For every song that sings the praise of love
another one resounds with ache and stress.
Those fortunate should thank the stars above
while some recite a chorus of duress.
Relationships are heart and soul of life
consume each day and willfully the night
selection of a husband or a wife
a blessing, or a blight if not done right.
What recipe recursive for success?
Is formula or magic spell required?
Leave ample time to all mistakes redress
a lifetime compromise is much desired.
The fickle part of marriage is romance.
It takes hard work to give love half a chance.
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 3:07 PM UTC
In a nation torn with racial strife
where killing seems a way of life
where rappers hold the people’s court
and looting is a favorite sport
where drugs and thugs, both black and white,
govern day and rule the night
seems Superman is fast asleep
as shadows o’er the addicts creep
no soap will wash away the smell
of stories we’re afraid to tell.
Truth isn’t always as it seems
judges judge, the lawyer screams
there are two sides in every fight
yet everybody “knows” what’s right
for the FacebookYouTube miracle
sends evidence empirical
across the globe at speeds of light
while the real truth stays out of sight
oft hidden by grey overcoats
of politicians gathering votes.
Words conveniently disguise
weakness clothed in pompous lies,
historical infirmities,
unsupported generalities,
privileged complicity,
intentional duplicity,
centuries of grief and pain
suffered for another’s gain
twenty score and one year more
pounding at the tiger’s door.
Unjustifiably we cringe
when the door bursts open, rent from hinge
an angry mob spills from the dark
pent-up powder keg; a spark
ignites a nation, blacks and whites
protest filled and anxious nights
sweep our nation shore to shore
conscience values cut to core
Will the bell of freedom ever ring?
“The Voice of the Unheard,” said King
As always, angry mobs subside
rise and fall just like the tide
perhaps will leave a water mark
remembrance of the now cold spark
buildings, broken glass repaired
protesters home their grievance aired
reporters and the camera crews
move on and search for other news
We, silent privileged, sit in chairs
and watch the news with vacant stares.
“The Voice of the Unheard,” said King
will the rest of us learn anything?
will any of us hear, and change?
examine values, rearrange
priorities and constitution
sincerely seek a just solution
go marching forward hand in hand
endeavoring to understand
can centuries of wrong turn right?
and win the war with peaceful might.
Will 2020 be the year that starts the revelation?
Do we have the strength and skill to cure the ill
which permeates our nation?
Will we ever hear our anthem play
and look around and see
all men, all women standing proud
not compelled to take a knee
if hand on heart we do our part, it cannot be too late
to gather strength together
and make our nation great.
Phil Lindsey 6/10/2020
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 1:21 AM UTC
Sleep, my friend, and dream of youth and glory days,
when the heat of sun in summer burned a hole through clouds and haze,
and we focused on the present, for the past was gone and done,
and we waited, for the balance of our lives had not begun.
Wake, my friend, and see the living all around, for your
family and your friends are most surely gathered ‘round to
hold your hand, and whisper words of hope and faith and prayer, and
know that God is listening, and know that God is there.
Cry, my friend, for tears, like rain, will help to cleanse the soul.
Understand He has a purpose, understand He has a goal,
and even though it isn’t fair, He is with you every hour
so thank Him for your blessings, and rejoice in Heaven’s power.
Sing, my friend, with angels, when the pain of life is gone,
and your family and your friends are left on earth to carry on,
but only for a second, then they will be with you again,
for life on earth is fleeting, eternal life will never end.
Phil Lindsey 8/4/17
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 12:12 AM UTC
There once were some bats in Wohan
Who infected the meat they were on
The Chinese got sick first
But we have suffered the worst
We can’t even shake hands till it’s gone!
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 12:07 AM UTC
Looking out my bedroom window
past the bluebirds and cardinals
vying for position on the seed-filled feeder,
past the doves and the squirrels
shamelessly settling for the leftovers below,
past the obligatory but unused lawn furniture,
past the turtles and storks and herons, and
past an alligator swimming slowly, but purposefully,
toward his place in the sun,
I can see the second green and the third tee
of the golf course where I live.
In these days of pandemic and social distancing
the golfers each drive their own cart.
On the putting green players stand six to ten feet apart,
no one touches the flagstick,
there are no high fives,
no shaking hands.
The green carts are driven
down the cart path
one-by-one
from two green
to three tee,
like four green baby ducks
following each other,
identical, synchronous, six to ten feet apart.
After teeing off
the players in the carts
again follow each other
one-by-one to the end of the path
before scattering
to the fairway or the bunker or the woods
or the edge of the lake
where the alligator has fallen asleep
in the sun with his mouth open
as if he is warning the golfers
to maintain the appropriate social distance.
Considerably more than six to ten feet apart.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
He left the bases loaded
He left a lot of par putts short
He left friends laughing at his tales
Of how he failed at every sport.
He left a girlfriend at the altar
He left an ex-wife home in tears
He left his brother on a barstool,
Paying for his beers.
He left money on the table
He left well enough alone
He left his job before the quitting time
Told his boss, “I’m headed home.”
He left a scrap of paper,
With a short conclusive note
It said, “I think we’ve got it wrong,
But I am just one vote.”
He left some pictures on the table,
Arranged in a collage
He left his pick up running
That night in his garage.
PwL 3/20/2018
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
Thinking of Richard Riddle today on his birthday. RIP
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
Mom, you know I need you
When things get out of hand,
And my day-to-day is stretching like
A frayed old rubber band, and
My patience wears and crumbles,
And I think I’m on the brink, and
It’s time for ‘Hokie Pokie’ on the
Roller skating rink;
Then you tell me,
“Put your whole self in, and
Shake it all about,” and
I can see you smiling, and I can
See you have no doubt that
Life will turn out, somehow, maybe
Not the way I planned, and that
There might just be a bit more stretch
In that frayed old rubber band, but
Even if it snaps, and life breaks loose, and
My skates end pointing toward the sky,
I know you’re there to help me up
And give it one more try.
Mom you know I need you….
Phil Lindsey, May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 12:16 AM UTC
Richard's son posted a note on his FB page letting friends know that Richard passed away, peacefully, in his sleep, of natural causes. Hello Poetry has lost not only a fine poet, but a great individual with his passing. He was always quick with a compliment, and seemed to enjoy life. As a tribute, you might want to take some time and re-read some of his work.
Rest in Peace, Richard!
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC