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 Oct 2014 Regina Riddle
I am not amused
Or even remotely enthused.
It's truly sad to see how much
our friendship you've abused.
Darkness seems so naive
And we being gullible
Reveal everything to it
Open our hearts
To welcome the visitor
Closing the door behind
Darkness becomes a tenant
Only we have to pay a price
By shunning light outside
Shadows embrace the heart
Casting a pall of gloom
Blanketing the stars
Perpetual darkness prevails
Light becomes a monster
When darkness we become used to
Obscuring our presence
Why do we feign such rapturous delight,
in pretence to others that all is alright,
what if the soul is quietly suppressed,
cloaked in darkness, hidden and repressed,

Are we ashamed to drape the veil,
to retreat into darkness and embrace the pale,
truth can be found from deep in a frown,
so why wear the clothes and tears of a clown.

© H V Swan
 Sep 2014 Regina Riddle
Petal pie
His name purred on her lips; 
She loved the way it
Rolled around on her tongue,
Loosened her vocal chords 

Every time she said 
his name aloud,
It felt as though she were 
Becoming more and more
Well versed in him; 
His character,
His very being
 Aug 2014 Regina Riddle
two moons
 Aug 2014 Regina Riddle
two moons, but still
the night is dark-
wild dogs bark at a sky
that I don't understand

there's a tent revival
down by the river-
preacher duane says the light
from the reflection
will be good for the soul

I don't want to go, momma
I don't want to go

two moons are confusing
though the sound is soothing
as it shines through my radio

wild dogs are barking-
my head is swimming-
at the river they're gathering-
and the people are singing-
and the preacher is praying-
and the light is reflecting-

I don't want to go, momma
I don't want to go

I see two moons,

two moons.

r ~ 8/27/14
  |     O o
/ \
 Aug 2014 Regina Riddle
This was a fishing village
when people were speaking
the king's English, dead
like the fishing industry
Now the tourists have accents

Truth be told
this was a fishing village
long before that
But we don't speak about
what those folks spoke
Something Algonquian
or another dead language

When the tide is out
I walk the shore and look for remnants
Pottery and stone tools, and such
I find a lot of plastic
and bottles, plenty of those
We've been a drinking people
for a long **** time

Once, I found a child's shoe,
sodden and filled with sand
It had a blue lace,
still tied, and a smiley face
as the tide was going out
Kind of sad, really.

r  ~ 8/28/14
/ \
When I asked you to fix me,
You told me I wasn't broken.
But, let this soak in.
I just wanted to know,
If i was still a pretty enough picture to be worth, agonizing over a puzzle.
Even when it's a struggle.
And you have to nuzzle each piece into place,
Kissing the pieces bent out of shape,
Searching for pieces gone missing,
But you can't make a raisin back into a grape.
Yes, I Remember your middle name
And who says we can't celebrate failure?
Don't be sad, we tried, we tried.
When you write your story in the sand it washes away with the tide.
It isn't our fault.
We may have cut ourselves open, But we didn't ask for the salt in our
Can I still say "we"?
I guess you're kind of done with me.
I don't blame you, Puzzles are frustrating.
they're a tease.
Please, tell me I haven't lost the most important piece.
Tell me I haven't lost

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
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