Georgia Gal   I am the waterman’s shepherd Guarding this vacant house In company of scents grown weak, Some of his lot, some not. . I have no way of naming these- Each and everyone is in confusion. He and his breed are gone. They sped away in the dust of the Twirling-footed things Emptying the house of everything ‘Cept fading smells and scant trails Haunting the property. . If I walk in the day or bark in the night, My scent is long gone. What is left  Betrays no scents. I lie in my shallow hole by day Only to come out at night to chase The living lightning bugs away. . I dragged my hind legs  Until one of the waterman’s pack, Shot something quick, and sharp  Into my hide spurting away my pain.  He lay me gently down Into this hole with tears drowning down. Did he mean to cover me from a cold  I no longer feel? . I miss the waterman. I gaze to the end of the drive Hoping to see him come home. We used to walk sandy beaches In the brisk, morn, before we breakfasted, He on his stool, me at my bowls  On the clean, linoleum floor. . The scents, smells, and feelings Seem to be faded. I miss the waterman that cared for me  As I guarded him. . Somewhere someone remembers. Until all memory is gone, I can’t break free To run in search of  Some misty cloud that is the waterman. E. D. Ridgell I Can’t Find That Quarry Where once we bathed, Hippies eager to get laid, Swimming in expectations- Where she had intended to go, Shag the photographer, my chess mate, To add to the list of indiscretions. I can’t find that quarry  Where in the green filtered light, They lapped in wet liaisons Emboldened to surer strokes. I swam to the opposite side-  Sacrificed myself to truth. I can’t find that quarry Where unions were drowned and Confederations of different sorts surfaced- I dog paddled through fallen leaves Hoping some swimmers Didn’t want me drowned after all. I can’t find that quarry  Where I drowned denial In search of different moorings.                                       E. D. Ridgell ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  The Mad Hatter! I feel it unwind, The tick tick of the clock Forever sifting around and around  And down! Time will stand still- No cease- Fall into a black hole, A hole marked nevermore That wasn’t there… Oh yes it was and is! You evaded it,  The inevitability of it- A drama queen  Up against the wall. It is forlorn and cowardly. You don’t want to die, And you shun the pain of it, So just stumble into it- Anything to be rid of it. Hurry, hurry, Don’t tarry. You’re a mad hatter With an important date and “You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell You a secret all the best people are” So don’t be late. You’re The mad hatter! “All the best people are…”                                            E. D. Ridgell ____________________________________________________________  Dead Man Walking!   Why is it that the wild one’s live on, And on, and on, and oh? It’s not supposed to work that way!   I just said to her; “Well, I would have thought that would be The very last thing that you’d say to me” … When she confessed what her Mom was dying of. My heart ached.   Years earlier, I tore out of work, And drove through a major traffic jam up 83 At times, I’s sure at nintey miles-an-hour, then Back down it again to the hospital! Thing was, When they operated and it was diverticulosis, We were relieved. We thought we had found the Root of the problem, the cause for so many tests and Those endless blood counts and doctors’ probings, but no. No! It was not so and some months later, an eternity, I lost you later in that previous time, the one in the gay sunshine!   I’ve got Pulmonary Arterial Hyper-something, and still, I go on, And on, and on. Thing is I’m thrice blessed. You think I worry? You think it never crosses my mind?                                                      c. E.D. Ridgell, 2014 _______________________________________________________________________  Do I Hear   Of a goin in the ranks? Is the battle lost; And what of its cause? Where are the sergeants at arm’s? Who bolsters the freemen,- Nurses their fidelity, So conscientiously won? The first of our chiefs  Suffered so many setbacks, It seems a miracle The seeds of our legacy were ever sown. He’s honored, The Father of Our Country, For good reasons; One being that tenacity moored to So much humility at his commission’s end. Speak not to me in common wear and tear, But only in tongues, ‘in opposites’ to disfavor. Muster in! Muster up! It’s better to be dead than confined! Remember all that are the Cincinnati Of that revolution and an earlier tea party. Nothing new is in the wind, that this republic Has not endured ‘fore and will not suffer again. Each day begins with reveille and its “Call to Colors”- And with the nightfall’s retreat and taps we Entrust our sleep to the brave sentries of centuries- ‘Fore battles next day and a war we will carry to the end!                                                               ©2010 by E. D. Ridgell                                                                     Revised 2018 __________________________________________________________________________    To He Who Waits Patiently   Is it warm there  Spread o’er a Palace vista? Is the green cooling dawn Ready to emerge at morning’s mist?   Surely you’ve settled in Since I gently laid you down.  Daintily sowing the seed of you, Where the Palace spies so faire a view.   Nothing dead has deed to its property But the public ground is as good A waiting place as any! Rest thee, then. Rest thee... E D Ridgell, 2017   revised 2018  __________________________________  Do Not Mind My Strong Opinions I'll be dead and long gone ‘fore my words hit home; Strike the marks meant Not as too strong my opinions But as an elder's warnings, Wrapped in the worrisome Knowledge that I will not be here To care as I do about these worldly Things that are festering In patterns that I would break For the sake of those I love so strongly, Including you- Struggle to wheeze on for Long after I've any wish to mentor Any other strangling death But my own. Honor thy father, Even if his voice is a Queer echo of another- A man is measured in heavenly things, Not in earthly biases.                     © 2010 by E.D. Ridgell ______________________________________ Catching Night Predators ‘Fore the Baltimore Museum of Art   Tonight, much like any night; Just the other night-- Last night, He was hunting a predator. It wasn’t easy. It takes skill To get kill after kill.   Tonight, he’d tagged one, already. “Steady”, he thought. ”Sober up! Follow it up. Look up, then down. Wait. He’ll circle round. Here he comes. Yes! Slow down.”   Tonight; Three, no four More tricks- kicks, Niches- Predators caught that night, ‘Fore the soon-be sunrise, ‘Neath his twin lions, ‘Fore the Baltimore Museum of Art.                             © 2011 by E.D. Ridgell	Exit, Stage Right! We donned her Trissa To be different, Then Tatiana after a little Princess who was rumored To have foiled fate long ago, Only to learn she did not Dodge the missiles. But ours was favored Above that innocent namesake. Ours was then, and is now, words That dissolve into tears At the very thought of any harm To her, Trissa Tatiana. Time has brought its inevitable changes; Blessings and sorrows Replete with tides of tedious rituals Of That farce we try to play out So well, too often to little avail. We've had luck- made and shaped As we contrived the need for it. Now, each of us can comfortably go Into those head lights, High-beamed into the night, Where in deliverance one can exit, With grace and good timing- Stage right, And dare not look back For the fear of it!                           © 2010 by E.D. Ridgell                                      Revised 2018 ___________________________________________________  …And… ...and though you may up and leave me I will not take offense, And if I up and leave you, It is because I had to. “See my little wing quiver so… I only ever wanted a tiny drink of water. And where’s gone Fidelity In the face of so little pity, Here now in the shadow of Showa Falling fast with a final qua.”                                           E. D. Ridgell, 2017 LARRY C. IN MAINE ! Grieving Aristotle Here it is, Another wave,  Oh….! I’ve known it was coming For o’er a year We talked around the edges. I kept breaking plans to see you And told you why. You understood Knowing all to well the ways of me. Ohh….The familiar pain! The justification, in the mind’s eye, To lashes I bestow to my back Like the Polish Pope, recently dead as well- Cold to my lamenting. I must have broken all the rules Under your tutelage. You taught me How to untie the Gordian knot Of a burden we blessed by God Must carry in the face of so much acrimony. You eased me along a highway that like Rasbutin was the back door to salvation. You showed me it was holier to be Persian Than a hypocrite supping with the legions- And when I went off with Alexander On the glorified roads to India, you blessed The undertaking. Messengers carried the Ensuing news back and forth from Babylon or wherever- Ohhh....how the loss of you hangs heavy on me! I must rally again, I suppose and Swallow the anguish of being a last one standing. The medication is beginning to lay me gently down, now- To sleep in some short respite.  This is primary, rough and real. No doubt I will carve and shape it latter To words that better match these feelings. Just as I want Tom to hold me in his safe arms Just one last time, So, too, do I want to hear your laugh and banter Just one last time! Ohhhh….Ohhhhh!                                                            E. D. Ridgell, 2010                                                                  Revised 2018 ME IN ST MARYS CITY, MD ABOUT AGE 60 AT THE DEATH OF MY AUNT Shellfish Bay Reflections The waves break o’er me, Billowy at this recent tempest; A red tide of events and people In that geography imprinted on me. The undertow could carry me out but for luck And the pluck to anchor firm, Until what, I do not know or fear. Driven, why so driven? Why weigh against the waves? Tether this tempest and  Idle side the shore 'o the Bay awhile. Rarely, does the Bay Reflect a calm mirror of sky Tarry and measure this wake o’er me, Storm-tossed ‘fore this reckoned lull. The Bay is a rite to me. The Bay sweats from pours of me; Mine, salty glands of drowned-down ‘watermen’. Surely as the Full Flower Moon salutes the night Are these pauses welcome markers  in the ebb and flow, ‘fore  “I follow on the water”.                                                           © 2010 by E.D. Ridgell                                                                   Revised 2018 _____________________________________________________________________________  “Daddy”, Again!   I walked down the street lit lawn Under the catalpa trees spreading Your ashes and crumbs as I went Feeling them slip through my fingers, Our final parting and a dusty end- The happiest years of my life. I had no direction. Everything and everyone Was a new beginning.   Life unfolds in pages not yet written. It is in this chapter My grandchildren were born. It is on this new trail I continue to grope Through the reality of life, its ups, its downs, I do the best I can; juggle the money, Grudgingly surrender my marbles, Try to be upstanding, and not some freak show.   When you’re queer, you’re dragging ass- You’re tagged, like any other minority. Many blinking dolls gaze at you, even stare, Treat you as equal, though you know they know None of us are ever entirely equal. Life can be a bit of a farce. Everybody’s got a part In a play that’s universal, always fluctuating. The reality of life is change, some welcome, some not.   If you’re lucky and get that far you’ve got a God, Or enough paraphernalia to Carry a card to the Cosmos. Whether this is a credit card, I don’t know. Time will tell. I do know there are enough like me To have not been a mistake Either of provenance or nature- Of that much I’m sure.   It’s hard at times but everybody hurts. You find the courage, come out, sachet about. Hunt game and maybe even score. Truth is you’re always a little different and scared- You never really feel welcome in the locker room, but You’ve got pride, and some hard won self-respect, and Just when you think you can’t bear one more day, After all these years, she up and calls you “Daddy”, again.
LEADING YOU DOWN THE AISLE WAS THE ONLY TIME I'D KNOWN YOU TO SHAKE ! [Dedicated to Trissa Tatiana, my Daughter]   Be Positive If You Would Be Forever Young   Pessimism is a poor proponent For anything but failure. You must first pick the old thread out Before you sew the new garment. The bottom is the firmest place to be Because the only way is up. It is when everyone has lost hope that The successful make their moves.   Alexander untied the Gordian knot In the flash of a slash of steel. Napoleon reached down and picked up The crown of France from out the gutter. Lenin took a train east by invitation. Spitfires flew into the bright orb to disappear into heaven hands. Truman against all odds airlifted hope in; Ceasar crossed a river that had once known elephant dung.   They call these latest optimists the millenniums, And hawker on how difficult they will have it. We are in what they call the great recession; A metaphor for the changing of the guard, One of many corrections inevitable with time. The violated virgins of generations before Resist and resent the demarcation from business as before.   The future is not ours to know. Today is all we have. Your day is yours. My day is mine. I’ll pick flowers from my garden and Strew them about my geography Grateful for their beneficence to keep me positive. Label me a miscreant if they must, but I will go to they’re Gallows with garlands ‘round my neck, And fragrances, the last sensation, of all that is positive From out the garden.                                     © August 22, 2010 by E.D. Ridgell __________________________________________________   Let No Man Put Asunder Everyday, there are special people Who pave the way, give succor When most needed. Ease your pain. Kiss the boo boo. Lift you up From off the hard, hard, ground. Larry, Russell, your Aunt Bettie. That precious man who was your Husband till Cancer swept him away. The man who is your husband today, Your cowardly lion, your war hero, Your ever vigilant, forever kind,  Sweet and patient, Rudy.                                 E.D. Ridgell, 2013	Remember Me   They’re bickering and snickering online In the safety of cyberspace- Some supposed sanctuary No safer than Canterbury was to Beckett.   This is the first Pope to nick himself Francis And the first President to fail a spelling bee. Palestine has four ancient gates And a spanking new embassy.   The Zionists are using live ammunition. The Koreans are biding their time. China would be as conciliatory as  Russia is collusive.   Patricia Routledge Is a Daughter Of The British Empire and Poor Mr. Humphries is dead. My contemporaries are falling like flies.   Old age is a shipwreck  Of wrinkles and worry beads,  And I? I am a fading echo Off the canyon walls. “Remember me.”                                                    E D Ridgell ___________________________________________________________  Friendly Persuasion   A furtive glance A broken heart I tried to reconcile Temper the assault No matter I was no less sullied Just far more adept   Too drag assed tired to care A last argument The question should I leave You never forgave that You never understood We never understood Loves complications   Betrayal A best friend and A husband to yours We were loose fitted   The call Deadly night Forgiving a machine Your secret Withheld Till a last call   Laying A line Love recipe Last one standing Again Rest in Peace Thee I love More than meadows so  Green and still Always will Always will                  E D Ridgell 2016                   Revised 2018 MY DAUGHTER AS A BABY ! TAKEN BY A BACK-STABBING MAN WHO THOUGHT I DIDN'T KNOW !
The Cheshire Cat "Who are you?"- The only thing to muse over, While I wait for time, Too fast, too fast, to catch- Late, again? Always. Time smiles and dies away. The date is set in memory Of a bright, near moon Casting a shadow over the awe of it. Down runways Speedways to the high teas Of my long, long, journey. Today, bunnies graze on the lawn Beyond the windowpane  While my Mad Hatter brain Muses at the Cheshire cat's  Having stopped purring altogether.                         © 2012 by E.D. Ridgell                                Revised 2018 _____________________________________________                           Aunt Betty I used to write for extensions to stay longer, Two or three until I'd stayed the whole summer! As a little tike, there were winter stays,  Pulling a red wagon with wooden stays,  To roast marshmallows over a log fire- Times remembered with my Aunt Betty, Where the Chesapeake collided with the Potomac! Summers were idyllic, the walk down  To what we called our private beach, Twenty foot either side that elusive pole Out there in deep water, that pole that was my goal! I wouldn't put my head under the water. She cajoled, swam that lovely butterfly Stroke of hers, but still I demurred. One day she just said, "Come on now Ed Jr., You gotta do this if you're ever to make that pole", And so I did, and suddenly the whole world turned Gold, Because I had pleased her. She beamed Like the light on the Point Lookout Light House! The State moved in, took her home, by  Eminent domain. You don't want'a know her reaction. The Judge and her and the kids just picked up  Stakes and moved up the road opposite The Confederate War Memorial opposite Grammies old seamen's home. It floated on cinder blocks under which Lived the wild cats, that I so wanted to pet! I used to net huge snap'n turtles from out the  Muddy stream that ran parallel to the house, Amidst pluck'n chickens all o'er the yard! It was heaven on earth. Aunt Betty grew herbs, And the last time I visited, was corking wine With her latest toy, in front of the Judge, Who was all too recently sober-a family foible! The Judge and Aunt Betty are gone now Resting side by side in St. Mathews up the road, From the Rest Home, long run out of seamen. I need to drive down the road and pay my last respects  As the years are speeding by and my own chest is wheezing. I've three grandchildren now, who really need to visit the Restored Fort and Confederate Prisoner of War Camp, At Point Lookout, at the tip of Saint Mary's County, In Southern Maryland, The Land of Pleasant Living!                                                         c. E. D. Ridgell, 2014 _____________________________________________________________  The Beaver Are Gone The beaver are gone. You are ashes and crushed bone. I walked the trail today. I’ve avoided it for ten years. The dam that is no more Was my feigned destination, But I really wanted this walk Again with you. “Vittle” is old now and nothing About me is brisk. I’m frail  And there should be no hope Where none is warranted. The waves still break o’er me, but. I cope. So many have died or are dying. I grieve differently now, and I Have no fear of death.                  © 2010 by E.D. Ridgell                        Revised 2018	I've Fallen Down And I Can't Get Up!   I keep making an effort,  Only to fall back down Into the sadness of it all, The memory of you- Of us and all we went through, To do what was best. We did that. We did it thinking  We were adversaries, While all the while  we were really allies.   I've been here before, Left with no one lifting that side  That side over there; that place they stand Before they are standing no more,  With me here wondering Where do you all go? What do I do, again? What am I supposed to do, The last one standing, again, And again, and again- Here, awestruck, wondering?                                  © 2012 by E.D. Ridgell                                         revised 2018 ____________________________________________________________       My Lady is dead!   Just sett’in in- that! My Lady is dead. She never got over it. Went through so many men- Yea, but she barked at me, Right up to the end. Gritted her teeth Hurled never ending low growls Right up to the end. Right up to the last call, On the last night! Her voice broke on the last hurl. She knew. I knew. What’s love got to do with it? Everything! My Lady is dead. The Jester grieves that My  Lady is dead.                c.  E. D. Ridgell, 2014 _________________________________  City Hospital  Cancer Unit Was my Nam… Hopscotching through hell… There was so much pain… Mommy’s pain was not alone… Not in a ward… You’re not alone when you’re in a ward! The foreign woman, Italian of Greek! Catholic! Imploring God, hands reaching up, begging, pleading… Her voice foreign, yet understood! Mommy screaming Junior! Junior! Junior! From behind a white, curtained surround... Men in white coats circling her… Probing, jabbing mommy! When finally you were in.. She pointed it out to you… She lay in her own waist… What could you do? Blame! Shame! Junior, I don’t love you anymore! Come be my anger dump… Be mommy’s little anger dump!                                 E. D. Ridgell 2018 ___________________________________________________
Love Like Life Is Complicated The sidestepping had started  On both are parts  Before the marriage. It continued On both are parts after. Love like life is complicated. Oh, we loved one another  Of that I’m sure, but we were both Adult children of alcoholics- That clouds fidelity which Undermines intimacy. Love like life is complicated. I wasn’t straight but then We both slip slid somewhere along the scale. We both meant for it to work and  The baby trumped all considerations. Nevertheless the stress took its toll and  Love like life is complicated. I’d just started teaching. She quit her job when the baby came. I was teaching all day and working at night. We fought. I drank a lake of cheap Chianti. That day, I doubt she thought I’d go. I went. Love like life is complicated. I had nowhere to go so I decided  To go somewhere. I came out! When you were down and out plus queer  In those days you’d hit rock bottom. Some said split but this Queer Daddy don’t split-. Love like life is complicated.                                                                                                                       E. D. Ridgell, 2017 ____________________________________________________________  Past The Evening’s Hour   I strolled into your man-cave And glanced around. I’d not studied you in awhile- So absorbed in myself.   I’d made a mistake  I’d not made in awhile. I fell in love- not limerance, But the deeper vow I had chanced with him  So long ago and lost To the reaper’s sweep.    I wasn’t going to do that- I swore I wouldn’t. I raised the ante again. Now that we’re older I don’t know what I feel most- Gratitude or fear  Oh Lord, abide with me Past the evening’s hour.                      E.D. Ridgell 2017 _________________________________________________________________    Big Lady   I went antiquing today To escape the heat And at how dreadful my asthma weighed me down, ... And, worse yet, At the reality of the conversation The night before. The truth bites deep!   Halfway through my perusing her nicks and her knacks, I found myself conversing with the shop owner, And her speaking about something from someone, I asked her if that someone wasn't somebody, And, low and behold, that somebody was my somebody, spot on!- Dead, and buried, in the rich dirt of "Our Lady's Manor". "Big Lady" had bitten the bullet.   We called him "Big Lady" in our cruel, ‘camping' way, Because he was like a patent leather, shoed- tutu, dressed elephant In a lacy, tea shop, cluttered with crowded tables Laden with the finest china in all of the world.   He had been the butt of both straight and gay jokes, All of his sad, love-desperate life, and he had been The first to laugh at himself. He had always been a good sport. In truth, he had been as ridiculous, clumsy, And as clownish an oaf, as a hundred antics and stories related. He was a big lady in a man's body. She had been a clown In a muscleman's circus.   But I'm still here to tell you, God never made a more sweet, kind, And gentle person. "Big Lady" was a gentle man, Wandering, lonely and lost, in this cruel world, of our making; a world that doesn't know or understand the meaning of the word, "Gentleman"! Lay thee gently down my friend. Lay thee gently down with all of my love.                                                                                                       E. D. Ridgell   ______________________________________________________________________________    A Side Order She died of pancreatic cancer The same kind of cancer  That took Tom away, And I was dumbfounded  At the irony of that. Can I ever believe again That anything is not possible? I wanna watch a Christmas story Just one more time again, then pull  The wing of my guardian angel over me, Just one more time again, fore' resting for eternity. Life has already been hard and long enough To not want much more inquiry into What's it all about, Ralfie? I've been up and down and  Around and around, and I've been served  A full meal. There's no want nor need for a side order!                                                                                   E. D. Ridgell _________________________________________________________  A Christmas Prayer! Suddenly it's splendid to be old, and To see seedlings of your sewing, set so- Christmases fall away as we, each in turn, Cross over and whittle the tree, just so- The newer ornaments, their turns to Twirl, aglow, from limb-tip to deep bough. Worries wax thin, fears abate Each day dawns anew to savor what remains. Things age, fade; and comes the twilight, Look there into the distant night; Patient Reaper, a crooked finger, cocked, Begs me hasten a delayed confession. Gentle Lord, I beg Thy grace, Commend my soul, as I surrender all pride- Soon to dismount the carousel of life; Pay the priest to anoint a wrinkled brow, With penitent heart, take the last rites, and Trust to bring me home to you, my God!                                    c. E. D. Ridgell, 2014 ************************************************ Grammy's Bosom! Everyday, a little more feeble, I am preparing for death- Reflecting back on life, Measuring bits and pieces Buttoning undone buttons, Grading art and artists. I pray I'll pass No hypocrite in the end. Purging myself of resentments, I Try to forgive society and more markedly God- YouTube Carolers sooth my evenings  As  I endeavor to learn as much as I can  'Fore oblivion's sweet embrace I try to be kindness itself- Life best lived. I can be wrong- The best chin wagers can be wrong. God but I hope we're wrong!  Most of all, I want to fall into the deep, big, soft, Breasts of Grammy's, bart-clothed bosom.                                                                     E.D. Ridgell  ______________________________________________________________                                                    The Poet To His Daughter   Who can sting so well As the most precious bee from out the hive? We raised her on stings we stung, And I confess I like her pluck Even though I am barefoot.   I am reminded of my father who departed This earth after exhausting Any and all. No man has ever plucked me more! She thinks she has problems? Dad hid the diamonds in the filing cabinet from hell.   Jesu, all I’m doing is posting secrets For the world to see. What do you want from me? I don’t give a rat’s ass so long as I don’t disappear. It’s therapy and besides, like my father before me, I’m indomitable. Be patient, child if only for a while.	At The Parting Plumb Me Perfectly Like some shadow upon the ground. Cast by a stately palace before the sun Lay my ashes gently down Upon green grass within the circle round. Catalpa trees shall feather me, As footfalls of citizens to come, Promenade peacefully as to Pay due homage to past pedigree. Throughout the colonies you see The cast markers, monuments to martyrs, Some unnamed who gave full measure  that I might have this bed, a tyrant's placemat! Simple dustings of me, Can slowly seek to mingle  With that much loved lot Lain down by me so long ago. In this perfect spot, This place we strolled through Salad years of genteel things, Paint swats, and hand picked boxwood. Now nestle me down in good sheep dung, To sleep the sleep of patriots. God Bless this bountiful land And forever plumb it to Liberty.                               c. E. D. Ridgell, 2015       TOM AND I AT TRISSA AND SAM'S WEDDING !   What’s God Got To Do With It?   I took his meaning, The hospice nurse. I was doling the dosage out, And the end was near. I was grateful for the thought.   But after negotiations, "No!" I couldn’t. I was a coward- To end what I had sought to save? I used that rationalization, But my gut was gutted!   I still carry that cargo Carefully loaded by society. I can’t break free From childhood rote propaganda. I think of Brideshead Revisited.   Will I take the rites? Probably. I will cover my ass in the end. You can’t purge the priests. I am still shackled with guilt Prescribed in doses by penguins.   I will lie under the Catalpa trees Married upon our Palace Green. I will mingle again with you, A testament to a faith I have in some bloody God!                 © 2008 by E.D. Ridgell    ________________________________________________   A Dozen Less One Plus One   I must have lost him a dozen times. I know it was at least one dozen times- An even dozen less one, plus one, it does not signify.   I have down drowned to the bitterest core- Tasted the nectar of opioid on the lips. I must have lost him a dozen times.   I did not know dead weight was so heavy. It twists the back. It is the weight of atom water. I must have lost him a dozen times.   I thought someone, anyone, would help me mow, but, no! No one could or would help me plow through the fact that I must have lost him a dozen times.   Savanah was hot as hell and Georgia haunts my mind, Memories flood o’er me with little regard not caring that   I must have lost him a dozen times.   I know it was at least a dozen times. I could not kill him in the end. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t. I must have lost him a dozen times.   I must have lost him a dozen times. I know it was at least one dozen times- An even dozen less one, plus one, it does not signify.                                                                       E. D. Ridgell             ___________________________________________________________  Tom A grief anniversary,  Unsettling and upsetting, The mind recalls, Past battles and  Hopeless causes. She set sail and fled. “All were punished!” He followed only to fall Upon his sword as she  Took an asp’s bite. The Emperor  Stole an obelisk and Had it re-righted in a Roman square To cast a long shadow. “Upon this rock, I…” Easter Saturday, Passover A grief anniversary.        E. D. Ridgell 2018   —————————————————————————————————  Questions? Why did I taunt him with the possibility that We both have only ten good years left? Was I whipping him with my fears,  That death or worse is coming? Why aren't we given a choice? What reason, this lesson learned that, like the hunted, We too are never far from the stalker- And the certainty of that inevitability? Is life so unfair And therein lies it's greatest dilemma? Wherein lolls the seed of virtuosity? What profit the dying in any restraint at all? Is this in fact the seed of a bargain? If we're good and virtuous, do we purchase an afterlife? What comes first, the bribe, or God? Who's calculating the score? Who's keeping tally?                                                              E.D. Ridgell, 2015 _____________________________________________________________  My Little Indomitable! I’ve seen seventy Christmases  And I’ll see me one more. Tonight as I looked upon them In wonder I was filled with gratitude  And if truth be known a little fear- The world is moving too fast for me now. I’m not just a little feeble. I’m on oxygen and there are times  When I fear I may tip o’er. I’ve a clear mind though and a pen that’s able. My middle granddaughter is a lot like me, Opinionated, independent, with an ear to history, She’s not one to suffer fools lightly, But not mean and keen to what is fair- Like me you might say she’s a little Indomitable!                                                             E. D. Ridgell, 2017