I don’t remember which.
In my malaise
of denial
I knew little of deceit or betrayal
except my own. Karma was in the wings.
Your sin was yours.
My sin is mine.
We wore abandonment like
Come-hither, talisman, fitted suits.
There were
warnings.
I ignored yours, you mine, and so
We both cop’d the shit!
E. D. Ridgell 2018 ______________________________________________
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“Everyone serves somebody.” Serve me the last rights. On the bright side of life.” E. D. Ridgell, 2018 ___________________________________ Oh Come The Fuck On, Doc! They just up and die- How bloody peaceful! It seems like everyone’s always grieving Somebody! Get it? Some ‘body’! I’m still grieving. Tom weaves in and out of my mind At least once a day. It’s not that I don’t love Rudy, My sahib. I do. It’s just that I can’t bear the grief, Not again. Not on top of so many. I can’t take much more. I’m as fragile as a thin straw On a dry-rotting broom. I haven’t
a clue if I am a good grandfather or not. They always seem one step ahead of my outstretched arms, Busy as all children are and should be. I try. I try All though this bent life, of mine. I try so hard. Women cry foul even as they use you, And the men, well the men are either insecure Or think this song is about them. You are easy prey to women. You present
a danger To the men both inside
and out. Is this what you
intended, Doc? Why? What is
your motive? What is your design? Oh
come the fuck on God! E.
D. Ridgell 2018 _______________________________
All The World Loves
A Parade! The
narcissist wants a parade, A patriotic show Down Pennsylvania Avenue. The generals as all generals do Clamor for weaponry To keep us out of harm’s way. The party wants something to show
The nation is stewarded
By at least a modicum
of rule. There
are plans for a big wall To keep us safe and secure From rapists to drug lords. All the King’s horses And all the King’s men Parade as the world looks on.
E. D. Ridgell, 2017
___________________________ Zoroastrian
Lore
Into the bardo Sky
rite transitioning- Holy metamorphosis Feeding off something
living.
Craving meaning, Anything,
anything at all- Slit throats, rip the beating hearts, Slay
the tiny first born.
Sometimes the incense Stifles the senses- The censer Waves as chanters
go chanting.
Fine vestments, the Prescribed uniforms Donned for sacred rituals- Golden
chalices in hands held high.
Transubstantiation make-believe So set to an ancient score It’s sacrilege to muse- The Holy See is not questioned!
One only, Begotten son Crucified to Witness some hallowed song’s
libretto.
E. D. Ridgell, 2017 ________________________________
The Song Of Bernadette Oh Anne, how could you. After all we had shared? Did you
think that I could let just any woman into My bruised and
broken sepulcher of a heart? When did I suddenly become the
next adversary in The long list of yours of those who would
not let you Save the world in just your homogenized way?
I’d have been content to let you save it o’er and o’er
again As I had done for so many years. Why the sudden rain clouds? They
were suddenly washing o’er me. I was drenched in words
distempered And reminiscent of that mother now safely dead.
Your Dad choked to death In the same restaurant On the same day
He had failed to choke to death a year before- Yet I did abide. Not even the song
of Bernadette Could convey to you how gently I would abide.
No more!
__________________________________ Sunny Fields Of Closure
Sometimes
I feel like fleeing to One of these Amish farms surrounding
us In Lancaster County and Cry “Sanctuary! I cry Sanctuary!
This fast paced, technological, robotic, driven game Of hopscotch overwhelms me. I’m on the last course, the memory whipped desert years. I want my topping without preservatives.
I don’t want to stand on the side Of acres of sunning sunflowers and take pictures of them. I want to be in the field my hand in yours, Feeling the wind and sun on our wrinkling hides.
“Thee, I love, More than the meadows so green and still.” Let
us making these closing years, our sanctuary years, Sown
in sunny fields all our own, sunny fields of closure!
E. D. Ridgell ________________________________________________________________
On The Side Of The Angels They conspired to take that God out of the
equation Who had bolstered this cattywhompus life.
There was no way I could have waded the Raging, rapids of the journey Without
some Puppet Master. Rushing into it, I realized I was bent
to it, And saw this as my secret, rabbit’s foot,
Tucked safe in my dungaree pocket. It did not decrease my masculinity. It
was not I who set the bar. I navigated around it, planted my seed despite it- When the tide turned, I drove hard through it To
land in the arms of my soul mate, I’d not have known
without it, and then When the reaper knocked, I turned again
To He they distained, and so here I am, In the dotage of my old age, given a last sahib To help me into the good night, where I trust Soon,
He at last will embrace me. I never ever was on any side
but the Angel’s. I never ever was anything but salted
water Rushing o’er freshwater falls.
________________________________ I Remember Now! Michael, I fell today, And in my fear, I thought perhaps you were not there- But no,
I remember now. It had slipped my mind. The mind slips so easily now, In and out of memory, Journeys round the carousel. You have been my guardian, Since I remember, when- Oh, yes. I do remember now A sandy haired little boy, Stirs from the perfect sleep, Atop the pom
pom’d bed, To spy no feathers, no wings, But a kindly, smiling boy- That long wished for companion. I remember now. I remember now.
c. E.D. Ridgell _________________________________________________
Vigil
My mind is fulsome Of a life quick paced, Overflowing with ironies; Situations atypical, Events so personal- Nicht bandfähig!
The Queen of Hearts Confronts the Ace of Spades, and I fear The Jack
of clubs, done slipped down drunk. I can not find him on the whole wide net! Did he rise, a star to twinkle, 'fore The King of Diamonds? I know not, but I am maimed and burnt out!
Gently, now, Great Macedonian. Your loyal Horseguard
can not burn on. He would be ashes and crumbs, Mulch for your Babylonian gardens, hanging down. Give leave to your
loyal supplicant, and let the pyre burn me Down and around upon that ground,
that is You're golden orb.
________________________________________________ Rolling On The Edge Of Some Blackhole!
Too much reasoning With an over zealous education Has robbed me of
that warm comforter Of any one, faith based, belief system -- thank
God!
Sometimes I
think I long for the Eternal, warm, comforting, embrace of time-space- I feel so worn out with too little muster For
whatever the journey left ahead
I've circled through one too many Revolutions of this oozing, coughing,
ill orb, As it tunnels through the dark vastness, Rolling on the edge of some blackhole!
If one more pumped up, published cosmologist Pushes
his desperate postulations at me, I think I will go mad at the disappointment Of any necessity for this long sentence.
It seems a cruel, cruel, irony of fate, To have
been foisted on that not asked for, With no sensible request for a rocket
ship ride Through this cluttered and seemingly dangerous geography.
For my part I've learned The value of good symmetry and metaphor, And I'll
manage the best composition That luck latched to much pluck may provide!
E.D.
Ridgell, 2016 ________________________________________________________________
Exit, Stage
Right! We donned her Trissa To mimic difference- Then Tatiana after a
little Princess
who was rumored To have foiled fate long ago, Only to learn she did not Dodge the missiles. But ours was favored Above that innocent namesake. Ours was then, and is now, words That dissolve into tears At the very thought of any harm To her, Trissa Tatiana. Time has brought its inevitable changes; Ups and downs, Blessings and sorrows Replete with tides of
tedious rituals Of the farce we try to play out Too often to little avail. We've shape-shifted luck- Contriving the need for it. Now, each of us can comfortably Jockey our head lights- High-beamed into the night, Where in deference one can exit, With grace and good timing- Stage right, And dare not look back For fear of it! E.D.
Ridgell _____________________________________________________
Ciera
So I was fit to
be tied girl. You made a mountain out of a molehill. So many pieces
of the mobile set spinning, No less than mine. Why?
So Teach that I am or were, I put the sleuth in me to work And as usual digging deep I was able to put some of you together.
This has always been coping
for me, Calming and therapeutic but above all informing. A teacher is about
information Coupled with an insatiable curiosity.
I’m sorry you lost your
sweet Eddie so recently. I’ve lost to that big C too. It hurts and sets all things wobbly and We all do things we might not
do.
Eddie Ridgell, 2020 ____________________________________________________________________________
Dozing Through The Bardo
Abandonment
Another face of grief
Or vice versa
Unhealed wounds
Fester
memories
Lurking in the recesses
Lingering resentments
Wasteful dues
The hourglass
Stalks a
Penultimate clash
Of
masked memories
Everything living feeds
Dines in a
Sky
rite ritual as
Vultures soar dropping
Their droplets
Into the bardo
E D Ridgell 2020 _________________________________________________
|
|
The Covenant is Broken!
Do not let the cries of caws
Interrupt the songs of canaries,
As
they hop about the snow,
Out in the cold bright daylight-
Entertainment for feathered friends
With nervous, tiny, eyes blinking,
From
within warm, window cages.
It is their rank,
To be well kept and warm,
While larger like
Serve a lesser entente.
Nothing is fair in nature,
And everything living
Feeds off something
else living-
So it is written in The Covenant.
Heed my words-
Every action has a reaction,
That is ofttimes a sorry
reward
For a noble undertaking.
Nothing is sure,
No matter it be sacred
scripture-
That which can be unwound
Does not abound, not now, or ever!
The
Covenant Is Broken!
E. D. Ridgell ____________________________________________
Times Have Changed!
I remember my Dad swinging a chicken Round and
round with one arm. Then laying its head on the end of a block of wood And chop-pin it off with a sharp hatchet. I swear
that chicken got right up and ran Round and round with no head at all! I must have been no more than five.
I was play-in out back, one day, When I saw a long,
slicked-back worm, it's back raised up As if taking aim to spit right in
my eye. I ran in and told Mommy and she Came out, took a garden how, chopped that big worm up, Then
draped it o'er the garden fence, Went back in the kitchen and that was that.
Life and death had little meaning To a kid so young. I had no real fear of mortality. One
day, me and my friends walked out o'er Cracking ice jumping up and down at
the thrill of it. I remember walking o'er a long railroad bridge, With nary a worry of an oncoming train. I was immortal
then but only then. Times have changed!
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2014 ______________________________________________________________________
Much Ado About Nothing II Minor
are these things, Minutia in the
funnel of these storms. Major things
first, the loved ones. Manage
things as best you can- Mirror
nothing but patience for the sake of all. Move slowly, tread softly- do not step on toes. Mean is the moon. Generous is your House- Most purple is your harvest; Mingled wine and blood. Mithraic mysteries of old Marching throughout time, Moor your honorable mention.
© 2011 by E.D. Ridgell _______________________________________________________
Loyalty, Fidelity downs deep in our clan. We do not cleave
the ranks Surrender the ground or Change mounts in the middle marsh. Cowardice does not become The island bound. It
is as Distant as the mainland just a Short ways o'er there- Where the Bay and the Potomac Collide, rebel-downed dogs Bark at memories' bastions. We relish our fantasies. We are proud and death is Always close but ne'er
feared. What's for us will not miss us, And at the prescribed second. Hold fast to our bonded. Be true To any who would trust us- Let widows', folded flags commend us Unto the sunsets!
E. D. Ridgell _________________________________________
Caught Up In These Hard Times Friends, long missing for sundry, divers reasons Turn
up in need of real time help. You do what you can which can never be enough- Caught up in these hard times! Phone calls, text messages, e-mails Solicit that
empathy within you that feigns, But is part of that metaphor Of what may or may not be God- Caught up in these
hard times! People
kill people today As they did in yesteryear, and how in your Pieced together, patch stitched, heart of hearts You
know they'll go right on killing people Tomorrow, and you fear for the future
even as you are Caught up in these hard times. Your personal life is so busy, cattywampus, Convoluted and confusing as you navigate The tedious
rituals of living. Is there anyone Who isn't published today, seeking to
be just One more whisper heard, now, Caught up in these hard times? Lord but I'm overwhelmed, and So tired- my anchor's dragging the
bottom Tearing up oyster pups striving to thrive Once more on what seems to be a dying orb- Caught up in these hard
times. E.D. Ridgell 2013 ________________________________________________________
Tempered Faith!
I know that I should
Not tease the reaper,
But I get tired
and
Muse on the waiting ground,
That field strewn with catalpa pods.
A love lies there in ashes cold,
And
tiny bits of bone nestled down
Strewn on ground long
ago-
On a chilly night
In faire Williamsburg.
Abide by me.
I’ve kept
a faith
So questioned and tested
By quantum physics
And a host of theorists.
Now my
mind
Meanders back
To prayers ‘fore Our Lady
Who
in that time of innocence
I felt more than this tempered
faith.
E.D.Ridgell
Revised 2018 ___________________________________________________
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We’re Open! Everyday there are over fourteen hundred deportees- But for the grace of God. Why? Did we take the welcome sign down? Surely we did not mean to, not seriously! We are a nation of cast offs, cast aways, Cargo holds of throwaways, Unwanted, and fleeing refugees. It is our pedigree. It is our heritage. No one driving a taxi in New York City Knows where in the hell he's going. We like it that way, A one-way ticket to who knows where. Send us your
baggage. Bestow on us your choicest bums. Plus begets of left o'er slaves. We will make citizens of these. Throw a homo or two into the stew. You've got potpourri! But
beware. Take care. Don't spit on the smile of our Shoeshine boys. Don’t come railing at us In hopes we’ll forget or falter. We won’t. We’re open! E.
D. Ridgell ____________________________________________________________________________
The Light
If you can feel gratitude
At the final wake
‘Fore the drowning
down,
You are blessed.
It is good with you.
So hold onto
that faith
Which can not be proven
To He who changenth not.
Faith,
hope, and charity-
In the end
The only thing that matters
Is kindness.
No man is perfect
And long life has shown you,
Time and time
again,
Too few are kind.
No matter-
Your chart is coursed.
Lay you gently down
In a shroud of love.
Love everyone.
Forgive all
In
the certain knowledge
You fall into the light.
E. D. Ridgell, 2018
_________________________________________
Nothing Hurts
I’m hit!
Nothing hurts.
That’s bad!
Oh God
Help me!
Yes, here!
Thank you.
I can’t!
No sir!
Nothing hurts.
Please, no!
Oh God,
That hurt!
Not there.
Nothing hurts.
I’m going.
Yes, Sir.
A little.
Nothing hurts!
Oh God!
E.D. Ridgell _______________________________________
Where? Where am I In time, Subset of my kind- More spirits close at
hand ‘Fore the resurrection. The end of collective myth making. I am here
Marking a plane with stirring fingers, Pigeon messages drowning down The hourglass allotted to me- A jester with
his Measured offerings to place Where? ______________________________________
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| Dedicated to her Father and Mother who lost Michelle but for awhile. |
In
A Quantum Leap…
algorithms dictate,
I am dead,
and you are resurrected.
You split in
an infinite
number of possibilities.
Differences reconcile.
No laws,
no morals-
opposites!
Higher dimensions seek
proof in collisions-
atomic components wanted!
Particles disappear
into higher dimensions-
proof positives.
Open the portals.
Become immortals.
Be as one with the
gods!
He saves
through wormholes;
our lifeboats,
transporting
monopods of DNA-
God’s
ant colonies!
© 2008 by E.D. Ridgell
________________________
The Eye Of The Needle
She's one of the beautiful people, She bids
on 'Gilt', and has lots of friends Who are all people who have passed Her entrance exam. She's proud She's one of the
one per cent, And will bore you blind with How she did it all on her own- 'With hard work, you too, Can be like me!'
She woke up sure that Romney Had won and imagines
there was Some sort of trickery. She begins debates With one liner grenades, and comes Back to
chasten you. She's on top Of the world, but is nagged by Insecurity. Somehow, someday, She has to squeeze
through The eye of a needle.
E.D. Ridgell, 2014
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So
How to convey these-
Mind weeds from
Furrows of my mind’s eye?
They’re all real-
No make believe.
It’s all true but it’s all about me.
Why should anyone care
Some department store
Used to be on Howard
Opposite Hutzler’s?
So, I still don’t
know what to do with
Memories insistent on interfering-
You drive down Harford almost to North,
Hang a left and up the ramp
To what seems the roof.
All the Sears are closing now.
My father used to walk me down North
To the forgotten
Carlin’s Amusement Park.
Like Gwynn Oak it needs resurrecting, if only here,
A memento of a meddlesome mind’s mining.
E. D. Ridgell ____________________________________________________________________
Abject Disinterest
It's seventeen drag-ass years Since you crossed
o'er the river To rest under the shade of the trees, And not a day goes by that I don't ache for
you.
Your dust and
the crumbs of your bones Have long since mulched into the soil Of the Palace Green, in fair Williamsburg, And
still I muse on that day I too will lay under the catalpa trees.
Divers and sundry Tedious rituals of living grow More and more
banal with the passing years, and Memories break o'er these bodily
bulwarks Weakened by my advancing years and abject disinterest!
c.
E.D. Ridgell, 2016
----------------------------------------
Can't Get No Satisfaction!
In a last stab of the back, They
pull up in their eighteen wheeler, With some highfalutin, genius-like Big brained cosmologist, And with no further ado
they drop it on ya, A mother fuckin' Hawking Bomb- A brief history of chaos and by the way, There
ain't no friggin' God! None! Na Na! Never was, ya cock-sucking sap!
Your balls take the elevator up, And on your last leg, you try to unravel what ya Couldn't
unravel long ago, no how. Try as you will, can't get no satisfaction! Worst of all the Penguins done fucked ya long ago So
as ya ain't got the moxie to off yourself, For fear you'll break the imaginary
spell You thought they had on Ya. Your up an Aussie's creek!
Jesus Christ, will ya cut me some rosary, And get me outta this
here world? Oblivion's chump change- A small price to pay, For just some friggin' resolution- Can't get no satisfaction!
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2017 __________________________________________________________
Family Secrets And so, you know, I go down the road to honor your
brother Stopping by to visit others; my mother; your mother- Then on to you, up the road, in that carefully selected spot Strategically planted next to your grandfather, Safely hidden away
hoarding your secrets. I
spent years puzzling together the pieces. I thought I knew all the reasons
for Everyone's multifarious selections To do with many, varied reasons. I had grown used to chaos early on With its cockeyed meanderings,
but I was neither prepared or amused At another oblique, mystery rising up In the shadow of this tasteless
stone. There she
was parked right up next to you, Her chiseled identity a mystery to me- One name with so much unoccupied space around From
any other name not familiar to my ear; Too close, some thirty years later- This howled! I vaguely recalled that sunny day, Three decades ago when you dragged
me To that lovely spot overlooking the St. Mary's River- Dickered with the rector, And bargained for your
last bit of real estate. After passing rigorous, secular, checks and balances, You could now confront the clergy, Confident in
shouting, “Shop!” Admittance was not easy for anyone Into that gated community. Had you purchased two for one that day? You could
sell God the Brooklyn Bridge. I was divorced but you had a tiny, grand daughter. No, it would not fit, a round bit in a rectangular hole. I suspected another secret, But I respectfully left that last one
interred For you and her to share in a parallel universe. Even in her grief my aunt laughed And said, “Is that so?” There was that
twinkle in an old eye though- But, as so often before, it proved too late. That aunt crossed over, just this last year, Taking
with her, no doubt, a secret or two, Tucked into her frugal casket. © 2008 by E.D. Ridgell
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*********************************** Long Island Getaway!
I took that Egyptian
leather Thingy bag thinking I would be dapper Or some such
something. I was so young, And barely out, to be going to The Big Apple All by myself! I took the train into Central And had to get to Long Island- Lord knows how I navigated it all! Long Island Getaway!
Off the connecting boat, It was all boardwalk, And I soon found my weekend digs, Greeted by a queen in his jockstrap Hanging wash on a line. This was Fire Island, then- Unmotorized
and half dressed. Not that I minded this Long Island Getaway!
The girls weren’t having much to do with me, Figuring, quite rightly, I wanted to cruise. I remember both Rebecca, and Cindy Dancing on the bar top of the saloon. I soon drank up the courage To walk the dunes. The moon had been pre-arranged- A nervous quickie, and that surreal
leather trio I didn’t know what to make of Let
alone kowtow to, all Shiny boots, strange chains, and surreal. The
whole weekend was fun but a little sad As I never really got lucky enough To be nestled up or embraced, but it did push Me to do one life changing thing- First day home, I picked up the phone, Rang up Tom and the rest is history, A well done and cherished chunk of it anyway! The fire on that island was nothing
to compare To the fire in my heart that even now years after his Death still burns and will never entirely burn out, The well heeled fruits of the
memory of a long ago, Long Island Getaway!
E.D. Ridgell _______________________________________________________________________
A Tribute to the Dead Poet
( In memorium ... Paul Stevens )
His words would roll One o'er the other In such keen tether As to not stray too far One o'er the other.
A tall Aussie was he. No more will the bits rhyme Or skillfully meander True to form for you- No more will the bits rhyme!
E.D. Ridgell, 2013 _________________________________
The Line Was Broken
Rest you little children, Victims of gas warfare. No more harm befall. The world hesitates still To catch the predator- But know love abides, Confused though it knows Some travesty was done, An inexplicable grave deed That calls to Heaven, The pale is crossed, The line stepped upon. It will not do! It must not do! The line was broken! E.D. Ridgell, 2013
_________________________________________________ Pomp and
Circumstance “Pro
cuius amore in eius eloquio nec mihi parco”- And
thus began the damages of Gregory; Reform in
the hands of those who would speak Directly from God! How
convenient future kings would nurse this, Even usurp it from that isle to where he sent forth his to convert those Blond, blue eyed angels-those pretty Saxon boys. Could your homily have been sterner; Its echoes more self serving? The Gnostics would raise women to the same level, So high
as to copulate to near the altar, And so Gregory would have sex unclean, And lust,
a temptation only, would be deadened to a sin To be scoffed and condemned in
that comedy to come- The final touches would
be layered on an image of hell, More modern than any
could then know. I weary
more than I can tell Of such petty speculation, Pomp and circumstance. I would break from all your scripts And mimic
Blazing Saddles, Breaking out these oppressive
screens. Man would make the simple complicated. God is as close as the garden And the
rules much the same, No matter the novel implement, Reckoning the best light and Not sledge hammering the insects
dead. © 2008 by E.D. Ridgell
______________________________________________________ No Pain, No No Gain!
Sometime's you have to hurt someone, To help them, bearing that anger that will follow- It's
a hard thing to do; to leave, to say no, To close a door as if you were shutting
memories out, Even though, you know, deep in your heart you are right.
Don't look back, go forward through the
shared pain, Trusting that in the end you've offered up yourself For the better good. Be forever kind and gentle No
matter how high your wake seems to wash over another. So long as they come
right side up, you've just been Excess ballast needing to lighten the
load. No pain, no gain!
E.D. Ridgell, 2014 ___________________________________________________________________________
Hewn Stones Peppering likes
onto the screen I hoped fidelity would prevail O’er base political discourse. I’ve had neighbors for whom no wall Divided discourse
from civility. Everyone hurts sometime and No one is right all of the time. Liberal, conservative or just bat shit crazy, We send our cherished children
into war, Trusting in each other to ease the pain of Crosses adorned with their white hewn stones.
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2017 Revised
2018
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