Where do flowers get their names from?
Am I going to die of old age?
What was dr. seuss really like?
Why can't farting be outlawed?
Are walmart shoppers really aliens in poorly fabricated disguises?
What happens when we finally use all of the planets resources?
Why can we only see a certain number of colors from our eyes?
Why can't we invent a flying car that can take us to the furthest reaches of space?
What do aliens think of us....really?
Is the reason we humans are such assholes to each other due to our overly developed brains?
Why does music suck more and more as time progresses?
Are there really ant people living underneath the surface of our planet?
Are some people born atheists, or are they made that way?
Books round my bed like mouse traps,
Everything that moves, they'll catch,
A feeling, time moves perhaps
Time wiggles, yet overmatched.
A tempestuous fire comes close
Hate's journey brings him about,
Noisy and small I suppose,
A smaller fire, then put out.
Now Regret comes upon me,
She will speak before she moves,
What if this or- like a breeze
and like that, one snaps. And who's
The next one that dares approach,
Memories and her babies.
Most of them bliss, some detached
The traps BAMMM, Time not wasted.
Nobody comes to try it,
Nobody cares, Nobody
Loves, Nobody moves a bit...
He's now disembodied.
She comes to see Nobody,
Who before had screamed and screamed
Please save me,please Somebody
Traps took her, they reigned supreme
Out of all the things, what can't,
be caught, they go hand in hand,
Is all of. . .your beauty,
And how I love your booty.
- we are sitting on a bench near an office complex.
2. you are opening and closing my eyes like a valentine’s day card.
3. the cheap, themed paper slips we handed out as children.
4. you are pulling me apart, but i don’t unravel, i rip like fibers.
5. a heart shaped sticker, a seal without the saliva.
6. sometimes when i start to get upset with you i make myself stop thinking and focus on the rise and fall of your chest.
7. i can’t see you.
8. i’m alone in an auditorium and my off-tune singing is bouncing off your walls.
9. you never tell me directly that you’d rather be dead, but the only seatbelt you ever when we ride in the car is me.
10. i am made of the glass to keep glass from shattering and falling into your arms.
11. you are a defibrillator kept in an angry red case.
12. you only cradle me while i am awake and every time i cradle you, you end up asleep.
13. beer and snapple shots, you are singing along with the falsetto of it all.
14. you are my summer. you are my secondhand smoke. you are my sweet citrus skin falling into the sink. you are my sunshine.
15. i am not only.
16. it is not then, it is not now, but it is closer to february. i am a half a heart, hot red sticker faded to 17. winter pink stepped on somewhere in a church parking lot.
neither of us know.
How can I be hungry and fed up a the same time?
where's the wine that'll fix me
until tomorrow wills me to wake,
how I ache to take you in my arms and kiss you goodnight but you're there, and I'm here hungry and fed up it's doing my head in,but it's all smoke in the glass and these feelings will pass,
maybe it's just gas,
must go to the doctor.
Only the dead have seen the end of war
Those that cross over to heavens eternal shore
Only the dead have seen the end of strife
And those that live on, live balanced on the knife
Only the dead can truly be at peace
In this world where the death will never cease
Only the dead can claim true victory
As death has brought an end to their story
Are not we all soldiers
In this war we wage with time?
Around us the whole Earth smolders
Yet we ever hold the line.
First, it's a statement on war specifically, but also on all human conflict. I believe this quote to be stating that man kind will never achieve world peace.
Second, to "see the end" of something means to fully understand the effects and consequences of something. And since the most notable consequence of war is death, only those who have died have experienced it's full measure.
I hope you have enjoyed the poem, and thank you for reading this unreasonably long note.
At the too young age of 18 years I have mastered the art of concealing poverty.
It’s just the way I was raised.
Spend your time and money on nice clothes and an outward appearance.
Pay for the luxury of comfort just to sacrifice your security .
We don’t have enough money for rent but at least there’s presents under the Christmas tree
at least there’s food to be wasted and a Netflix subscription
I work too hard because I’m terrified of not having abundance
because I know what its like to have nothing.
And all this
Just so we can have a chance when the patriarchy steals our last independence.
Just for those days when I have nothing left to give, but I’m still treated with respect because I’m a fucking white person with nice clothes
I am not unaware of the mistakes falling into this way of life .
I know that I survive on just enough privilege to play pretend and when a fraction of that privilege fails I am left with nothing but myself
But I am the strongest person I know and that came from having to chose to live over and over again when letting go was the much easier option.
I’d just like to address that the way life feels at the poverty line in these stars and stripes is a dust bowl compared to upper middle class
colorful blanket of autumn leaves
covered the clearings between the trees
the sound of crackling under my steps
broke the silence in my mind
cold air and a puddle along the road
reminded me of a last night's storm
I walked towards the shallow lake
whose calm surface reflected azure sky
embellished with few translucent clouds
I was amazed by its surreal beauty;
so persistent in its existence
and yet, so deceptively comprehensible,
a thought about the transience of all
suddenly overcame me;
a thought, so profoundly insightful
and sublimely unclear, at the same time
awoke dormant memories
of what has passed and is forever gone...
I threw pebbles in the lake, defiantly,
and watched the ripples distort
almost perfect reflection of reality,
to diminish the overwhelming feeling
I watched a play on Words
And you watched me jump on conclusions
I guess my bushes are worth birds
And your mixing good solutions
You let your eyes cross a road
That led pencils into paper
I get past the fact my frog was towed
To let the fire escape her
Our suits look so similar
I guess we can call it a tie
I could not forgive a helping hand
When your all time low is so high
My factory is dripping with sweaters
And books and have both been red
My eye is ugly from the way it looks
And I've never seen living so dead
In late 1888, a Wells Fargo stage
Was relieved of its freight-
A strongbox, taken from its hold,
held thousands of dollars in coins of gold.
The brigands had a master plan,
To bury that box,
sit, and wait-
Then dig it up at a later date.
They found a spot on rock-hard ground-
Where it would lie, safe and sound,
So they sank it in a three foot hole-
to hide that box with coins of gold.
But what they didn’t realize,
that in the distance, sat a pair of eyes-
That had watched the whole event unfold-
and watched, as they buried that chest with gold.
Late that night, under a pale, lantern, light-
a shovel's blade split those rocks-
and the hole was relieved-
of that strongbox.
William Nelson Riddle, owned that property-
And he lived with a basic philosophy-
“Since it was found, on my ground-
I guess it belongs to me.”
“Nelson” died in ’28, at age of 85-
He never said what happened to,
Or if, that chest survived-
And the "Legend of Riddle’s Gold"came alive.
As time passed, the story grew-
each year, a bit more grand-
That Nelson took that strongbox-
And hid it elsewhere on his land
Greed is one of the “seven sins”-
"Everybody loses, and nobody wins"-
But the “want” for gold is a mighty strong thirst-
So his kin set out for a “family search.”
At morning’s dawn, the kinfolk came-
To search for gold, fortune, and fame-
They came with shovels, spades, and hoes-
And some “TNT”, so the story goes.
With disregard for propriety,
they descended upon the property-
Without a map, without a plan-
They spread out to search his land.
Now, the rabbits and the coyotes,
and the gophers(one or two)-
Gathered on a little knoll,
To have a better view.
They knew what was going to happen-
It was just a matter of time-
When the dew had disappeared,
And the morning sun had reached it’s prime
They dug a hole here, and dug over there-
The morning sun was getting hot-
and everywhere they looked –
Was for naught.
Now, it isn't very clear
as who said what, to who-
But it must have been insult'n-
to start that ballyhoo.
There was push'n and shove'n
and calling names galore!
Yell'n and cuss'n
using words you ain't heard before!
And that was just the men-folk-
the women got in it too-
screaming heard, from north to south-
Those words should never come, from a ladies mouth.
Fists being swung, shovels slung!
dust was kicked up in a ball-
nothing could be more entertaining-
than watching a family free-for-all!
Then suddenly, it came to a stop !
as quick as it began-
They gathered up all their gear-
and departed Nelson's land.
This is where the story ends-
all I know is what I'm told,
From my daddy, for he'd been sitting,
atop that little knoll.
(This is how I would like to have it end)
Somewhere in the "high above"-
at a table, two people sat-
One, wearing suit and tie-
and Nelson, with his beard and hat.
"Nelson, a lot of folks have you to thank,
for bringing that strongbox to the bank-
you saved a lot of folks their homes and farms."
Nelson, from his chair, arose-
standing erect, and proud-
Stroked his beard, then tweaked his nose,
smiled, and faded into the clouds.
(thanks folks for your patience)
Copyright September 16-2013 Richard Riddle
when someone says
they want to get to know you
make sure to tell them how
you're named after a character in your moms favorite book
that your favorite color is vibrant red
or that you spend your free time sitting at the pier
but make sure you don't say
that when people call your name
it sounds like they are addressing a stranger
because there's been a graveyard
growing inside you
since age twelve
and that you spend a lot of time
deciding what the date
on your headstone will be
and don't explain
that you love vibrant red because
it's the color of relief
when it's dripping down your wrist
and don't let them know
that when you sit on the pier
you daydream of tying rocks to your ankles
and going for a swim