Shoes   I listed for sale the last pair Grateful they were all up. I saw the irony from the first listing, And realized that it was to be another Walk through the grief.   Each pair would evoke memories And each helped to piece together, The riddle that had been in step With your own whimbly whombly life And secrets carried far too long. I felt empathy for that overwhelming  Need to feel that security that life just Won’t buckle up for any of us!   I did not take that last call, And the kind message choked to rest. I did not pick up as a last act On my part for your part  To assure the water bore no ripples As you crossed o’er it one last time.   I have few steps of my own now, And I trust I’m high heeled for it, For no one can or should judge another  But that mystery of a cobbler Some of us presume to call God.   _________________________________________  A Stranger, Really?   One thinks of Mary Todd Trying so hard to fit in, however She could not have touched this cabal.   The drinks were there, the mixers At the ready for a cordial fare, but The First African American Lady Had been black balled!   Invitation after invitation, Was snubbed. Mr. Boehner had a Previous commitment while O’Conner Was crystal, Kentucky clear.   Blasphemy out loud ‘fore Congress- Questioning the Nigga’s papers? The bottom feeders feasted on tripe.   A stranger, really? Not to the people Who flooded the fields ‘fore inauguration day.   Obama got down and dirty. Healthcare passed and Obstructionists dusted off Their carpet bags.   All the king’s horses and All the king’s men Came to play upon the chessboard.   In the end it was remarkable Whatever name they contrived to tag it. Historians sorted it out, and the man- Well, he had been a gentleman In an un-gentlemanly time, but A stranger, really?                                E. D. Ridgell ___________________________    I’m Packing!   If I’d been born later I might be contemplating eternal life, That’s how fast and far science moves ya!   As it is, I am old, and memories, good and bad, Wash o’er me like a great tsunami. Truth is, I am dog-eared tired!                                                                 Besides, I live my life with backup, Tucked somewhere in a back pocket. It works for me. In any case, I’m packing God!                                                            E. D. Ridgell ____________________________________________  Putin See What Pooh And A Bear Friend Can Do?   Well, Big Bad Bear, A Bad Ass from The Games Notices that Pooh is maimed, And gathers boats nice and close Afloat in Pooh’s gilded tub.   He roars with his loud roar, Scoops Pooh up, And tells everyone to beware, This Bad Bear does not care one hair! Remember, Bear bites back- Everyone knows that!   And   Big Bad Bear has toys too- Missiles and guns and tanks, so there! Now, sigh. Everyone whispers aloud that Bad Bear better beware Of he just might not be invited To Teddy Bear picnics anymore. Oh my!   But   Big Bad Bear goes right on maiming anyway- Everyone knows bears like honey, And so everyone pays up heaps and globs Of rich golden honey, pats Pooh on the behind, And leaves Big Bear to sleep out the winter,   And   When all the bother is through, Some world leader waves a token Piece of paper on which is writ, “Peace In Our Time!” while Bear naps on Crimea!                                       E. D. Ridgell ________________________________  Thrashing The muse abides In these latest Revisions. Her hands are as  Deliberate and chiseled As I could ever hope or wish. Each work stands denuded  Of all pretense much as I try To hide and dissemble. The  Confessional poet possesses You sit as some sanctimonious priest!                                   None of the privacy of a Confessional booth, and you-                                                          E. D. Ridgell _______________________________________  A Last Gasp   I can't be all that! I can't do all that! It's geeked me too high, Lord. All I see are mama’s eyes.   The alleys spew us  Even as the PoPo move us.  We scurry in the freezing, moonlit night, In the company of rats Till we nudge up ‘gainst strangers Who may or may not shiv us-  Huddled o’er a sagging, rusting, iron grate,   To await our fate, each in their turn- Ice pick-like sharp and chilling: In a last gasp ‘fore the vast namelessness  Of their potter’s field.                                                     E D Ridgell ___________________________________________________________	Riding The Black Swan Rushes, Waves fingering Emotive ejections- Deep bumps To the snap crackle and pop Of a secondary addiction. So eager  My cherry broke At the first toke. I never looked back- Escape  Unwanted. I came so close to failing, To not taking the bit And riding naked into the night On Equus in search of Parnassus- An empathy  Of opposites! “BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The shock of every second Of being alive!” I still feel them- Waves breaking To the snap crackle and pop Of a secondary addiction.             © 2018 by E. D. Ridgell _______________________________________  No Way, I will not wave my freedom flag. I am growing my hair long again Just for you Take care! Beware! Over there, over there,  Send the word, send the word over there… That the Yanks are coming... I think I will make a run for it Before they apprehend me.  I’ve made it this far to the border and o’er. I might as well do the full monty. I’ve scaled your superficial wall.  You can no more box me out  Than you could my forefathers. No way, I say  No way! Who are you, who, who, who-  But the reflection of those who  No longer show in the mirror… Long deposited in this  Their new nation’s soil? And, pray tell, who are these Who test those sacred writs  Gone yellow with aging and  Wrinkled at such prior perusing? Tear down this wall! Pull down your useless endeavors. No one can stand in the face of freedom When the people will it so. It is cemented into our conscience, Molten memories, the struggles of which Too many gave the full measure For me to cave, bend or kowtow now!  No way, No way, I will not wave my freedom flag. I am growing my hair long again Just for you. Take care! Beware! Over there, over there. Send the word. Send the word, over there… The Yanks are coming  The Yanks are coming… E. D. Ridgell 2018 _________________________________  Zanzabar I am a Zanzabar Antique, brass studded, Rosewood, wooden chest- So beautiful you  Dare not open me  For Fear of the many  Splendid things  That I might spew out Onto the marble floor, here! I'm packed with all of her Hopes and dreams,  Not already gone astray At the slow robbery of life. She marries him in this Opulent chapel  In hopes that he will Be true to his word, A sweet, duped fool!                          c.  E.D. Ridgell ________________________________________________  Funeral Pyre    The table  Side my bed  Is crowded with a  Myriad of  Prescription bottles  From out a  Larger horde  That boggles  Sorting out.    Old age  Drapes the bed-  My funeral pyre  In need of a light.  When I reflect  Upon this life  I am content  But most of all,  I'm tired.     I feel I'm   Sorting out-  Hopscotching-  A one legged hawk,  Through a mire's nest  Of cattywamus  Memories  Dust unto dust.   Pray for me.                      E.D. Ridgell __________________________   Fast Flung of an Insistent Cosmos, I look about me- My immediate geography; Out unto the darkest reaches, And all is foreboding. Everything living feeds  On something else living, And the universe, backdropped twinkling, Is violence expanding ever outward; no ending. I pray you, at least allow me the denial of consciousness!                                                           c. E. D. Ridgell, 2014 ____________________________________________ Lying on the Three Seater Swing I liked to lie on the three seater swing On the screened porch of the Spanish, styled house Listening to the electric trap zapping mosquito after mosquito, A popular fad of the fifties. I’d contemplate the exposed beams running parallel To one another in the ceiling just above, visible inside the door to the living room. The wet, dog smells and the snoring of damp, dozing Collies Lent company to a solitude usually preferred by an only, lonely child.  The frogs croaked to the background sounds of wetland bogs, That exuded a perfumed stink all their own of a Maryland night, And drew me further down into a lulling so perfect I remember it today. In the distance I heard the faint breaking of the waves,  Lapping at either the Potomac or the Bay or both, Each nearly equal in distance away so as to not betray which wave  Belonged to which nearby bank that bordered that narrow peninsula. Frequently, there was a welcome breeze gently intermingled with the whispers  Of the Confederate ghosts, the prisoners who did not survive to saunter home, After brother finished killing brother too exhausted and broken to go on. I often fell asleep only to be awakened by what is to this day,  My favorite sound, the sound of a wooden screen door slamming.   When I die, know that my ashes will be strewn with the better half of my soul, On that Palace Green before the Governor’s Mansion  At Williamsburg, in fair, neighboring Virginia, but my heart, Broken so often and patch quilt, mended, will feign to beat  To the sound of the waves breaking the banks of Point Lookout, Where the Potomac collides with the Chesapeake,  Night after night after night. © 2008, E.D. Ridgell ______________________ The Piano Man It seems he spent His whole life at that piano, Braking, just once to a Good Humor Ice Cream truck. My best man- I thought him a friend! I can remember the last time I saluted him a farewell. He was in a band and Holed up in a big house, Off Northern Parkway- Poof goes the magic musician! Uncle Frank, him, and I Used to chase girls on two wheels Round corners up ‘gainst concrete stops. Young, dumb, and full of cum. He had introduced me to her, And as my mother was dying- And she was a woman  Who still could be rescued, I plunged in. I still hadn’t sorted all that out, But wanted sorting, needed sorting- Needed a friend more than a wife it seems. Everybody was fucked up! We laid what turned out to be A splendid foundation, Although, me thinks, The lady protested too much. She lies in her crypt, now, I am right side up. It seems he spent His whole life at that piano.                        c. E.D. Ridgell, 2016 ________________________________________  Oblivion How sweetly it calls, A sweet, blissful, rest- The destined end. No need for light, Nor consideration for time- Science mute, mathematics unreckoned. There is no one and nothing  to push nowhere- No top, no bottom, no inside out.                                c. E.D. Ridgell, 2017 _____________________________________________________
Oh Lord!       Collusion-   The high judges are suspect.   Dishonor then?   Oh Lord,   Greed sullies the ranks,   And a statue of the Virgin is seen to weep.       Fear and blasphemy rule the day,   And in distant lands fascists march again-   Oh Lord,   The rising, walking dead of a last century   Mount Subaru’s and Kawasaki’s   For a blitzkrieg led by a Desert Fox   In a false front of the Prophet!       And here they come, the Horsemen   Riding again from the bowels of history   To once more humble the mighty   And trod headlong o’er the needy-   Oh Lord!   Have we again angered the Almighty?                                               E. D. Ridgell                                               Revised 2018 _______________________________________________________  “And whoever kills a believer  intentionally, his recompense is Hell  to abide therein; and the Wrath and the Curse of Allah (peace be unto him) are upon him,  and a great punishment is prepared for him”…The Holy Koran   Poisoners and Cutthroats   And suddenly I do not equivocate. This is sin if ever there be sin.   What shapes the minds  Of these villains- Poisoners and cutthroats?   They fancy themselves  Great leaders. They Cull followers.   Denials  conveyed By ambassadors- False fronts.   Pious priests Preach penance ‘fore  salvation.   Children stare In confusion At the elders.   I do not license My soul, this soul! “Thou Shalt Not Kill.”                     E. D. Ridgell 2018 _________________________________________  Firebird Down! All around me  I see a world in chaos. What isn’t under water Is on fire. The Russians are at the tower And the Emperor is lowering the bridge. The realm is besieged- The Queen doesn’t care. Secular writs mean nothing As Bloody Mary praises the Lord In the fire-glow of burning stakes- King John’s knights pack the courts. I would speak my mind But I mustn’t rock the boat And whatever is said  Must be texted or tweeted. I am a caged canary  Waiting for the meds to kick in  ‘Fore I spiral up then down, A burning bird singed in the end. Every month the lord  Wants more and more Of my rotting crops  To stoke coal furnaces choking the sky. Naked To Mine Enemies My coach tires go bald- Even as my beloved Eagle Is down drowned by a drone.                   E. D. Ridgell 2018 __________________________________________  Sekhmet Each early spring she’d  Make raiding runs Snatching one at a time  From mother’s nested hole- Such a stupid, silly, contrivance  As to make one weep for the babes Now ripped and torn, Gut spew on the ground. Each was an offering, One sacrifice at a time Till all were gone from hidden horde. ‘Twas Instinct, the writ of the covenant- She did no wrong. She was sacred order No more, nothing less than divine- The century’s tuned huntress, Sheik, shinny, shoulders, shimmering in sun. Throughout the long lazy summer She took no further tribute- Rather, she basked in the shade Of the red river beech, Seemingly asleep, But not unguarded. Hers was a long lineage Come down from a Nile goddess.                           E. D. Ridgell 2017 _________________________________________________  Bloody Mary! He was cold and unfeeling, Protestant. He was christened  ‘neath a cloth of gold, The dynasty assured. He would steer The souls of his realm. He was blessed with health In an age ‘fore vaccinations. He went down with measles- Ushering in a Catholic Queen.                                             E. D. Ridgell ______________________________________      A Bent Liberal Dicing for danger, I’ll dance a quick step, In hopes to look back on life With little, lingering regret. I do not ken the conservative, Never leaning forward, hugging the base. It is no sport to surrogate To another the stealing of a race. Mount each charger,  Naked of bridle and saddle, bareback, Take the jumps one by one.  Would you rather the hunt or the hack? When all’s said and done!                                    © 2012 by E.D. Ridgell _________________________________________________________________________  I Have The Crazies Today!   I have the crazies today… Just everything and everybody coming at me… Nothing big…didn’t let me wake up slow… A sale though…a Monet necklace…then I Realize I have two lots mixed… This means I made a mistake…I’m not Allowed to make mistakes…this will hang on me All day as I try to sort out whom, when, and where…   How the lady in Miami can call right back…I pass The phone through the door to Rudy ‘cause Mike is in the kitchen fixing the blinds… TV is on and the Ukraine is bleeding… Meka’s pawing me for treats… Rudy’s out the door till eight…can’t believe it’s Almost one…Nap time…I’m sick with this cold… Take a sleep aid…another woman calls about the Messy order over meds…she wants me to call And straighten it out…That’s her bloody job! Nobody wants to fix anything anymore…   Ukraine has a piece of my heart…I’m in a vice, God. It’ll be OK…just got the crazies today… The pills are taking effect…I’m calming down…I’ll Take the prescription aids…I’m tired already… “Well, tomorrow is another day”… I have the crazies today! _______________________________________________________________  Pet priest!   Yes you! Come out from the murky shadows, Of your grey clouds and imagined brimstone.   Stop playing God, And hear this. We know nothing of God, Not yet that is.   How define that Love?- With grace and love, And most of all with empathy.   To the degree you can Feel empathy- That is the degree You might glean the majesty.   But first, My Pretty, pretty, Petty, pet priest-   A vow of poverty? Some token of fidelity to The office you so poorly, Sorely, mishandle! At the very least Beg audience of your confessor- Save your charcoal soul.   Now, fly back up, You ugly, ugly, gargoyle And park your lazy ass, On any chair not resembling a throne! 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 kindle it, 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, It’s echoes more self serving? The Gnostics would raise women to the same level, So high as to copulate upon the altar- And so Gregory would have sex unclean, And lust, so natural, would be deadened to a sin To be laughed at 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 through these oppressive screens. Man would make the simple complicated. God is as close as the tended garden And the rules are to be made up as we go along, Reckoning the best light and hammering the insects dead. © 2013 by Edward Ridgell ____________________________________________________________________________  Untitled There are noises that fetter moments plucked out the white background, The sweet sounds settling into the recesses of the mind, Like nuts being lain down for winter; Sounds that bookmark memory, Echoes to sooth the tempest tossed, Sounds that mark your journey, past and present- The slamming of the wooden, screen door on Grammy’s porch, The cicada in the grasslands at Dad’s at sunset. The honking geese flying over the fall festival that year, You took time to be grateful of your life’s course.   Tonight, I listened to footfalls of grandchildren’s little feet, Scampering over floorboards above my head in my house. Tonight I am sixty two years old and I cross myself For the, final, comingling, last chords caught out in the din of old age.   © 2009 by E.D. Ridgell    ______________________________   In A Last Breath   In a last breath the unheard is silenced, the unseen vanishes, light shines dark.   Utterances linger but awhile; Images recede into nothing, Marble crumbles- Ashes wash into the sea.   All vanishes into the void; That is the vessel of time- An illusion within The mystery of it all.   In that instant that was not, There was a being that never was For whom we who do not exist- Grieve now needlessly.   But oh how it seems to hurt. Oh how heavy nothing that was Seems to weigh on weightlessness. Oh, Oh, Oh, God!                          © 2011 by E.D. Ridgell __________________________________    Seamus One Blanche the cotton sheets That feel too smooth,  Like smelly fresh inside out dryers Of smooth and soft Like baby's behind. That vast flat plain Of whitened outreached Tugs of pillow tightening Twists and turns, Twist away Wrapping away Into nothing. E.D. Ridgell, 2013 _____________________________	Pancreatic Cancer Three So I’m into this series,“Shameless”. Seems real enough to me. Seems tricks these days are  “Done with mirrors.” He used to say that- The soul mate, The one who gave it up- To what? To the pancreas. Life’s one big kick in the ass. Everybody’s ass- The most recent, the ex- Now Six feet below a cancerous pancreas. So come to the Point. Get to the point.  The series’s dip-shit hero ‘s gone and fallen for her. Who? Who else- the bitch with the pancreatic cancer! Can you believe that? Seems like Life Is, real or not, Just one big kick in the ass. Whose ass? My ass, your ass- Worse yet it’s sometimes  A kick in the gut. Whose gut? Anybody’s. E. D. Ridgell 2018 ___________________________________  off my pins  the pace exhilarates as it trips me into threatening to flip dreams everywhere i go seeking free imprisoned children now their soft locks like nylons smooth and  sexy seek too get under armor prisoners solicit and vie attentions but conceal to don the mask of some trillion company rapes  for profit and the lost hopes and dreams  on cameras where they convey  millions in golden yachts  most behind his eight big balls  like little hands and protestations  up the ass what waits for the red white and russian little boots i must not shut down to nest but rest some  and end fore I fall off my pins                                 e d ridgell 8102 ______________________________________________  A Message From Herald   I can’t piece the bits  Enunciate-the tongues swill. My mind’s eye, keen, tuning To the wheezing of my breathing- Oxygen wedded, waiting on God. I don’t know! God? Go ahead swill some narrative, Hopes to resurrect her?   I’ve meandered through  Her many monuments, Rich communion ‘fore this crisis call. I have no nesting ambition.  All is ruin falling down, round me.   She is only two centuries and some.  Where flies the eagle, Up, up, up into the sun, or Down, down, down into the quagmire? Listen. Listen to me- we are in disorder.  The covenant is broken.  Where is the true, blue Cincinnati? To right the ship of state  And calm the turbulent sea?                                     E. D. Ridgell, 2017                                       Revised 2018 ___________________________________________________  The Grove     I paid my admission   Under the lion’s gaze-   Nights of friendly   And not so friendly persuasion,   Night after night,   Year after year until   Someone captured by heart,   Freeing me from out the grove.          We coasted through   The high tide, when suddenly   The tide went out taking you with it.   I’ve lived a whole other life since   As blessed as our time together.   I’ve given my heart again,   Knowing all to well that grief   Is the price we pay for love?                               E.D. Ridgell, 2012                                 Revised 2018 _______________________________________________  The Terrible All the Tsar's are Ivan's. Heavy is the crown, Dripping diadems Of gems and jewels- Diamonds, red rubies, The bluest of sapphires! Our Streltsy from out Our Oprichniki, Mingle with our Boyars- The farther away the poorer But by far the safer From one swipe of Our Bear paw!                          c. E. D. Ridgell, 2015 ___________________________________________________  Thistles   Against the rubber tongues of cows And the hoeing hands of men Thistles spike the summer air And crack open under a blue-black pressure,   Every one a revengeful burst Of resurrection, a grasping fistful Of splintered weapons And Icelandic thrust up frost   From the decaying underworld Of long-boat Vikings. They are like pale hairs and guttural dialects. Every one manages a plume of blood.   Then they grow grey like men mown down. It is like unto a feud. The sons appear Stiff with weapons raised high Fighting back o’er the same ground. ______________________________________  The Sum Of Living   Is time ever on our side? “Boom, the shock of every second Of feeling of being alive.” Pain is the ultimate reminder, Joy a momentary bit of experience. BE in touch with all the pieces, So as to not miss The sum of living.   Grasp it all. Know everything you can. The unknown will always Weigh more than you can gather. There are limits for each and everyone. There is no edge to the universe. Reason could chart a creator, But the maps lack any great detail. _______________________________________________  In The End The deeper the incision And the more taciturn I become. I'm never completely open- I don't weal this pen. It is the muse's doing. The God question Used to have importance for me. I found faith, when I realized it doesn't! In the end the only thing that really matters is kindness. Kindness is a metaphor, a place  To mince and meander through--- The how, the where, the why, the when? We haven't a clue. We are mere mortals. The judge, the soldier, The Queen- the Pope.  You and I, are shadows on the canyon walls. A river runs through it, and  Nothing can damn it shut- And couldn't, shouldn't ever want to! Be at peace. Forgive everything and everyone, Even unto martyrdom- Oh, I know. It's seldom done. At least, try a little. I fail. I've a pocket full of petty resentments. My poem is no stone. Peace be unto you. I just want to urge caution at the rapids. In the end the only thing that matters is kindness. Kindness follows on the water beyond the rapids.                                               c. E.D. Ridgell, 2015 _________________________________________________ Somewhere In The Trenches Of America  I feel I won't be long, now. We'll be mingling again, Dust and bone under the footfalls Of the next in line. I haven't heard. Have you had snow, And does the drum and fifes still Pass the green? Who won best door? I hope all worry and fear For those loved and leave behind Falls away with the sweet embrace Of eternity. I hope too you are spared news-  Precious patriot that you are or were- Of the tedious rise and fall of caliphates, Here, there, everywhere the din of protest of war! Remember, you refused to bayonet Their silly straw man? They could not understand a heroism That refused to shoot the dove! You wore them down in the end- Hit the bulls-eye on the range so often They just pushed you on, Never knowing another faggot got his orders. Rudy who will follow had to go over- Won the distinguished service medal under fire. All my best queers are heroes. I've done the best I can To temper an ecstasy for 'Mad Dog' saviors. I feel I won't be long, now. We'll be mingling again, Dust and bone under the footfalls Of the next in line.                     c. E.D. Ridgell, 2017 somewhere                         in the trenches of America. ____________________________________________________  Doc, Bring A Boy Home! And suddenly you are aware of how old you are, And how good everything is right now, And although you are not suicidal, You are aware there is a rainbow on your left, And that it simply can not be an accident  You are following this home. Never in your Long drawn out life has there been such a rainbow. It doesn't hurt to ask. It hasn't been easy. As a matter of fact it's been hard,  A hopscotch through hell, If you wanna know! Truth is, I'm tired, And there's a Palace green with my husband Strewn on it, and a second one in the mix, So if you don't mind, Doc, bring a boy home!                                           c. E. D. Ridgell, 2014 Emily Dickinson's Home, Homewood- Hartford Connecticutt Emily Dickinson's Homewood  Emily, Tomorrow we will walk that path you described as “Just wide enough for two who love” From the Homestead to the Evergreens; Then shake the ghosts still roaming Hancock Before dining at Deerfield’s, deserving inn. Could we marshal more congenial company  At close, old prospects that in the mind’s eye Are, at both one and the same time,  Faire but false fronts of history?                             © 2008 by E.D. Ridgell _________________________________________  Nappy N’ Happy!   That bitch! She got that natural straight hair- I’d like to rip that blond shit out!   I got this spider bite in my scalp, And that relaxer like to burn my brains out- The things Momma don’t do to look hot!   Got my first perm when I was sweet sixteen- Raised on those kitty perms, My mamma’d give me in the kitchen sink.   Here I am grown up Still chasing that bitch’s luck. Seems to me, These natty locks ain’t nut’n to shout about! *   * Please note that the above is a lament of sorts About the trouble and expense that some African American women still will go to To keep up with cultural expectations not Necessarily their own or the result of peer pressure. It is written in a vernacular to catch the tempo, and ‘beat’ To the words of one imaginary individual and not Intended to represent any one swath of race or ethniticity. It speaks to Afro’s, hair pics, bangs, wigs, hair pieces, braiding, Dreadlocks, and any number of affectaions some of them far too Expensive!                                                                                            E. D. Ridgell _______________________________________________________________________
Trayvon Martin  Child, I'm sorry I wasn't there To stop the bullet To block the moment That broke your mother's heart. I'm sorry handguns are as plentiful  As bullets on a shooting range. Their copper heads rushing forth- Brass torpedoes measuring metal-made holes. Trayvon, lay thee gently down now Lest we forget to softly place you and  Roughly lay down what is so Preciously wrapped. Child, I'm sorry I wasn't there To stop the bullet To block the moment That broke your mother's heart!                         E.D. Ridgell, 2013*   *To all the teachers who ever stopped a bullet.  _____________________________________________  Pete I still track Pete. He was out in something short of seven years. Even his pic is on the Internet-last address-last job; A real pedophile, I helped to track down so long ago. They caught up with him in Germany. During his trial He still could not fathom the effect of his actions. I don't understand this particular flavor, But God help me, I can forgive him- see the Fascist system That will never forgive, and at least wish him a gunshot to the head.  Better that, than no cure, topped by no solution,  Chased from one place to another, exposed publicly  As a perverted ex-con. We've got a perve in the neighborhood! What do we do. There's no cure, there's the rum, no cure! I don't know. I have old perverts in the family tree, Eighty year old watermen who married the next twelve year old Lass in on the island. Some sired more. The wash got done. It was Necessary. Where is Michael Jackson performing, now? Here, then, where the grass is greener, I find little to graze on. Mythology is fading. Intimacy is warping. Friends are Misunderstandings waiting to happen on a ever clearer screen. Sex is so dirty to these people. They taunt with jacket-likes From Brokeback Mountain. They miss the message of what they Can not feel themselves, not to mention A damn good score! Finally, We can welcome real sex addicts Into the fold! No matter, but they take it so seriously. Conceal their porn sites! It's a rum world, and at times, I reminisce  for the closet! Oh, Frack it! This is a poor poem, And they delete them now anyway,  Pretending to have read them. I can feel the irritation At the interruption to what? What do they do? Oh well, another sing song for the poetry site, Another entry into my private diary, a comment On the Social Issues of my time. © 2012 by E.D. Ridgell  All rights reserved _____________________________________________  Strike! They want to lay the conscience of the  Next victims on you, while they hiss With forked tongues, so like the  Hissing of their forebears of the last century. Strike! Easy does it, but look to history. The unhappy story has been  Told and retold, time and time again. You are not the villain, here. Strike! Remember that you are the eagle  With eaglets hungry, dependent Upon the keenness of your eye- The swiftness of your practiced dives. Strike! You are Stars and Stripes Like no other. You ride victorious Carried forward on wings of valor. Heed the haunting, sleeping whisperers. Strike!  There on the far side of the Potomac Burns a flame eternal, a flickering, To light your way in this dark decision making That you took upon your Chief's shoulders. Strike!                                               E.D. Ridgell, 2013 _____________________________________________________________  It Ain't Easy! Some lives are sucked up in post trauma, A syndrome, surely worldwide. Mine has been such; Slap after slap, the first slap at birth! It shapes the individual for good or bad, Or in my case for someone stuck in-between. My point, my poem, this song is to say this can be A blessing, a soul search for creativity born Of the necessity to survive, The sensitive, soulful swap of the artist. So often this post traumatic, symbol, says Something so shape-shifted it sounds The depth of a simp, singed to not be silent, Just for the sake of societies' silly sensibilities! You try singing your "s"s this sticky sweet, and succinctly! It ain't easy! © 2011 by E.D. Ridgell ___________________________________________  Prayers Are In Order!   I canvassed the lot. Most are dead. Some are not. I was saddened at first. I’d lost good friends, Bridges o’er troubled waters, But then acceptance, A recurring part of The hopscotch game Settled in, and I reckoned Those left including Yours truly.   God is totally on faith And Personal. Post it on the billboard. Life is a craps shoot. There is luck, chance, And what you make of it.   Ambition, competition; Medals of all sorts, Degrees in frames on the wall, Goods and riches, And above all success. This is how my tribe Keeps score!   “It ain’t over though Till the fat lady sings”, And a gambler’s not done Till he puts it in the bank. What’s left after death, The hard currency of life- Baubles, trinkets, worldly goods. These are as to nothing, At the reaper’s summons.   The player then Must present soft currency For the tally- Kindness, services, gratitude- The marks not in red. So far, so good, But prayers are in order. Prayers are in order! ____________________________________  Sunflower Seed Reflections Everyday, I’d sweep thousands of sunflower, seed  Droppings from the classroom floor. It was  Incomprehensible to me-damned right wacky! Gum chewing wasn't the problem and you Never saw any candy! And then it dawned on me- My children were hungry, eager for the lunch period. I started to put cookies out at Christmas, A paper plate per table and the challenge became sharing, And, of course, bullying and bickering. No matter, I had  The key now and soon food was a year long  Teaching tool, not only for good behavior but Sometimes simply because you were here in the Community of us all. You were simply you, There was no other right of passage except that you were you. Edward Ridgell, 2013 ______________________________________________________________________	Cat Naps In truth, I haven’t the luxury For resentments anymore. Up against the end I muse and remember it all- So vivid and clear is yesteryear. How did I not break Against the shore? How come I end so well? I treasure much But much treasure is buried. That’s the fare. The world is as tilted As it ever was But I am only half here. It’s not a bad place to be If truth be known. I relish the day  And nap with the cat.                                 E.D. Ridgell, 2017 __________________________________________________  Christmas Snowflakes   It is a reality of the snowflake. What appears a miracle Is no more than the order of lows governing everything. The eye focuses on the marvel and the mind Needing a label calls the snowflake beautiful.   The geometry and symmetry attest to no more than economy Inherent is the mathematics of everything. It is only in the mathematician that we begin to fathom the degree To which we hold no power over it. We are powerless.   We are staring at one of countless mirrors All tokens and reflections of our own reflection And in the blinking of the peering eye there are lessons. Molecules and cells go melting coercing an idea of the divine.   Let Einstein and the wizards unravel the mysteries or it. I will enjoy the snow, littered banks this Christmas and Gaze up at a black sky, sandwiching a billion stars Winking at me and whispering God.                                                               E. D. Ridgell _________________________________________________________    Krvna Osveta! Blood Feud! Canon fodder for local priests as Brother revenges brother, since Medieval times this Turkish rite Hangs over Montenegro and its environs- Bad blood, between Balkan kin and neighbor! Revenge for honor's sake, Never mind the children languishing indoors Missing their childhood play in the sunlight. Shame upon the Church and brethren- Brazenly ignoring brother to love brother, And above all, to forgive all! How much more guttural bragging O'er Moorish ambush in moonlight, More frightening than romantic: "Are are punished!" warns the feigned Duke In a makeshift, Serbian school production of The Bard's Testament to love, even as it is a coupled witness  To such a great lack of profundity!                                                            E.D. Ridgell, 2015  _____________________________________ Love Growing obsession- Again, the heart flutters, just! Happiness is priced.                     E.D. Ridgell 2013 _______________________________________  The Eagle Would Soar But   The world is spinning out of control, The four horsemen run rough rod, O'er much of the orb.   I fear for my seed, And I am impatient to cross 'O'er the river and rest under the shade of the trees'.   Tokyo is in future shock, The sex pistols fire blanks, And Mother Russia is in despair.   Where is fidelity, In the face of such mendacity? Do words on parchments have verity?   The Eagle would soar If the fumes were not so heavy, And the clouds of war not menacing! E.D. Ridgell, 2013 Recession 1   The muse, if she visits at all, Just sits there silent, a vacant gaze, Shunning me, shaming me, Depressing me further.   I feel past empty, Running on gas fumes. Voiceless in the face Of so much apathy, Weighing down dark times- hard times, Coming as they do, Not singularly but in wave, after wave, after wave..   Where is everyone gone- Syntax, shit!  What am I to do with your Leftovers? Am I meant to do Anything, to nurture hope, to lament, To mirror feelings that, in truth, Leave me as overwhelmed as them?   She sits on a bench In Walmart with her Bent-over, grey haired Head in her hands, Waiting. What for?   He goes out to lunch, Frequents groups, Worries that two houses Up and the one next door, Also have one old person Left within echoing walls- Survivors, burdened by the guilt of Surviving, guilty at the relief It is over, and waiting like me For the answer of what to do With a house no longer a home!                     © 2011 by E.D. Ridgell ___________________________________    The Milleniums-Generation Y. They're in Cyber Space and they're in the living room under your nose!                           Ever!   I don’t think I could take it anymore, grief. It comes in like a stalking panther Grips you and will not let go…ever!   I would not wish it on my worse enemy, The stalking panther With eyes that burn with memories   It wants no petting. Do not stroke it.   It feeds on you, gnaws you to the bone.   It’s cries are your cries  Echoing into the lonely night Bouncing off the canyon walls.   I don’t think I could take it anymore, grief. It comes in like a stalking panther Grip you and will not let go…ever!                                                E D Ridgell 2020
Thank You Tank Man!   I wanted you to know We have not forgotten you. What became of you Remains a mystery. Are you imprisoned somewhere, A worker bee with one less kidney?   There is no statue in the square, But the news is out there. Accept these words as a small tribute To your bravery and courage. They have not erased you from history. The hidden newsreel of the tank got through Though you may have never known it. The world heralded you as news Even as your comrades fled, pushing pedals, Cycling fast to be free from tyranny.   Are you in a grave somewhere, Or are you the manager of a KFC? Do your ashes reside somewhere In a lacquered box hidden from the guard, Waiting to be spread on Tiananmen Square? Perhaps you were spared, married, And had the prescribed one baby- A fat son? I hope so.   You did your country honor And I wanted you to know Your ancestors smiled as Your message, delivered before That tank’s, turreted, red star Traveled the world over- Echoing yet again, ‘One man can make a difference!   Many men can make a Veteran’s Day. My country sets aside one day to remember Its known and unknown heroes. Come linger with us. You are not forgotten. Let us play taps to your memory As well as to our own sons for There are no boundaries In the cause of freedom. Thank you Tank Man!                c. E.D. Ridgell, 2007 ________________________________________________                      Omar   I call it my puppy dog syndrome. I go running up with my tail wagging with  Two Hershey Bars with M&M’s,  It’s been ciggies, coloring pens: I came bearing tomatoes once years ago, Wagging up to a kick in the face.   It’s a pattern.  Over countess people in a life full of need. See my wing quiver so. I only wanted a drink of water. Dad did it, tried to buy my love, spoiled me, Only I never wanted things. I wanted normal. Thing is, Dad never once kicked me in my face. He was a great father you couldn’t stand to be around.   She wanted an ally, not a kid. It’s called silent seduction. It wasn’t deliberate but it was widespread: The adult child with no childhood of his own. Poor, poor, woman. Death hit her like a train,  And I got dragged down her tracks.   Omar, though: I mean this puppy’s hurt. You’d think I would feel anger. I suppose I do but most of all  I feel heartbreak- I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.   Omar’s the kid who slipped through my fingers And fell back into his rap sheet. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood” and Omar, Omar took the one best not traveled.                                                                  E. D. Ridgell	The Poet’s Dressing Down!   I hate the muse in me, The feelings teeming to Be wrapped in words- That sensitivity that sets me up Time and time again For the inevitable loss and grief That no one warned me of.   Keep your talent! I have no want to shine. I am well rid of youthful vanities. I reckon these words to the Aches of their needs- Somewhere back there I took on another addiction. It is nothing more!   Bradshaw and “Codependency No More”, All those twelve steps to nowhere. I’m sick of it all. I’m sick of me. I’m sick of you, And this fawning obsequiousness- Some miserable kind of bondage To a computer screen and the Fawning on pretty, printed pages. With a Master of the Fine Arts, Who needs this shite? When did I stoop to    Self sycophancy? _______________________________  Digg the Myselfish Old poet Hippie, School the chance Millennium! Ya gotta slam the Peter Pans; Or keep it short and IMMY- They're here. They're there. They're everywhere, Very much together! If you wish upon a star, They'll cruise the Alt-worthy authority, But keep it real, They're savvy! They rewrite the rules. The biggest bust yet Was the killing of Osama; Mashed Potatoes in Times Square, And an ex-hole's best White-Rhino! Digg it! Oh yea! Teach just dialed ya! © 2011 by E.D. Ridgell AKA Pop Pop!                         Ever!   I don’t think I could take it anymore, grief. It comes in like a stalking panther Grips you and will not let go…ever!   I would not wish it on my worse enemy, The stalking panther With eyes that burn with memories   It wants no petting. Do not stroke it.   It feeds on you, gnaws you to the bone.   It’s cries are your cries  Echoing into the lonely night Bouncing off the canyon walls.   I don’t think I could take it anymore, grief. It comes in like a stalking panther Grip you and will not let go…ever!                                         E D Ridgell 2020 _________________________________