Alexander Hamilton
Give me a strong federation To protect me from the state, Arbitrate the fast, fleeting, Escaping over lines, and Secure me from selfish sectionalism- Something to unify the whole To prevent the boil and keep an even simmer To the melting pot- Protect me from my neighbor's zeal To steal upon my solitary prayer. Give me a high top From on which to look out Over a larger property In
case of some seditious plot To
crack the shell that holds The
spell that mesmerized my Dearly
departed, generation after generation, Since that revolution and its hard won liberty That was nothing less than miraculous In the course of history. Give
back tiny patches, pieces of that patchwork quilt that Comrades keep for the running over of river edges, and The falling 'fore the winds of change sparing a little
from our Horn of plenty, this vast expanse of land and sky, That we have not come close to filling with anything like Enough of the world's caste offs. Send them to us With their hopes and dreams to multiply, in their turn- A mighty momentum of growth, going forward, Leaning forward, united by the dreams and hopes, Of a people who will not settle for less
than greatness!
c. E.D. Ridgell revised
2018 _____________________________________________________________________
Progressives Always Win
I
keep them around for amusement,
But I keep them out front
where I can see them.
They definitely have never goggled
“liberal”,
‘Cause I’m pretty
sure they do not wish to compliment.
They
got values, and lots of them,
Most cut and pasted from
out fundamentalist missives.
They got religion too, God
help us!
So many causes, so few solutions.
Every so often they get their turn,
Long, long, years full of an occult sort of mayhem.
Dead doves lie at their feet among their spent shells-
Collected by their faithfully trained retrievers.
The pendulum swings back and suddenly
“Here comes the sun” and we find despite them
We’ve somehow come out the other end-
More resilient than before. Progressives always win!
E. D. Ridgell, 2017 _________________________________________________________________________
Late
Night Musings On Heresy! I thought of you tonight, the cancer Intermingled
with memories of all The many cancer’s in my mind’s
eye- So many cancers, too many cancers. I can’t bag all the cancers for fear I might Miss you, Darling, or a mangled, remembered mommy!
Oh that it would have been mine, but no! He wouldn’t let up. He must not spoil This grand, ironic joke on a chosen, Jock-strapped,
snapped-on, Innocent, queer, assed supplicant-
Acting out one last perversity, The Last Rites! _____________________________________________________
No Title Necessary!
I don’t always vote. It needs motivating. No! It needs passion, A bit of anger. An
act of treason! I’m no slouch in my patriotism. It’s as corny and as old as is my Aging
constitution. I love my country; It’s mixed up mythology, it’s
rebellion, it’s distrust Of outside intervention. I condone
every Rationalization. I echo every war cry of Refutation off of it’s bloodied, canyon walls. For every action there is a reaction. The force is forever forward marching. The
revolution burns and brands every true citizen, No matter his misdirections.
It is about spirit. It is the flight and fight of the eagle, Each feather storm tossed from out some other nation. There are some votes that come from the gut of me! No reasoning
is necessary. It is primary to my roots, Vomited up from the blood
and guts of my forefathers. Don’t lecture me or mine on freedom,
ancestors of Hershey Bar totting, well meaning, young boys Who dot this earth under the white crosses of a faith And conviction to match any you might catch out Of some Norman
Rockwell painting!
© 2010 by E.D.
R _____________________________________________________________
Of the Deep South!
It was the summer of '65', I was all of seventeen And I found myself in Tallahassee, And the Deep
South, For the first time.
I don't recollect why my mother Wouldn't or couldn't make the trip to bail My sailor Dad out from
one of another long String of dry-out joints that Choked my childhood.
Alcoholism had 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 in the Deep South!
I saw my first palm tree, A squirt of a thing,
this- No coconut tree! I
noticed there were two colors Of taxi cabs, black and white, and after Many waves a black one picked me up!
Dad hadn't been robbed, 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 were daunting For a kid of seventeen, a little frightening. I
finally found a cafeteria, just the thing! I went in, took a tray, and spied
there were Two lines, and with this the blinds dropped From my innocent eyes. I had met the bigotry
Of the Deep South!
E. D. Ridgell, 2014 _____________________________________________________________
Picture is: 'Paradise Sunset' Artist is: Diane Romanello art print from allposters.co.uk
The Real
Housewives of Paradise Beach
“The chairs are from Georgio’s, you know- Frightfully expensive but just right. They help block
anyone who might think They can come right up the path and past
us, We had Adzio’s do the patio, you know.”
“I
know. Don’t you just hate it-- That the beach is
free, for just anyone and all? I love the chairs though- a pretty
penny, were they? You’ll need side tables or something For drinks and all, won’t you?”
“Too much bother, Dear, And we never leave the patio-- Drags sand in you know. We’re only down for July
anyway. Isn’t the sunset pretty, and all?”
“Gracious
it had better be! It was expensive enough, you know?” E. D. Ridgell, 2009 All rights reserved 
__________________________________________________________
I Can Remember a Kind of Silence
If I think hard enough and long enough
I can remember a kind of silence,
when nothing unnatural interrupted
the ear:
the break of small waves on the beach of Point Lookout;
the rustle of the tobacco leaves outside the propped
up window;
the eagle’s call atop Old Rag Mountain;
woodland walks with no where particular to go
accompanied
by noises so natural
the walk was mistaken for some silent retreat.
As the year’s went by I did not
notice
the gradual creeping of unnatural noises
seeping into my consciousness. The heart beat
and blood pressure
were rarely a concern in youth,
and I was hell bent on making the artificial noises
that surrounding me. I had not
yet learned the
prudence of moderation or the consideration of solitude.
Wars came and went and came again.
Technology burst upon the world with the insistence of
“You’ve got mail!” Noise became more and more
artificially generated and I learned to multi-task it,
weave those elements in and out like the music mixer
in a noisy night club. My patience grew shorter and shorter
to match the allotted time I could give to any poem to
read.
Today, I’m in a race against all the noise about me:
Trying to get the words out in-between
noisy children in the background;
timing my time alone to compose my poetry before
Doo wop intrudes upon my mind;
trying to meditate over the noise of the plane above.
How I miss that kind of silence I hear so little of in
my world today;
a kind of silence of noises natural to the harmony of things primary.
I feel frantic and nervous
and the doctor prescribes pill upon pill
for my nerves and the heightening pressure. Reading ‘War and Peace’
again is unthinkable-that summer long ago is rent and but a memory.
Caffeine sustains me and heightens the pulse of
everything around me,
banging and slamming, pounding and ringing, screaming and screeching…
© 2008 by
E.D. Ridgell
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Federation
Give me a strong federation To protect me from
the state, Arbitrate the fast, fleeting, Escaping over lines, and Secure me from selfish sectionalism-
Something to unify the whole To prevent the boil and keep an even simmer To
the melting pot- Protect me from my neighbor's zeal To steal upon my solitary prayer.
Give me a high top From on which to look out Over a larger property In case of some seditious
plot To crack the shell that holds That spell that mesmerized my Dearly departed, generation
after generation, Since that revolution and its hard won liberty That was nothing less than miraculous In
the course of history.
Give
me back in tiny patches some of the pieces Of that big parachute of a quilt
that many comrades Contribute to keep it ready on The chance of life's inevitable crashes- The running
over of river edges, The fall of the many power lines, Brought down by the winds of change.
Bestow on me no small satisfaction That the greater
community does care To spare a little from this horn of plenty- A vast expanse of land and sky, That we have not
come close to filling With anything like enough of a world's caste
offs! Bring them to us with their hopes and dreams, So that we might mint that fresh coin to replenish the Coffers
that in the end, like fishes and bread, Seem never to run out, but
to multiply, in their turn- That mighty momentum of growth, going forward, Leaning forward, united by the dreams and hopes, Of
a people who will not settle for less than greatness!
c. E.D. Ridgell __________________________________________________________________________
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  ________________________________________________
These Pills Work You See!
Anxiety is always just a missed pill away; These
pills work you see, and the docs keep Pilling one pill upon another.
I'm in a race with Some alta cocker to see who packs the most pills For the next old age cruise. This one is to Bermuda,
and I'm trying to get my meds in a row, In a frenzied, anxious, pre-boarding
state I'm Anxious, I might fall overboard out of The sheer panic of withdrawal. How is it My great
grandfather lived into his eighties Without these miracles? These pills work,
you see! E.D. Ridgell, 2013 _______________________________________________________________
|
Fish Lady A flat, flat, landscape Side waterways River and Bay- Silver-dome sunk wetlands, Backdropped by Chessie sky, Out onto the meandering way- Boys’ Morning’s catch- Wet-eyed fish heads, Newsprint
stuffed To wrap And waist-not: A dead
lady With weather weary sons Out sinking sand-lands Followed on the water, Down
drowned, ink-print monger Silver,
dome-top, fish lady. E
D Ridgell ________________________________________________________
That Entitlement Program
The one so many young men counted on-
To take over the family hardware store
Before
Walmart came along-
To proudly follow Dad down the coal shaft
Before the mine closed down-
To join the union and straddle up on a
Neighborhood
bar stool with the older men
Before the factory closed down.
This was that unforeseen loss,
For which you were so expectant,
That
entitlement program-
The one you’re angry about with
a
White, hot anger deep to the national soul.
E.D. Ridgell. 2013 ___________________________________________________________
A Nursery Rhyme
Maleficent is malevolent- Aurora is in her sights, And this is anything but nice.
Her malicious eyes gaze From over her black cloak, Like a cat's eyes, Eying for a kill.
Aurora, all innocence, Suspects nothing sitting there On her sweet little Tuffet eating her Curds and whey.
Maleficent, all malice, Is ready to pounce- When who should jump out, But an innocent spider to suddenly Frighten Aurora
away!
Poor Maleficent! Lucky Aurora! C. E.D. Ridgell,
c. 2014
Similes and Symbols It was a hot day at The Battery.
We waited so long to be screened, Bitchy and buckle-less, Before
passing over to that island, A simile for another we proudly
passed. The Towers were freshly fallen, In both memory and
the mind’s eye. Traumatized, we needed buckling up-
Some reminder of just who we were And what we symbolized.
We waved to her as we paced, Her torch in hand, Mother of Exiles
reminding us “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breath free… Hers was a worldwide welcome,
Alike yet unlike the place beside her; Sunset gates held ajar with a doorstop. She had always been firmly rooted, Never tempest
tossed was she. With silent lips she seemed to ask, “Who
is an immigrant who Does not come to us an alien-
Wary, unsure, and frightened? How do we welcome these?”
We enfold them into our ranks; Offer them succor, and yes We educate
them All to the abundant degree Of our bountiful largesse.
We invite them into our ranks, Immigrants every one of us before. They
are our lifeblood. They are our soul. They are our folk.
Speak not to me of minor things, Forms and regulations- Rather attend
to their needs And in time when they can muster,
Foster their pledges for citizenship. Let us not seek to stoke
Fires of discord, similes of smoke signals-
Symbols of mistakes before! “…Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these, The least of my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” ___________________________________________________________
America, Speak Not To Me In Smoke Signals!
It was a hot day that day at The Big Apple’s Battery. We waited so long to be screened buckle-less Before
passing over to that Island The simile of another we proudly passed.
The towers were still freshly fallen In both memory and the mind’s eye. We
needed buckling up- a reminder Of just what we symbolized.
There she stood torch in hand, Mother of Exiles reminding us “Give me your
tired, your poor, your Huddled masses yearning to breath free…”
Hers was a world wide welcome Alike yet unlike the place beside her; Sunset
gates held ajar with a doorstop. She had always been firmly rooted, Never tempest-tossed was she.
With silent lips she seemed to ask; “Who
is an immigrant who Does not come to us an alien- Wary, unsure and frightened? How do we welcome
them?”
We embrace
them into our fold; Feed and clothe them, Nurse them to health, And, yes, we educate them All to the abundant degree Of our blessed
largesse. "Whatever you neglected to do Unto one of these least of these, You neglected
to do unto Me!”...
We
invite them into our ranks, Immigrants everyone of us before. They are our lifeblood. They are our soul. They are our folk.
Speak not to me of- Forms and registrations. Rather attend to their needs And foster their cries
for citizenship, In the same measure As your forefathers, Everyone of you!
America, speak not to me in smoke signals By fires stoked oft times before- Signals sent
to warn the many tribes Of bigotry, ignorance, and intolerance! We've seen all of these before In a long, long
lines of this nation's martyrs!
©
2010 by E.D. Ridgell ________________________________________________________
Tinker Bell's Fail! Come Back to the Five and Dime
Bobby Dee Bobby Dee,
I didn't mean it. You'll always be my
Disney boy,
so dear to my heart! How came you to a potter's grave
Bobby Dee Bobby
Dee?
I didn't mean it, to prick and stick
You so hard and high you'd die, pretty boy! Lie you still on Hart Island,
Bobby Dee Bobby Dee
Far from Treasure Island, the voice of Pan
Now but
a whisper o'er the windy Sound?
© 2011 by E.D. Ridgell _____________________________________________________ Live Free
Nothing would have it
But that it would pop up
To touch my
heart
One more time.
The song is long forgot
Except in
the
Memory and recognition
Of the hopelessly romantic.
I
carry ours just a
While longer
Before casting it out
To recede into
forgot..
I wonder if love dies
Or is it resurrected-
Come down from one
To be taken up by another.
I would that whosoever stoops
To pick ours up
Treats it as
tenderly
As we did our lion cub.
E. D. Ridgell
Faith Alone!
So you drag ass yourself through a lifetime Of
interminable tests and high-wire risks Only Spider-Man or Wonder Woman Could survive only to have some Cripple of a theoretical physicist, One of the countless Sagan cosmologists, Tell you there is no proof of or, worse
yet, Bloody need of a God, let alone a trinity!
And you ask yourself, for Christ Sakes, Well who in the hell is that inside my head, And who have I been entreating all these Dog-eared years to save my sorry ass! I mean give me a God Damed break, will you?
Never
did I feel so close to anyone As I did before that plaster statue Of
our Sacred Lady some half a century ago- Staring up pouring my child’s heart out To the only person I felt could hear My confusion and bewilderment At things I just couldn’t unwrap No matter how I tried. As an altar boy I felt chosen not to be better But to serve something clear and unsullied.
I have always been the kindest person I know, Indeed
this world with its strange inhabitants Still feels alien to me. I’ve given up ever Feeling anything like what they call normal. I dared not say anything in the confessional For fear of God knows what, and the thing was, I didn’t know what was and what
wasn’t. I just worked off of their templates.
I clearly saw Michael. I’ve never been prone To apparitions. He sat there on
the pompom, White, chenille bedspread until poof, like that, He
was gone. To this day, I believe this, And so to this day I refuse to give up The memory of him, of My Lady, Or my much maligned faith in God Almighty!
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2016
_________________________________
Joshua
It was a late assignation, An old man’s
last groping at youth- Meant to be used and not Tittle tattled
off her canyon walls.
She made short shift of you, Letting you know the full Weight and measure of your desecration. She never revealed all you’d scorned.
She
did reveal a friendship Far more treasured than The
dalliance I forswore. You were not all you scored.
I was bitter amused But knew before- The drive home
was Long and arduous.
I’m
well healed now, Content but still afield. They locked you
up But this was is to be expected.
I let her know I was sorry for you- She lent
little pity and There it lies.
E.D. Ridgell 2017 ________________________________________________
|
The Melon
A Virginian melon, Lying there nestled In sandy, rich Virginia soil-
Decades ago, that melon In still etched in my mind, An enormous cantaloupe, Ripe for plucking, So tempting yet too perfect to
pick- Its rich colors matching those of a copperhead,
Spied, sunning, side Dad’s pier. Everything about the nursery,
stocked fields, So reminiscent of those times,
Was abundant and vibrant with beginnings. Times were perfect and I was young And
so safely bundled in denial. Came life’s passages, With
harvest time- Consumption spread and Worldly things plowed youth’s disdain With its insistent optimism.
Life’s harvest proved good and As September draws near, The melon
is a memory, One of many memories, more good than bad-
Since I plucked that there melon from out the garden. ___________________________________________
Interview:
Mitchell is sixty eight- Only a year. She fades ever so slowly. I am melting
ever so slowly. Joni always does her own album covers, Mixes
it up. Mixes her media. She paints in LA and BC.
Like
her, I am flipping- Making my word-songs, Though I still shoot a hidden photo or two. ‘Love Has Many Faces’.
New tunes for ballet dancers- Joan’s in the Hall of Fame. ___________________________________
On The Side Of The Angels
They
keep conspiring to take God out of the equation That has been my long, cattywhompus life.
It won't work. There is no way I could have negotiated the rushing, Raging Rapids of it without a puppet master to wade me Through it. To my horror,
I realized I had been bent to it, And yet I was not sorry for it, but took it as a sort of Extra curricular activity, a secret rabbit's foot to keep in my Dungaree pocket.
It never diminished my masculinity!
I navigated
around it, planted a seed despite it, hiding it from Even me, then when the tide turned, drove
hard through it, to rest In the arms of a soul mate I'd not have known without it, and still, When all was lost, I turned it over again to that God they disdain. And, yet here
I am in the dotage of my old age, having been given A last sahib to help me into the
good night, when I hope he will, At last, embrace me. I never ever was but on the side
of the Angels. I never ever was anything but salted water washing over freshwater falls!
c. E. D. Ridgell, 2015 __________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Love At All Hours,
Unconditional, Like her savior on the cross. We do not
need to see her face To know she is content Under the glow of a full moon. The room bespeaks order In her life. It
is uncluttered Befitting her control. Her hair is neatly braided. Nothing and no
one is neglected. Who has penned the note?
Is it him? Does she long For his return? I think so.
E.
D. Ridgell ________________________________________________
Bumpity Bump!
Having lunch with the better part of my heart, I
look at my girls growing so fast- See how their hair is just a shade different. One looks like my mother, the other maybe hers.
There is snow in June on Mt. St. Helena. Uncle Frank is doing better, but life is Far too hard on him. Marlin
is so sweet, And I explain how we kept the lines open.
Driving home, I worry, just as my mother Taught me to. Life is long, and I Confess
I'm weary- not Dalhart'd but wary, That things are too smooth. It's time
for a bump.
Bumpity
bump! Bumpity bump! "What's a blue man gonna do, When he collects the whole set of the blues... A
blue man says bumpity bump!"*
c. E. D. Ridgell, 2014 *Adrian Belew "Mr, Music Head, 1989" __________________________________________________________
Remembrances Of A Cottontail
I remember
Cotton, Sit'n up tall the other side a Pickup cab’s, ring-stained seat, Cud'lin a cold beer to his crotch. He was a hotrod
man When he took to teas'n me, 'Cause he knew, Just 'cause he knew.
I was a
special Boy for him. He told me so, On a sweet, moonlit, driven night; My
best friend and buddy, Somebody bigger to look up to. He nicked me his Cottontail, And he'd ne’er told me any lies. He ne’er
told me any lies.
He’d been run'in Racine raw. It
weren’t fit'n, Her being married and all. Everybody knew though 'Cept
that there cock-hold, And he weren’t half of Cot! I figured, too, Racine know’d that Cotton ne'er told her any lies. He
ne’er told her any lies.
Cotton got something awful Foxed,
and fearless too, In those days when you drove Unfeathered and free 'Customed
as you were to liberty.
He flipped o’er into a causeway ditch. It ‘bout broke everybody’s heart. I bored
the beat'n weight, Heavy and taut in pain, That toted a void, The
hole that couldn’t be filled. I reckon I’ll mostly
remember though, Cotton ne’er told me any lies. He ne’er told me any lies.
Scoot on o’er here a little closer. Do ya wanna ‘nother beer? Don’t be such a shyaway On a sweaty-driven moonlit-night. We’ll fill up if ya wanna, And sate the void again, In a bright night; Taut, light-weighted and chased to that Upper right handed, cotton-liked corner Of pain, I
muse in my mind’s eye, Cause I know, Just cause I know. You
can call me Cottontail, And I won’t be tell'n ya
any lies; I won’t be tell’n ya any lies. © 2006 by E.D. Ridgell
_______________________________
Cindy
We parted as friends light years ago, Over misunderstandings downing down Into
the insignificance of the farce. We were once young, happy, and so
sure.
Now wounded
by the truest reality of love, And worn down by the tedious rituals of living, Past each our true love's respective last gasps, You
come limping back, and with no phony, Feigned pretense, ask if you
might trade chips in, Won long ago, and left forgotten until now on
the table!
You're
so hurt and angry, and it is hard to decipher This distemper that envelops
you. You're like the squirrel Before the barreling-down and round, car wheel.
I take my time as is my way, tip toeing
around all Your broken toys. You want each mended and put Together as it was before, not yet realizing most are Beyond
repair. Most of mine lay broken too.
The future is uncertain and friends are fast fleeting- Some die
and others just meander away confused in these foggy Hard times. Hold fast!
Keep your temper! Trust your gut, girl!
We are the granite on which the best that is past will model As
worthy example rock on which to emulate That character and backbone
that is primary To the best that can be made of worst times, While waiting upon better, an aging homosexual And
an enigmatic mirrored-like image, Fast friends in the end, to the end, And perhaps, who knows. beyond! © 2011 by
E.D. Ridgell ______________________________________________________
|
I Had A Job! My aged mind meanders back in time
To when I had a job whipping at my ass And a marriage of love Built on
wampum secrets simmering. I felt like I carried the world
on my back. I had a job. Everybody wanted a job! She
burst out on the world Reborn in the women’s lib movement.
We both worked hard, So hard we broke! Another fight and I asked if
she wanted me to leave. She said yes and to her surprise
I did. I burst out on the world. I kissed a boy and I liked it!
She was free. I was free. The baby bounced back and forth. We regrouped but
always the baby came first, Our little girl!
Gradually it unfolded and suddenly She up and had her tubes tied. Why?
Suddenly, everything was my fault. Blame it on the queer. I had a job! The queer had a job! That bloody queer
always had a job! We meandered on into life’s push-tug, Lives and loves separate except for visitations And
money matters. Women’s lib came back and bit her- Dad
and I colluded. My divorce lawyer was my lover. She never
knew. The child needed me. She needed her. We brokered
insurance policies and Imitated movies. After one forte
into the courts She settled down- Idling in her second marriage.
To this day, I don’t like to take cold calls. I took my anger out on myself but I
had a job. I always had a job- The bloody queer always had
a job! She’s spent now, Dead and buried.
The kid had three kids of her own, And I find myself a grandfather Coupled
to a soldier hero, And after a long, long, haul
The bloody queer’s still got a job!
E. D. Ridgell ______________________________________
And The Award Goes To…
These recent sprees- It’s just me dying, Squealing at the sentinel’s light Held just
high enough For me to glean it's glimmer As if I didn’t feel myself fading.
The wise men of the East Devote their last years
in preparation For some sky rite ritual or such. Why? What lies behind the curtain? Do I need an iPad
and who pray tell Will get my iPhone. Should I care?
It would be a lie to say I did not find The debauchery delicious. I did. Fare thee well,
but I was a pretty boy, And furthermore I had no hand in that! God or fate set me up, and for my part I
just made the best of it. Is there sin in that?
Nay, reason! The stars were such That it
was wrote that I should be accommodating. As for my end of the stick I left no prick unattended. Now, where’s my bloody Oscar!
E. D. Ridgell ___________________________________________
What Does A Father Say
To chase
inevitability away? How do I make this boo boo OK? There's never been a thing Either of us would not do for you. Slay a dragon. Suffer fools. Abide
by some armistice that Now seems ridiculous. We Both broke the rules, and despite
ourselves we injured you.
But as we take
turns that are Natural and in truth, inevitable, We both go out loving you With
a love that will never Cease to hang about you, with A vigilance so deep and true,
It amends all our fancy turns Down God's long, long, lines, Of fool after
fool, after fool, Just living, loving, and dying.
c. E.D. Ridgell, 2016
Val-kill Industries
My owner was irreverently rye,
liberal about more things than not
after the Age
of Reason.
Shift about my foundations
and you’ll find this is no sand
but hard granite indeed.
I
am done settling;
A stately house.
I have become so forgotten,
they skip me after Springwood-
it’s
closer to the Park.
Today, the unfashionable
is often the mode tomorrow-
There is hope.
Change is inevitable
and a circle has no breaks.
It is well designed.
Society is always owed a debt.
Pay it with the
proceeds
of craftsmanship-yes, statesmanship
made, here, within this place.
She lies but a little bit away.
Please, pay her her due!
© 2008 by E.D. Ridgell
______________________
Let Me Pass I often wonder at your lack of savoire faire,
Your camouflaged
and fatigued élan,
Everything assembled in the PRC,
Purchased by you on sale and off the rack. Where is that insecurity that might spark
At least a small imperfection or two
To interest me even a little
to nibble on you
Even at the fear that your normalcy might rub off?
Is it as catching as it must be uncomfortable? By what process were you potty trained,
That you should be as asexual as to feign
Even a slight degree
of that excess so vital
To the savoring of the fat fruit so laden on the tree?
Have you such an aversion to the
odd snake
In the manhole or the actual snake sneaking up
Her asshole or no snake seeking any hole,
But rather
branching out, a two headed oddity,
To grow rich in the many freak shows of Eve's fall! You
might find me acerbic behind my yawn,
But it is you that would inhibit me.
History has proven you as malicious as
You are self righteous. You've bullied, tortured,
And maimed anything or anyone who might not
Conform to
your false, cruel, and judgmental god,
Whom you bring out on his golden leash
Whenever your crimes need justification
yet again. God forgive you, even as I can not.
I only pray I can cover my ass in a last
Dramatic act at the taking of the last rights,
As to entertain that Good Creator that he might
Let me pass and
thus avoid spending an
Eternity in Hell with you. The boredom would
Be insufferable and the whiskey watered
Down to cheat the clientele, all your closest friends. © 2012 by E.D. Ridgell ___________________________________________________________________________
Plaster Memories
I'd kneel and
gaze up at her- These were my innocent years. I'd go the rote
routine, but when Transfixed by that loving smile, I spoke
from the heart, asking her, If she'd look after me, and Act
as a go between. I just Knelt and stared and felt Comforted.
As a little boy, This was Madonna Mia.
Now stripped of both our false Fronts, I feel like I have plaster dust All over me, and I'd hock you in a minute- And yet, tucked deep inside there's still
that Wanting of lost innocence, and a Kneading, needling,
needing for motherly whispers, Mumbling gibbering of secretive gibberish- Oh, where's gone idolatry carried On the strong shoulders of childlike fidelity.
c. E. D. Ridgell, 2014 ____________________________________________________________________________
The pic appears to be in the public domain.
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Kindness! Life is so long And hard. It takes a
stalwart heart To complete the
journey. The valleys seem deeper Than the peaks To me And
it’s been a coaster ride!
Grief is the hardest thing I ever did, Except death. I haven’t tried that yet. Of
God I know nothing, And no one
else does too. When it comes
down to it I believe without
knowing. Right and wrong Seem fixed As if in stone- At least for me.
I live the good life As I see it Without malice Free as I can.
I hope I live In the hearts and minds Of a few Who love me. In the end
The thing that Matters most Is kindness!
E. D. Ridgell _________________________
Thump!
Five Sevens all in a row wins you The Jack in the
Box He caught a wave. That
about sums it up.
A
POTUS who tweets, A Tweetie bird, Who knows the fat cats, The insatiable cats Who'd sooner grab your pussy Than spare you a dime.
All the kings horses And all the kings men Won't put my poor country Back together again! Four long years of mendacity- So says Big Daddy!
E.D. Ridgell, 2017 ______________________________________
The Undertow
Casting weary eyes
on him, I realized He and I were elders, now, And all the
family gathered around us Were younger to varying degrees.
He had introduced me fifty years ago To his sister who
I had married, And who had herself died a few years ago To
cancer, that riptide that is so universal.
I found
him to be very self possessed, But not unfriendly considering the shallows between us. I had chased girls with him, could remember when he Lost his virginity, written tributes
to his 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, anymore. I do not begrudge
him.
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 conversations.
I suppose he's 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 _________________________________________________________________________________
A Wonton Whore
Whittle and carve Each and every word Interconnected- Carved from out Your mind's eye, The pen, no, The key board Your chisel!
Eschew all others. "To thine own self be true"! Fame is
a wanton whore- Is there anyone who is not Published? I thought not!
c. E.D. Ridgell 2016 __________________________________________
Mommy's
Boy Whatever you do or say, Won't bring my boy back- The pitter-pat of his little feet On
the clean, linoleum floor- are echoes now. He won't be buying skittles
and tea, Or skipping through the wet green grass, A hoodie up, to shield the breeze From
my, pretty boy's brow. E.D. Ridgell, 2013
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It’s Karma
You can’t just
Kiss the booboo’s away-
Patch them up
And send them back
To wherever.
Your kidnappings
Are living testaments,
The damaged goods of abuse-
Witnesses for the prosecution
Beyond this nightmare.
In their turn they’ll
Sue and sue and
sue again,
Inca boots come a marching
Treading o’er your felled fencing-
Litigators for restitution or vengeance.
Spit peach pits. Go ahead,
Nothin’s gonna grow
Outta anything you sew,
Never did and never will-
It’s karma.
E. D. Ridgell 2019 ________________________________________
Questions?
Why did I taunt him with the possibility. We only have at best ten years. Was
I whipping him with my fears, That death is riding?
Why
aren’t we given a choice? Why this pre arranged appointment
with A stalker who poaches With inevitability without immunity?
Life is unfair and Therein lies a harsh dilemma- A lotus wherein lies
the seed of death. What profit the dying any civility?
Is
it some bargain Purchased with good actions and deeds?
What comes first the bribe or God? Without an equation for time there is no necessity for God! ____________________________________________________________________
Quack!, Quack!
I know what you Really think about me and mine When we're not looking- At least most of you.
To be born untouchable Is a heavy crucible. You spend half your life Feuding with their God Until you find your own.
The hardest thing is to Try and forgive. You've little self respect To buttress it!
I'll always be a little afraid Of any straight man. I can be oh so accommodating When faced with
those Shiny, black boots!
See my little
wing quiver so As I lie here atop the snow! Water is surely free I think. I only wanted a tiny drink. Something is broke within I know. I can not lift and rise to go. So happy was I on
the brink Eager at a dawn’s early pink; Very frightened, left alone, Lamenting others who have flown- Fled they so high into a sky Never more into will I fly. What rudely broke my perfect wing So swift and
sudden came the sting, Dropping me from an upward lift Leaving regal feathers rudely rift? Something struck me swift and cruel, Sharp tipped
from side a northern pool, Amidst the warnings of little swallows Urging me to flap and follow. And where’s gone fidelity In the face of
so little pity, Here now in a shadow of Showa, Falling fast with a final, “Q
U
A”? c. E.D.
Ridgell, 2016 _______________________________
The Old Buddha begins the Forty Fifth Day
You die for interrupting the song of the canary!
We have no ear now for distant discords
or the echoing rumors
common to the court.
These are as to silent flights of hummingbirds.
You are but one of a host of brown-headed sparrows
while
this one, yellow canary sings with celestial purpose,
lightening Our morning’s jealous solitude,
a pretty prelude ‘fore the tedious rituals of tending mortals.
Away! Behead him without delay, this fowl,
indigenous sparrow heckling the lovely canary.
Commonplace no matter its elegant competition,
its airs cannot
forestay Our boredom,
or equal these lovely songs floating on the morning.
With the breaking of winging sounds most
pure
comes this kowtowing herald of a general,
too egalitarian for Our liking.
Go! We begin the migration
on the day rudely used!
How now, tell Us, fairs Our Boxer’s?
© 2008 by E.D. Ridgell
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