Brick
Brick
Brick
Falls
Building a house
Building an empty home
That you will always live in
Where you try to fill the house with your comprehension
But without intentions
You trap yourself
You become your Hell
But some will never tell
The time you spent in jail

I.

No, don't go now. Please
don't go now; the fog is creating ghosts
out of people and we're breathing clouds out of our mouths.
Tell me about that time when you held your breath
under the lake for six years and still survived;
tell me how if I do that, it'll never work.
I'm not a sea God
any more.

II.

My knees tell better stories than my tongue
ever did, please don't; wretched hive harangues
the mind in a plague, can't you see I'm holding you down
and telling you you're all I ever wanted,
you're all I ever wanted; your head is the stuff of dreams
you're all I ever wanted; you can put your arm
right through me and only feel mist;
I am fog. I'm creating ghosts out of you.

III.

Make it up to me in a rainbow of hues of grey;
at the end of it I'm holding my ribs open. I've never
been more colourful and sad at the same time.
You're the mirrors to my house; stay
has always sounded better than don't go

yet neither seems to work anymore.

(Heaven and Earth)

June has gone on ahead of me
Looking down with a smile today.
She has been renewed forever
I am getting older by the day.

My body has many cracks,
Crevices and creases.
"chugging along", missing June -
For Love, it never ceases

Resting on a swaying foundation
God has been good to me
I'm "chugging along" waiting my turn
My Glorious June to see.

I've got Memories by the dozen,
Reminiscences by the score…
The day I stop remembering…
is the day I'll close this door.

My World will have ended
Heaven bound I will be.
Where June is ever waiting...
For her Stan she will see.

My World will soon end
Temporary it has been.
God is calling me home
Where Eternity will begin.

(Going Home)

Stan is eighty seven      (Stan now is eighty eight)
bound for heaven         ( waiting now at Heaven’s gate)
where his Love
went on before him.

Some day soon
he will join June
Where the light
will never dim.

Time has past
since he hugged her last
now, the pain
unreal at times.

He knows she lives
where God’s Love gives
us Peace and
love so sublime.

And now….

His mission fulfilled
In what God willed
the race will end
never more to roam.

He made the right choice
The Angels rejoice
God’s forever Love with June
Stan will be going home.

(revised 06-26-16)

There are many, very good poets- (on this site)
There are many, very good writers-(also on this site)

Different styles-
Different ideas-
Conveyance of thought

"A writer can describe a bowl of fresh fruit-
whereas, a poet can smell one!"*

Then, There are those-
who can do both!
              v
              v


"Good Morning, Sally!"

"Good Morning, Vicki!"

copyright: richard riddle 10-16, 2015
revised: 06-26-2016



Edit poem

Darling, thank you.
Your love had made me
                sane.
But please forgive me
for sanity had never been
my
       favorite
                       cup
                               of
                                    tea.

I remember hiding under an old cherry wood dining table. I remember holding my baby sister, shielding her eyes, covering her and trying to tuck her away. Pulling her as close to me as possible, like I might be able to fold her skin into mine so she wouldn’t have to see what was happening around us. I can still hear her crying into my bony 7 year old shoulder and whaling amongst the chaos with the bitty 4 year old voice that she had at the time. I remember the heart stopping feeling of watching my mother get thrown into the wall and watching my brother, 11 years older than myself, hurtle the beautiful antique silver coffee *** that my grandmother left us- into the space near her head where it bludgeoned the wall. I remember barely being taller than the table myself and pulling my sister out when I saw a chance for us to escape the scene and run into another room.  I remember turning around and seeing my older sister, who was 10 at that time, running up and hitting and kicking my brother and getting shoved to the side. I’ve grown accustomed to the headaches I now get at the sight of flashing police lights.

Enveloped in your smell
Wrapped in your warmth
Your body so close
It could have been mine
Your food tasted like home
Unraveled by what you never knew
I was
You couldn't see beyond yourself
Your fears your limitations
Your comfort zone
Afraid to face the galaxies of sorrow
In my eyes
I shut them down
Protecting your peace
Only to feel your hand
Holding mine
Always smaller than I could have been
To make myself understood

if only
your misty rose glowfist
were to be my heart -

glinting
all the feels
with

bright felt fingerings
expressing
so. much.

then, maybe, i
could
feel

real,
again.