Clifton Park That it would be here, again, What seems to be the hub, Or one of several Around which events of my life Turn, Clifton Park! Vividly, I remember being struck Hard in the side of the head by an errant softball. Odd, that None of the grownups cared. On Saturdays, We young gun slingers Might catch a Western At the Hartford Movie Theatre, Opposite the park. Cowboys and Indians, fifties fare for the Young, eager, TV watchers. Hartford Road striding the athletic fields. Was to become a fixture in the landscape Of my early youth as well as adulthood. I shopped the old Sears  On Hartford and North. I remember the Christmas Shop, top the hill! That was four decades ago. So I was told, too, my Mom and Dad Had an apartment on North Avenue When I was only two or three. Dad said he would walk me  To a zoo and a park, top Druid Hill. That was true. I vaguely recall the Amusement park, hanging chads, Faint memories, all near Clifton Park. Early in my teaching career, go figure, I taught art in the stately building That was then a junior high school- Clifton Park Junior High School. I lived near North and Twenty Fourth, A short drive further into the city. I knew the very streets those Nigga's walked and played in! It was one more bond to my love Of the Black community and  The fruit of their loin's strength. With early summer Dignified graduations Would echo out, “Lift Every Voice And Sing” From that auditorium, opening out, as it did, On the lovely park, just side it. That we should meet, casually, here, Twenty five years later or more- Making our trade amiably, Differentially. You let me  Think you are restoring a house, Perhaps taking care not to  Disillusion an old man- This, of all spots, the very place Where I brought that  Summer camp I taught to swim,  Of an afternoon, walking  Them over from the school, Clifton Park Junior High School. All of this stirs memories. I can not think that  I will leave this life, as old as I be, Without somehow, Someway, gazing out just once more Upon that lovely, green vista that is Clifton Park.                                              E. D. Ridgell Dali and Lorca Salvador and Federico- Juxtaposed here Before the last master, Rodriguez.   Mix it up! Yes, mix the media… Pugnacious and rebellious that one would drive Into a nest of shooters- Black Flag bourgeoisie.   How then to turn this poem?  Paste a picture With links perhaps, Tinged words for masochistic needs- ‘At Five In The Afternoon.   In 2008, planes overhead dropped Facsimiles of his white-winged sonnets And Spain sobbed, Weeping decades later- So many with memories.   Mix it up. Yes, mix it up. Falangists shot the muse in the ass, in Granada, And then the whole world went to war As though summoned to anarchy while Dali and Rodriguez moved on.                                        E. D. Ridgell ____________________________________________________  Memories-     His embrace as he bit my cheek-   The way he had of embellishing   A normal act with a physiognomy   All his own, that roped and tied my heart.     That way she had of tilting her head,   One eye slightly before the other,   All above a beguiling smile that   Charmed and wooed me.     The way she arranged baby dolls in a row,   So that she could pick which next to hold,   And rock in her little arms mimicking mommy.   She is my begin all and my end all.       That gravestone I came upon,   With little plastic, tanks and planes-   Grief leaving toys so their boy could still play   Like any general.     It isn’t death I fear. It is grief.   The price for love-   It isn’t death I fear.    It isn’t death…                                                     E. D Ridgell                                                      Revised 2018 _______________________________________________________________	By God We'll Hold!   Everyday there are over fourteen hundred deportees- But for the grace of God, go I.  Why? Did we take the welcome sign down? Surely we did not mean this, not seriously!   We are a nation of cast offs, cast aways, Cargo hold of throwaways, Unwanted, and fleeing refugees. It is our pedigree. It is our heritage.   No one driving a taxi in New York  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 best bums. We will make citizens of these,  Plus begets of left o'er slaves. Throw a homo or two into the stew. You've got potpourri!    But beware! Take care! Don't spit on the smile of my Shoeshine boys. Don't come sailing up that Bay To measure our stars and bars. We'll hold that fort And the land around it. We'll hold by God! We'll hold!                                                                         E. D. Ridgell ________________________________________________________________________________  Sands In The Hourglass   “Got to scrape the shit right off your shoes”- That’s Virginia, wild fields of forgotten hemp That served to make the rope that you could use to Hang yourself if you’ve half a mind and the pluck.   With luck you’d score hashish in days when  Bags cost five and the seeds came with it. A trip was as easy as roasted morning glory seeds- The high more colorful than mescaline and not as earthy.   Sex was greasy and easy and rubbers were dispensed  At a quarter a pack. Poppers were real amyl nitrate And hearts beat to The Rolling Stones in Jagger-tight jeans- Life was music sung to the mantras of incense sticks.   The lady and I didn’t enter a room. We occupied it! When the kid came she was to Bradley coaching and  I was one of the first allowed in the operating room- All this was a half a century ago, sands in the hourglass.                                                                E. D. Ridgell 2018 ________________________________________________________________________ For Walt ! War Paint!   I dropped into the meeting, A hot-house tomato, Not for any slipping but needing picking, Ripe on the vine for some intimacy- Someone to hold me again, someone to Fill the hollow void.   The journey was long and I was only A little way through that lonely wood. In a room of some ten misfits strung out on caffeine, Your testosterone drew me like a bee to the comb- I knew that you knew. You took it for granted. You were hung on that chair like mortal sin.   With time, I met an earlier claim And so, a Southern Gentleman,  I laid claim in another’s heart and We were content in friendships. Soon enough you tested the man.  Men like you always do.   I was referee to your testing, Helping another understand that Men are no damned good- How else would we want them? Women are worse, but you already knew that.   In time we all bonded in friendships- We watched our gay priest Destroy himself with drink, Heard Joan Baez sing on South Street, And heard Old Dixie driven down again.   We shuffled and moved all the pieces. We landed in abodes bourgeoisie to men Like us who endure so much for so little- Then Al lost his Mat in Iraq, his only boy. Evil struck hard, the Westboro Baptist Group- This shaped Al into the strong man he is.   In the end the Supreme Court went catawampus,  But Al won in the trying, and after all this,  What do the fickle gods conspire?  Walt is stricken with three, maybe four, months to live As I grope through deja vous right up to the end. Even now I don’t know where Al buried you.   They ended Don’t Ask, Don’t tell today, and  I thought it was a good day for a warrior to die.  It wasn’t. It was a sweet and sour day, and  I am a drag-assed tired and angry warrior.  Let me ride into war, dazzling in the sunlight, Befitting a brave warrior’s war paint!                                                © 2010 by E.D. Ridgell                                                        Revised 2020 Spare the Sword and Spoil the...   Silence often screams And a picture is worth A thousand words!   The ancients communicated  With coinage struck either side With a profile who was in and was not!   The Emperor Elagabalus is documented  An early transvestite who wishing to be castrated  Was slain instead and dumped into the Tiber.   The Emperor Caligula was trapped in a causeway  By his ownPretorian Guard who were not ones to  Spare the Sword and Spoil the…                                                       E.D. Ridgell, 2017                                                                 Revised 2018 ________________________________________________________________________  Thom   So in the midst of my grief  I had to reckon the reason for this cut indirect.  It took but a moment‘s reflection to remember that  Reference to God’s “manly” arms.   Me thinks the pretty priest demure.  “Camping” has grown old.  Customs and languages change Befitting new times.   Identities are donned in clean cloaks.  The crosses we cull are for our shoulders alone,  And so a  friend moves on-  Tossing o'er his "manly" shoulder this cut, indirect.   The weight of one is as unto Calvary.  The weight of the other  But the tossing and tussle  Of these few lines.                                              E. D. Ridgell                                                   Revised 2018 ________________________________________________________  The Lawn Grows Green   Under catalpa tees. How long have you lain waiting? I am just a little ways away.   I’m so tired. I’ve lived a whole other life Since you’ve been gone- Grandchildren three, another minted partner, A host of would-be friends mostly dead or dying.   The Song Of Bernadette fell flat, And a poem penned for a private scoffed o’er- Al Snyder’s boy dead in Iraq- Lyndell dead and buried in Johnstown.   Two President’s and a traitor later I’m spent and sick of the lot. The nation grieves As  the lawn, sweats green to yellow, And I? I come to you a broken-hearted patriot.                                                                          E D Ridgell  ___________________________________________________________________________
Check’n Out! Check’n In! Personally, I like Stoners- Always been an outsider Standing on a rim. Friends, they come and Sooner or later Seems they go With rarely so much as a nod! Done my share of roll’n. Jesus, but I’m  Tuckered out- I’m Check’n out! Check’n in!                       E. D. Ridgell                         Revised 2018 _________________________ How Now The Wasted Votes? I’m old and wicked worried. We came so close- He caught a wave. The world is worried. They’re sick of our interventions. He humors no one. Time and time again, We lose it to a limp member Lost expectations. It is the bane of democracy- Wasted votes- The hanging chads. Here’s the rub- “Will no one rid me”? Oh God, surely I don’t mean that! I’m worried and wicked old. My sapling, in turn, spins gold- Yet she is worried! Everything that is true, All that is not phony Rues the wasted votes. Praise Song for a gone day- On a happier inauguration. How now the wasted votes?                      c. E.D. Ridgell, 2017                          Revised 2018 ____________________________________________  At Me! At Me! Toxic, Classic, garden variety- At me, at me, he’s always in the lead Driving his pack Of wild ones. My country, my poor country, What can I do, Nothing? Speak up, speak out if only a muffled echo From off the bullet-scarred, canyon walls! The codes, The dreaded possibility- My fears grounded in worry! Im tired of this toxicity walking My puppy dog syndrome. What pain is greater, The physical or the assaulted heart? My country tis of thee Sweet land of liberty and Weed, and crack and meth… I’m tired, Exhausted by my overgrown Vigilance And its never ending need To fix the unfixable.                         E. D. Ridgell 2018 _____________________________________________  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 and rebel-downed dogs Bark at memories' bastions, once Tippy-toed o’er hallowed ground. We relish our fantasies. We are proud and death is Always close but ne'er feared. What's for us will not miss us. We hold fast to our bonded, Are true to those who trust us, and Let widows', folded flags commend us To the ages.                                           E. D. Ridgell ___________________________________________________________________________    Thus Spoke Sarathustra! The organ resounded through the empty corners of the church. The bronze bells tolled throughout the German countryside. The father had gone dead missing a quarter of his brain. The boy but four forswore any wholehearted faith. In Bonn he happened upon biblical criticism, Which added to his blooming doubts. Out went any notion to be a pastor, In came a rift and family discord. Turning on his father’s faith, This man fled its confines. He entered Godlessness. Atheism took root. The happiest of men is the one who gets through life with a  Minimum of pain fostered by very little effort whatsoever Except to affirm life in some new and novel way. In stepped Wagner with wanton myth in tow. Obsessed and taken aback, art became the all in all, The beginning and the end of a life fulfilled and Expressed in the music of Richard Wagner. “The Birth Of Tragedy” was soon sewn. Apollo and Dionysus went to war and  With curtain-call after curtain-call Frederick Nietzsche postulated  A National Socialist Party!                                                                        But no, it wouldn’t do and In Basil he broke with Wagner, Quit his teaching career and began A wandering coupled to growing pain.  In a forlorn company with himself  He wrote and wrote and wrote Plagued by pain and doubt Nietzsche collapsed. He would lose his mind, A complete loss of faculties and In those sad last years in the care Of a mother and sister he wasted away. His legacy was to be an Ubermensch, The ideal man rising up and out of a Christianity he pushed aside- “Thus spoke Zarathustra!”                             E. D. Ridgell 2018   ______________________________  Fandango  Old age turns the mind Like the pages of Proust. Suddenly, I recollect the tiny details, Of those fresh salad years, Hither and there- The smell of the confessional, Stickball in the side street, Shuffleboard in some Saturday night bar. Adolescence had risks: Walking on ice, Crossing the train bridge, Swimming in the bottomless quarry- The innocent sojourns  Into sexual trysts And new unchartered territory, Sins under seamen, stained sheets. Then a young man Hopscotching war, Courting, marriage, and fatherhood All with a twenty nine inch waist- Everything came and went so fast. Came the divorce and with it The coming out, tumbling through adulthood, Stumbling through one cancerous death after another. Suddenly your shell shocked and seventy, Happily married for the last time Hoping you won’t be the last one standing. The car still needs new tires And you wonder if it isn’t hesitating. You’re a grandfather three times o’er, A stately homo like no other. Man, You’ve skipped the light fandango!                             E. D. Ridgell, 2018 _________________________________________     Of the Deep South!   It was the summer of ‘65’, And I was all of seventeen. I found myself in Tallahassee, And the Deep South, For the first time.   I don’t recollect why my mother Couldn’t or wouldn’t make the trip to bail My sailor Dad out from one more of a long String of dry-out joints that Choked my childhood!   Alcoholism has struck again, And the songs of Mary Poppins Out that year, couldn’t seem to Cheer me up or mask The fact that mine was no Regular or ordinary childhood.   With Dad in the tank, I was free to check things out, Look around me in Tallahassee. My room had a ceiling fan, A novel and strange thing to me But common to the Deep south.   I saw my first palm tree, A tiny, squirt of a thing, No coconut tree! I noticed there were two colors Or taxi cabs, black and white, and after Many waves a black one picked me up.   Dad hadn’t been rolled And so I was flush with cash, And wanted something to eat Besides the bags of salted nuts That had been my fare, together with a Fruitcake that had come from somewhere.   The regular restaurants where daunting For a kid of seventeen, a little intimidating. I finally found a cafeteria, just the thing! I went in, took a tray, and spied what were Two lines, and with this the blinds dropped From my innocent eyes. I had met the bigotry               Of The Deep South!   ________________________________________________  Nary A One, Nope!   In this last allotted time There are days when I feel Like a tumbleweed.   It was always so though, And I regret you did not Know me better.   I never would shoot the dove And always did favor The weakest underdog.   I spent half my allotment In a closet not my making Eluding any undertaking.   Even when finally Out and about You send me spinning.   It took a lifetime To find faith, Not knowing God.   Finally comes the epiphany, And suddenly I haven’t a fear- Nary a one, nope!   _________________________________  The Road Too Often Taken I find myself sinking again into  That kind of depression That comes on for no reason, And then you fill in the empty spaces. I know it will pass,  But not before exacting its toll,  A toll for a road I've been down  Too many times before. One says it's bipolar, Another says that's ridiculous. I just feel their lack of any concern, One way or the other. One thing good will most likely Come of another trip down this road,  And that is a piece of art more likely better  For the trek taken down it, than not!                                     Wikipedia-Federico Lorca Lorca censorship The Exception To each of us, We are allotted a life,  And a time. Is that time prescribed, Or is it as cattywhompus and chaotic As the universe in which it is lived. I confess, I do not know, And I am in awe of it all. It is the nature of every living thing To resist death, yet there is the inevitable Exception; the suicide, the warrior hero, The crucifixion of Jesus Christ.                                   c. E.D. Ridgell, 2014  _______________________________________________________   Flying The Stars And Bars From My Pickup Truck Got fucked up yesterday, Drove South and coped 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 down home country boy with a beer 'tween my crotch  And a hunt'n dog on the seat next me. Ain't got much 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!   _________________________________                                              Sarah She was the wrong side of sincere, Shrewd, slick, bearing gifts, She caught me off-guard, So personable and seemingly sharing. So, the thing was, She didn't know then and doesn't know now, Simply, that people who will be free, Sing songs outside her silly sensibilities, Suspecting not to become Suspects in some grand drama, Solely the seed of her own paranoid, prudish thinking. She was insincere, Self-serving despite a contriving to seem familiar; Selfish enough to pull strings even at a second coming; Sabotaging what was obvious to her, your Speaking in opposites at an inopportune time- Sorely hurting an innocent, unknowing person- Shape-shifting in the background. Smith Island simpleminded was I. Still the same Shrew was she!                                                  E.D. Ridgell 2013 _____________________________________________________________	No Way, I will not wave my freedom flag. I am growing my hair  Just for you. Take care! Beware! Over there, over there,  Send the word, send the word over there… That the Yanks are coming  The Yanks are coming… Will they make a run for it Before you apprehend them?  They’ve made it to the border Like many before. They might as well do a Full Monty … Scale your superficial wall.  You can no more wall them out  Than their forebears. Who are you, who, who, who-  But a reflection of those who  Came before… Deposited here in a new land- And, pray tell, who are these Who test those sacred writs  Gone yellow with aging and  Wrinkled at prior perusing? Tear down this wall! Pull down this useless endeavor. No barrier can stand in the face of  Freedom and liberty. It is cementedto hope,  A struggle for which Too many still struggle As in times before.    No way, I will not wave my freedom flag. I am growing my hair long Just for you. Take care! Beware! Over there, over there. Send the word. Send the word, over there… That the Yanks are coming…                                       E. D. Ridgell 2018 _________________________________________________________  Bev  We never really know the lives we touch-  Well, maybe on the other side. I'll know soon enough.  I don't know which side you are on, tonight.  Your Facebook page has gone dead as has Dave's.  You touched so many lives including mine.  I love ya 'cause you're nuts, but ‘there’s the rub.’ We all are nuts in different stages of crack'd,  And those who have a clue, learned this from you, kiddo. One Guy in the men's group contracted cancer, remember? He shot himself to spare his family pain.  I remember we both concurred that took a lot of guts.  We're both shackled to Mother Church, without that option.  Never-mind, in time, all is white. May the light shine on you, enfold you in its embrace.  May you see by my few words, here, The aura that is you.                                                                    E. D. Ridgell                                                                     Revised 2018 _______________________________________________________________________  The Opening of Parliament-   The Queen is ninety two. The sand is downing down On our age, and Grief is a pastime From dawn to dusk.   Nothing is amiss. Everyone and everything  Is snug, as We patiently settle Into rituals we all observe.   Shape-shifting patterns Repeat ancient themes off Cavemen's  ceilings.  Echoes weaken as they bounce Off canyon walls.                                   E. D. Ridgell 2018 __________________________________________________    Joshua  A late assignation, An old man’s groping at youth- Meant to be savored and not Tittle tattled off canyon walls. She made short shift of you, Letting you know the full  Weight and measure of her disregard. She did not tell all, but enough. She did reveal a friendship Far firmer than any dalliance with you. You were a toy. I noticed you  Helped me to the car- The drive home was Long and arduous. Came the inevitable call- I was less than tempted and They locked you up in time. That was as expected. I let her know  I was sorry for you- She lent little pity and so There it lies.                      E.D. Ridgell 2017 ________________________________________  For Auld Lang Syne Larry caught me in the nick of time Or I would have embraced you in the lobby Of the Lyric Theatre for auld lang sine. Years before we’d left a dinner party To go feast on one another- Rude but better dessert, nevertheless. For years you wined and dined me Having me to dinner, then having me after- After dinner bonne bouchée. You’d rise early to go and say The early morning mass, and I’d wonder if anyone Recognized my bright, red Pinto parked outside the vestry. Did either of us consider it sin? I hope so, and nevertheless God fixed us so, And holds us in a station not easily understood by lay men. God bless and keep you close to him, Wherever you serve, Father- Until we meet again and I can embrace you as I would, For auld lang syne, mon pere!                                                        c. E.D. Ridgell, 2015 __________________________________________________________________ Strong Undertows Casting weary eyes on him, I realized He and I were elders, And all the gathered family Were younger to varying degrees. He had introduced me fifty years ago To his sister who I had married, And had just died a few years ago  To cancer that riptide that is so universal. I found him to little surprise self possessed, But not unfriendly considering the shallows between us. I had pursued girls with him, could remember when he  Lost his virginity, wailed in disbelief at a dead daughter. We are both survivors, too worn down now, To care much about the other. He’s on the make again. I wish him happy hunting, but I wonder if he has any capacity To love anyone, anymore. I begrudge him nothing. All in all, I think he’s frozen, both in heart and spirit. His sister never really talked of him, And news would come of him as it does to elders In sporadic bits, the ebb and flow of eavesdropping. I reckon he is a first cousin to the grandchildren,  The uncle to my daughter. To me he’s a memory  Of a time long ago, when none of us had an inkling Of the courses of our lives, or the strong undertows.                                                        c. E.D. Ridgell, 2015 ----------------------------------------------- The Look Behind Her Eyes! "All these things she wanted are, I don’t  know, all so simple!- But they weren’t so simple, Were they Andy? Asthma meds, The lost girlfriend, Spiraling down, spiraling down- Hot, hot, daringly hot! Carter, what is it Carter? The ledge! The sky above- Hanging, hanging, hanging, Like an athlete, Falling, falling, falling, Down! The worse thing is to loose a child, And to have to go on… You have to go on  Because, you see,  There's still someone there….. Sometimes you have to live in a world Without why.                               c. E.D. Ridgell, 2016                                                      revised 2018  _____________________________________________  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                                                                          Revised 2018  _________________________________                                     Sagebrush Fire! One day they just happened to talk About those people around Wyman Park And what they did and let be done to them- And I just went deeper into my cocoon  For fear that anyone should know I was One of those people. That's the story Of my life, pretty much in a nutshell. Except, that I would one day come out With a vengeance, and I'd make that park The altar on which I offered myself up, Night after night after night, until I'd had my  Fill of it, and until I met the one I'd offer my  Already broken heart to. We lived for over two decades  In a harmony seldom found, Until the dreaded C-word came And took my true love out, Leaving me to make the best of it, And reinvent myself yet again. I'm getting rather tired of that! Now I'm diagnosed with a bum heart, And my ticker's ticking out. I'm not alone, thank God. I've a new love and a family, Most would be jealous of. I've lived my life like a sagebrush fire, And I've no regrets or apologies for it! It's just burning out, that's all.                             c. E.D. Ridgell, 2014 _______________________________________________________  Weeding Tyre   Surveying the garden, He spied wilting, And from a safe shed- Returning, Wielding the surety Of a sledge hammer, Wrought in steel, He slugged to slay the sickly And wanton weeds That thought themselves Safe in Tyre. © 2011 by E.D. Ridgell  _______________________________________________________   Please be advised that the next poem is a lament  about the trouble and expense Black woman  have to endure to keep up with cultural expectations  not necessarily there own. It's written in a vernacular  that is meant to give the right balance, tempo, and 'beat'  to the words and not intended in any way to be offensive.  Been there, done that! No offense is intended. Nappy N. Happy! That White Bitch's, 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 there Kitty perms, My momma'd give me in that kitchen sink. Here I am all grown up Still chasing that White Bitch's luck. Seems to me,  These natty locks ain't nut-tin to shout about!                                                 ______________________________________________    My Tweet’s Bigger Than Your Tweet! In an era of the bigger tweet The message must be short- Snippets of meaningful voice… The grande missive will not do. It’s a lain low quickie be damned If I do. It must do. This will do! The line waits for no man Save an immigrant or two Down drowned on the border. What say you? I say I have the full measure of you? You say otherwise! Here, a tweet for The Commander in Tweet And the root rot In the White House on the hill!                                         E. D. Ridgell 2018 _______________________________________________________  The Lad In Red   Did you see his eyes- The lad in red, the struggling comrade With the sunken eyes?   You say he’s high, some stoner guy, A Rumanian hooligan, With the elephant-high eyes-   The lad in red, the struggling comrade, Some sad, clad in red, lad  With the gypsy, Jesus eyes.                                                                E.D. Ridgell…                                             For the Bucharest Boy!                                              Revised 2018   ____________________________________________________________________  There’s the Rub!  I am not angry or upset at anything that Hawking says.  It stands to reason a Creator could disguise Itself. The Creator would be under no obligation, whatsoever-  And so we have reason married to faith, most amiably.  Science is no threat to that which can not be threatened.  That which is magnificent and misunderstood is awe. I know nothing of God and less of science although Both seem worthy of my mind’s meandering. I know nothing of art but I’m forever fanning it.  What’s going on here? I don’t really know, do you?  I feel the boom though; the shock of every second  Knowing I am alive. Feel it? Boom! It’s gone to be  Followed by another. Boom! Do the booms stop though,  Ever? There’s the rub!                                                                                     E. D. Ridgell                                                                                         Revised 2018
Old Man Grip’n It’s the early twenty first century And I’m still some Booth riding South, hard. There’s enough media distraction,  You’d think I was balanced. Who ever is? Somewhere stuck in some nook or cranny I must still have the Minnesota  Multiilevel assessment thingy inventory. I’m frightened and I know it. Eizabet must have been frightened. I can’t go there. Where oh where should I go. That’s the question? I’m itching my hair out biding my time. Somewhere I haven’t been before. I’m running out of closets to hide in. I’m an old man who loves an old man plus a cat! Jesus, it’s the fuck’n X-Files! Everything that went before but everything, Is out there! You don’t know where to go And besides, and besides what? I need an internal rhyme. Is that really what she looked like? I have to get through the commercial  To satisfy those images over there. My life is cluttered, jam packed with  I don’t know what I want to do. Monster Trucks, Online at Monster dot com. That’s an older Muller! Have I lived so long They’re remaking reruns? I do not know what to do, And it’s driving me nuts! “It’s the fourth turning Mr, Skinner.” How many more turns to the screw? What am I gonna do!                                         E. D. Ridgell, 2017 __________________________________   The Goodbye Peek!   As is my way Less now since this settling I went spying, Well no, snooping if you must know. This is after all group therapy  And you’re in if you think you’re out- It’s the price you pay for privacy.   I haven’t a malicious bone in my body, Though I do my best to hide it. You have to love me to know me- Even then I don’t dare let a soul in, Not into the inner sanctum. I’ve trouble enough With the Catholic guilt!   So there he is. I had to check to see if he’s OK. He’ll never know and I’ll never know  Why he wanted it so. I call it a cut direct. It happens. It’s best to move on. That’s why this was so to speak The goodbye peek.   He’s still grieving. It’s been six years since the second whammy- It left a hole in my heart too, But you see he’d lost his only boy just years ‘fore. Yes, Iraq. It wasn’t even combat, a traffic accident. Oh My God! I was too close when I told him “You can’t go ‘round grief. You’ve got to go though it”.   Every year it’s the same pictures on the same day. We all tally our days and keep our calendars. My day Is every last day of March. Pay day! He has his repertoire of pics. So have I. We all of us hurt. Everybody hurts. He hurts. I hurt. You hurt. We all hurt. Life hurts- And so you fill in the blanks. Live, even though it hurts!                                                       E. D. Ridgell, 2017   ____________________________  Gang Bang Thank-you Slam!   Some evil trio Using Jesus Abusing Jesus- Netflix drama for Facebook!   Even through his guilt He masked the hyena of his soul. In his mind he mounted me with an Avatar he wore like a medal- Fuck the last breathing witness!   Jesus only knows the cover-ups… She wounded as she was Didn’t stand a chance- Photographer, best friend, So many others drove her down. Poor thing. No wonder her misspent anger!   I cut him at the wedding. It was only for the dove, Clothed in the soft knitted shawl… But then like a sleep walking Daddy, She knew. She’s known for years. Empathy in equal measures to evil. Me think’s those were and these are dark times!                                               c. E.D. Ridgell, 2015   _________________________________________________      Worry! My mother taught me to worry. She honed it into a work of art. Together we would practice it regularly, Not that it was ever that needed. Today, I can out-worry the best of them. I've a Master's in Worry. There is no small thing I can not stack into a wall of worry. Worry is a family trait  We are careful to pass down In full measure to our offspring, So they too can reap its rewards. Worry will protect you. It will motivate you to do great things. I would commend worry to you, If I were not worried you would hate me for it. __________________________________________________________                                        copyright Color Purple Google Images A special thanks to Whoopi Goldberg who With her ‘bat joke', reminded me, that words like books Must never be burned. EDR "By and By They fetched the niggers in and had prayers,"- And when those that came; family, friends, fagots, Romans, Had finished with a final, feigned rite they had figured for me, That was that, and done, and I thanked them, Presently, in this lyric-like thing of mine. Then, my beloved ones, you must conspire one last time, If you please, for me, for us, for what was and is no more. See! There are these ashes, fresh ashes mixed with bone, That I charge you scatter, quickly, on the run, fast Before they contrive to stop you. One run up the Green, and Another, down the Palace yard from the other end. Broadcast me far and wide. Have some fun with me. Be merry, For merry I'll be rooting through the fallen catalpa pods And green grass in hopes of coupling once again. "You gotta give them hope", you know! Bless you and keep you, and remember, if you please, The mortal are here but a short while, so try to be happy. Know that I am there with you, circumjacent, hovering around you, The bird on the wing, a breeze of windswept memory, Come and gone, waiting. © 2011 by E.D. Ridgell   ______________________________  Scrooge…   I’m back! Ho, Ho, Ho! I’ll wait for the glee to abate, A feigned jubilance No doubt!   Scrooge and Marley Have had a banner year! We are temped to give a bonus To the dwindling staff…Na! Little parachutes are so passé, And what’s more What’s the dole for, we ask you?   And what would Marley, God rest his soul, Say to such excess? We’re about ‘Big’ at Scrooge and Marley- Our parachutes are Imbedded in contractual law- We saw to that!   This thing called Christmas, Religion aside, needed reforming. We’ve seen to these- Less presents, less treats, less food for all- We’ll soon have laws governing weight. Fat is a no-no for the common good. That’s us or should I say, that’s me Now that Marley, is more or less outa the picture  And off the payroll…He, He, He!   What is good for me, well! That will have to be good for all, And I’m moving fast to make it law. My name is Ebenezer Scrooge, by the way And I need no translation, thank you. I’ve gone global!   Wars, the exception, things could be worse, I mean, peace is never profitable, Not for the likes of me! Don’t forget to but Tiny Thing, whatever, A battle game, and do put it under the twig for me, But hurry. Your credit is ‘bout maxed! I’ll be wanting those cards back!   I’ve scissors in my hands. It’s all part of my plans. We must plan for the holiday early. Oh! And how about a little dolly that explodes For that little girl in your heart- We’ve Miss High Explosive! It’s a Christmas hit, and she can be yours After the holidays at half the price, At are subsidiary, Wal-Mart World! By bad luck, we’re closed Christmas Day… “A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket Every twenty fifth of December!” Have no worries. We’re working on these Union based conspiracies with their  Outmoded traditions! Bother!   Humbug! You must say goodbye to excess,  While I and the one percent have ours. We deny the government coffers Paying near to nothing, of course. I can see the pink slips in the breeze Tumbling down streets that once  Bespoke those tiny businesses. Bah! Should not government own little And control less? We’ve our needs! We take more and more. You get less and less, And we’ll never have enough, Never! Never!   Once we’ve ruined you, We’ll slowly build you back up. It’s and old game of supply and demand! Ho, Ho, Ho! Onward Prancer, I smell it, another profitable venture! We’ll make money polluting it all, And then we’ll make more cleaning it up. Convince them it’s their ideas we’re wheeling. It’s the old shell game and we love it!   James, take me to the airport. I’ve a private jet waiting to whisk me to Dubai. It seems that oil has dropped. I won’t have this! Merry Christmas, everyone, and fear not. I’ll be back soon enough. Oh, And God bless Tiny Thingy!                                             Yours in Christ,                                              Scrooge	Stone Places I wonder if his tiny bones are still there Tucked as they were under a mountain of kudzu. I left the helpless little stone there over half a century ago- The middle of the last century, almost two centuries ago, now. I had been stopped cold by it…Boom! The shock of each moment  Of still being alive! I loved Exmore backed by the creek facing on nurseries  Of azalea and rhododendrons. I entertained ‘if only’s’ over it- Youthful fantasies. Bill and I were moving Dad’s ton or two Over to the Point where I would be duly chastised for leaving  A three hundred pound anvil…impossible man, demanding man- An icon of our clan, as all we men end up to be, indomitable. I’m well nigh dead myself now not that I mind. We all Cling to it, grasp it close to us, risk it, abuse it,  make love with it, make war with it, die in it! It’s common too  for us to lay plans, park ourselves Just so for family and posterity, choose the yard, or In my case the Palace Green in faire Williamsburg.                                                                     E. D. Ridgell, 2019 ______________________________________________________________________________  A Prose Poem To God And Country   Two great and powerful people Forged in early revolutions, Acting always in self defense  With no eye on spoils of war- What brings them to such discord?   Great literature, art of all persuasions; Fabled museums each espouse and treasure, Vast scientific discoveries; The quest for space outside the orb they share- What pushes them to produce weapons of mass destruction?   They have between them resisted and defeated  Tyrants such as the world has never seen,  And they did this as allies. They have never warred one against the other What feeds their competition, jockeying to surpass one another? Why do they waste treasure on what reason dictates they cannot use?   Together, they pose such danger that all would be punished. Their leaders and legislators feed the discord, And both seduce their populace with artful propaganda. Their economies both are too much dependent on their arsenals, and To make matters worse they seem to worship the same God.                                                                                              E. D. Ridgell 2018 ________________________________________________ Trump O’er Ice With A Twist Of Lemon Peel   Caged children In detention centers- Is this the best you can do? Is there nothing that is not about you- Some puffed up seventy year old  In a long black coat  Leading a contingent of sycophants  Yanked from Fox 45? Really? And just what is this foreign policy If not an about face in decades of well  Thought out policy? Are you at all  Familiar with loyalties over royalties? Is your art of the deal not riddled  In bankruptcy after bankruptcy Will you reek havoc o’er still more silly putty? Will you pompous promise into war  and drag us with you? I am no longer young enough To know it all and I am so not into you- Your big business men  Your gerrymandering- Move over. Get out of my way. Get out of our way. Hear us. Our warnings are neither  Empty nor patient.                                                  E. D. Ridgell 2018 ______________________________________________________________  If Truth Be known! My mother, God rest her soul, Taught me how to worry. That’s why, exist or not, I need God- Somebody must shoulder my burden. It’s still hard for me to turn it over- The control. I want to steer my many resentments. That would neither be fair Or, if truth be known, Very good for my soul. I’m a sweetheart of a man, But no stranger to sin- Just your everyday sort of a man…                               c. E.D. Ridgell, 2016                                    Revised 2018 The Stance!   It was half a century before I noticed. I think it was one of those family photographs I prize so much, the ones most likely to be Tossed out at death by happenstance, haste, or intent.   In so many images of my forebears they had a Disarming habit of hoisting the hand up onto one hip As you would some signal-flag. I remember of Doing this myself in thirty years of teaching. It was a stance signaling a stand- A relaxed sort of tenacity conveying control and power.   There’s the faded photograph of Grammy With the hoisted, hip hand, Accepting some Veterans group’s award, In front of that nursing home she founded, Spreading out as it did, one room at a time. From an old, one-room, school house. She started it to care for old sea dogs, No longer needed in war or family. I can still see her, in my mind’s eye Firmly dug into Maryland’s, southern, sandy soil With fist on hip bespeaking her affinity To that ground and the proud, prizing of it.   There are also photos rescued of people I never knew but are a part of mine Caught by the light of the lens At ease with this posture, this stance. Just yesterday I caught myself, Arm hoisted up before my well-weeded garden.   It came to my mind, melding into hope, That one day I’d catch me a grandkid Mimicking this trait handing down, Generation upon generation- The stance! ___________________________________   A Silly Metaphor  Wars entered into for divers and sundry reasons Gobble our boys up spewing them out into those Flag draped boxes that, when flown home, Will offer little solace to their grieving families. The dog at the end of the drive will wait in vain. The babe in arms will never get that needed hug, And there will forever remain a hole in the family. No one ever pretends anymore to fight "The war to end all wars". There's too Much evidence to the contrary.  "Peace on earth. Goodwill to all men"  Seems a silly metaphor to be brought out Once a year and sung as some Decorative medley to a holiday, and yet Man is just complicated enough to keep Hope alive and perhaps, ironic as it seems, there's your proof of God! ______________________________________________________    The Goodbye Peek! As is my way Less now since this settling I went spying, Well no, snooping if you must know. This is after all group therapy  And your in if you think your out- It’s the price you pay for privacy. I haven’t a malicious bone in my body, Though I do my best to hide that. You have to love me to know me- Even then I don’t dare let a soul in, Not into the inner sanctum of me. I’m having enough trouble  With the catholic guilt as it is! Anyway, so there he is. I just had to check to see if he’s OK. He’ll never know and I’ll never know  Why he wanted it so. I call it the cut direct. It isn’t pretty but it happens. You have to forgive and move on. That’s why this was a goodbye peek. He’s still grieving. It’s been six years since the second whammy- That left a hole in my heart as well,  But you see he’d lost his only boy just a few years ‘fore that. Yes, Iraq! It wasn’t even combat, a traffic accident! Oh My God! I was too close a reminder. I told him “you can’t go ‘round grief. You’ve got to go though it”. Every year it’s the same pictures on the same day. We all tally our days and keep our calendars. My bloody day Is every last day of March. Pay day! He has his repertoire of pics. So do I. We all of us hurt, so much. Everybody hurts. He hurts. I hurt. You hurt. We all hurt. Life hurts- And so you fill in the blanks. Live even though it hurts!                                                                     E. D. Ridgell, 2017 ______________________________________________________________________________________________                                Besses    Heralding down spring  Hooves from court brought hard news of  Wilting English rose;      Tudor’s demise, Bess bestow      ‘Fore closing her golden gaze.    On that long winter  Women wagged worrisome  ‘Tween sundry weak men.      When with summary thoughts left      Memories of axe and fire.    Came summer’s reigning  Company of divers men  Hunting and whoring,      Until she victorious      In death ushered a fall.   With time a new House, And then another Much Change married to no change,      The New World takes the best      And leaves the rest to stand the time.      Every season  Men thought only to war on  Lovely fields in France.      Again pray a Bess bequeaths      Her anni mirabiles.                                                                                     © 2010 E.D. Ridgell   http://www.britroyals.com/  _________________________________     Collusion- The highest officials are suspect! Dishonor- 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 Subarus and Kawasakis For a blitzkrieg led by Fox TV 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