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Richard Riddle Aug 2015
You are you-
I am me, but
If you were me, and
I were you-
Who then, would we be?

copyright: richard riddle: August 09, 2015

(if you want to "win friends and influence people", don't write stuff like this.)
Richard Riddle Aug 2015
It just occurred to me that............??? "******! It happened, again!"



copyright: richard riddle-8-07-15
Richard Riddle Aug 2015
When people actually had phone directories to look up a number. Now its to **** a spider, or block an open door.

richard riddle: 08-03-2015
Aug 2015 · 2.0k
The Bagpipes
Richard Riddle Aug 2015
In August, 1977, My wife, Karen, and son Russ, moved back to Texas after eight years of being away. Back to Dallas, Karen's hometown. A house which just happened to be next door to her parents was going up for sale. However, the owners decided to rent it to us, with an offer no sane person could refuse.

Now the neighborhood was a long- established residential area. The majority of the residents, like my in-laws, had been there from its inception, which made the move easier, for we knew most of them. But, there is always one, whose antics over time, become legendary.

Joe, a Scotsman to the nth degree. Every new years eve, at the stroke   of midnight, he would appear on his front porch dressed in his kilt, with his bagpipes, heralding in the coming year with supposedly,
"Auld Lang Syne ". At least that's what it was supposed to be, but with bagpipes, how does anyone really know.  He didn't stop there; never ceasing to take  advantage to publicly play that over-sized vacuum bag, he would often welcome newborn children, puppies, kittens, etc.

The day the moving van arrived, there he was, out on his porch wearing that plaid kilt, bagpipes clutched against his chest. Except, there was an unexpected "twist." After every two or three bars he would stop and yell out, "Stay away from the moors! Stay away from the moors!" Some of the neighbors stepped out on their porches just to see what was going on now. Even the crew unloading the van seemed to enjoy the entertainment and it helped the time seem to go faster.

Within ten days after somewhat settling in to our new place, Karen and I realized that the "moors" of which Joe spoke, actually were the "Moore's" who were our next door neighbors. Needless to say, it was an interesting neighborhood. That could be "another story."

copyright: richard riddle-august 03, 2015
Aug 2015 · 383
Thought for the Day LI (51)
Richard Riddle Aug 2015
Today, I'm dedicating myself to write something profound, yet inspiring; reflective, meaningful. " I'm going back to bed!" That should suffice!


copyright: richard riddle: August 03, 2015
Off work for the next three days
Richard Riddle Aug 2015
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod
A Dutch Lullaby.


WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,--
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
       Said Wynken,
       Blynken,
       and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in the beautiful sea--
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,--
Never afeared are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
       Wynken,
       Blynken,
       And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam,--
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
       Wynken,
       Blynken,
       And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:--
       Wynken,
       Blynken,
       And Nod.

Eugene Field
Jul 2015 · 869
For "Cecil"
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
As I have stated before, my father, for twenty years was a game warden for what is now known as The Texas Wildlife Commission. He taught my brother and me a lot about hunting, fishing, and tracking, although I never developed a real liking for fish.
I was fourteen years old the first time he took me on a deer hunt near the south end of Texas' Yellowhouse Canyon, not too far outside of Lubbock, Texas. A rancher friend of dad's gave permission to hunt on his two hundred plus acres.
After about two hours of hiking we finally saw one, about one hundred and fifty yards from us.
Oh, how majestic he was, about an eight-point buck. Dad handed me the 30.06 rifle. Sitting on the ground, with my elbows braced against my knees, dad said, "take the shot when you're ready, but if you wait too long, he will run!"
After it was over, and packing the rifle in its case and closing the trunk lid of the car, dad put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Son, you did well!"  I never pulled the trigger. I yelled at that beautiful animal, and he took off as if he were shot out of a cannon.  You see, he posed no threat to me. Looking at him through the sight I realized that all he was wanting to do was survive.
I didn't want, or need, a hat rack.

In memory of "Cecil the Lion."

copyright: richard riddle-July 30, 2015
Jul 2015 · 329
HP in a Nutshell(excerpt)
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
"Making friends whom we may never see, whose hands we may never shake, but a friendship none the less, that is spread throughout the globe, and the thoughts that will always be there."

From my piece, "Strictly an Opinion", October 20, 2014.

Richard
Jul 2015 · 567
Put it on Your Calendar II
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
When I was writing my piece, "For Donna(Society has Changed)", I remembered that Corpus Christi has an annual "Buccaneer Day" celebration. My brother and me always dressed up in costume to take in some of the events. Of course, as a kid, and some "adult kids" couldn't be a pirate unless you wore a patch over one eye, a red bandana around your head, and a scar drawn on your face.

There was always a re-enactment of the pirates attacking, boarding, and taking command of a galleon. Then I remembered columnist Dave Barry's creation of "Talk Like a Pirate Day!" With some of the responses to my post, it seems I found the key to unlock that "inner child", releasing more recollections of childhood pleasantries.

Now, all ages seem to be getting in on the act. Taking time off from these stressful times to do something asinine, somewhat ridiculous, but totally enjoyable,  at least for a little while. There doesn't seem to be much of that anymore.


copyright: Richard Riddle 07-28-15
Jul 2015 · 560
Put it on Your Calendar
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
September 19, 2015, IT'S ALMOST HERE!

International "Talk Like a Pirate Day!!"

Arggh!!

www.talklikeapirate.com
Jul 2015 · 918
Quoting My Father
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
My father talking to an irate neighbor after a football landed in his flower bed(circa 1947):

" Your grass, and your flowers, will grow back. The children  grow only once. Let them play!"

copyright: richard riddle: July 21, 2015
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
(Corpus Christi, Texas-circa 1947)
It's a short block, a cul-de-sac,
total of sixteen houses lining the street.
No sidewalks, the grass ends
where the curb begins.

A  lone palm tree stands in the southwest corner of the front yard.

There were no fences separating the properties
Driveways, leading to the separated garages were the markers.
That didn't stop us, however-
The neighborhood was a continuous playground.

Many families were military-
in the U S Navy,
Or civil service employees
at the Corpus Christi Naval Air Station

From those sixteen homes were twenty-three children-
some families had multiple children-
ranging from four to twelve..............I was six years old-
For the parents, finding peace and quiet
was only a dream

I learned to ride a bike on that street-
although learning how to stop it
was another issue.........
Had it not been for that lone palm tree.

I became very adept at timing-
knowing when to jump off that bike-
moments before impact-
Eventually, I learned what dad meant with
"USE THE BRAKES!"

A few bruises
some scrapes(arm or knee)
Nothing serious-
I survived!

As our parents aged, they often would reminisce about those days. Dad had two major philosophies about growing up: "Yards were made for kids to play in", and "If we can hear them, at least we know where they are!" Most of the time they were in our backyard playing on our swing and trapeze set that a family friend built for me and my brother. That yard was, basically, a "miniature park."  

Our mother was, what is termed now, a "stay at home mom." She was the "overseer, watchdog, and resident medic." At least two or three times a day, she answered the phone, only to hear another mother's voice asking if their kid was over there, and if so, tell him, or her, to go home.

While reminiscing, the one thing that our father, mother, and my brother agreed on is, "That was one hell of a sturdy bike!" I never will forget that palm tree. It saved my a_ _ more than once!!

Society has changed, Donna, you're absolutely right!!

copyright: richard riddle July 20, 2015
                   revised: July 21, 2015
Jul 2015 · 295
Thank You - HP (repost)
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
Thank You - HP


On August 28, 2014, was somewhat of a milestone for me. A one year anniversary, so to speak, as a member of the HP Family. It has been a wonderful, enlightening, and exhilarating ride, and one I hope to stay on for quite some time to come.
To all of you who have taken the time to read my contributions, commenting, or not, THANK YOU!
I write for relaxation, and recreation. For the most part, I try to entertain, to bring a bit of a smile, or perhaps a laugh or two, and if the piece has done that, then the goal has been reached. Have all of my works been "winners?" Of course not. That is just part of the menu. Some meals are good, some aren't. Regardless, I will try to get better. I will "keep my seat on this "Poet's Train" and hope it doesn't stop anytime soon.

Richard Riddle
(I thank the world for all of you! This August will be two years.))
Jul 2015 · 524
For Emily (repost)
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
"I am but the messenger,
'tis the writer these words belong,
a ten year old fair damsel,
a beauty, and a song."

copyright June-25-2014  richard riddle
I wrote this for Emily Riddle, my granddaughter, who penned "A Piece of My Life", and "An Angel in Disguise." To ALL of you who took the time to read, respond, and comment on her work, THANK YOU!! so very, very much.
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
"There are two kinds of people in this world. Cat lovers, and normal people."

From the syndicated  comic strip "Drabble", 2014
Jul 2015 · 535
We Never Know
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
Walking down the street, in a shopping mall, or going through an airport terminal, we never know  who we're standing or sitting next to, say hello to; make your day a 'FEEL GOOD DAY."
On your search browser-"You Tube", or "Google", type:

"Little Girl gives Coin to Street Musician"-(Spain)
"Homeless Man Plays Piano"- (Sarasota, Florida)
There are others, ENJOY!!

Richard
Jul 2015 · 434
My Days Off
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
Finally reached my two days off-
decided that "today, I will do nothing."
But, isn't "doing nothing, doing something?"
We don't realize how important the word "doing" is.

"What are you doing?"
"How are you doing?"
"Why are you doing.......?"
"When are you doing.....?"
"Who are you ......... (Oops!, Save that one for later)

copyright" r. riddle July 06, 2015
Jul 2015 · 737
A Quick Thought!!
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
What fun is there in being a grandparent if you can't intentionally embarrass your children and grandchildren..................in public!


r. riddle :07-03-2015
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
"Reading", is one thing; "Comprehension", is another!

copyright: richard riddle-July 02, 2015
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
I drew the battle lines in the sand-
for it was time to take a stand
against the merciless armies of stress and strife-

I lost some, won a few-
and now I believe my time is due
To finally put some "simple" in my life-
                        v
                        v







­But NO ONE will let me!!


copyright: richard riddle-July 02,2015
Jul 2015 · 720
Early Rising(repost)
Richard Riddle Jul 2015
Early Rising


When my brother and I were kids, two or three times a year we would take a trip to visit our grandparents. Of course, there were aunts, uncles, and cousins who lived not too far away that would arrive as well. Their house had multiple bedrooms. After all, they reared seven children, so it was necessary. My brother and me were always given a bedroom on the first level.
I was always awakened around 5 a.m., with the sound of my grandfather's footsteps trudging down the hallway like the giant in "Jack and the Beanstalk". I never could understand why elderly folks had to get up so darned early. Here I am, at 73. I now know why.

copyright :richard riddle-January 01, 2015
Jun 2015 · 766
New Day
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
"How still, the water lies-
as the heavens lighten
and the darkness dies"

"Still", no breeze, peaceful, serene-
the trees, reflecting off the mirrored surface,
as if saying, "its going to be a beautiful day."

And, here they come!
Mom, dad, their five kids,
on their morning outing-
leaving a soft wake from those
webbed feet as they glide across the water.

There is a certain beauty in watching the ducks
and the geese this early-
I like to think it's God's way of saying "Good Morning!"-
to me.
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
GF: "It's not you, its me!"
BF: "You're right! It is you!
GF: "WHAAT!"



copyright: r. riddle 06-29-15
Women really don't want you to agree with them.
Jun 2015 · 1.1k
"Counseling"
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
Marriage Counselor: Do you often argue"

Wife: "Sometimes"

MC: "What kind of arguments do you have?"

Husband: "Are we talking about reasonable and intelligent discussions on differences of opinion, or when the neighbors turn off their tvs, grab their lawn chairs, come over and sit in your front yard."
                
MC: (To himself) "We're going to be here for a long time."


copyright: richard riddle, June 24, 2015
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
Its shameful, and traumatic,
when your hair disappears-
Its even worse, when in the mirror-
You find it in your ears!

But, it helped me start a new career,
and one that I enjoy-
Working at the State Fair
as Bam-Bam! The Wolf-Dog Boy!

copyright richard riddle 07-22-2014
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
You know you're getting older
when your hair starts getting thinner-
So I stopped by the barber shop
shortly before my dinner-

I said to the barber-
"a haircut I want done",
And he respectfully replied,
"okay, which one?"

(copyright-richard riddle June 18, 2014)
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
It's an old, run-down, brick building-
with some pickup trucks, and a John Deere tractor-parked in front-
It has been there for many years-
with many memories in its 'font.

Why, that building knew your folks, children,
watched generations come thru the door-
It waved good-bye to new recruits
as they left to go to war.

It became a sort of, "meet and greet"
Where folks would come , take a seat-
the coffee urn, filled to the brim
for those waiting to get a trim.
(and for anyone else who wandered in)

And the stories! Oh Lord, the stories!
One would start with an anecdote-
another followed with a joke-
then another, each trying to top the other.

Folks would laugh so hard, you'd think they were die'n-
for there was no way to know
Who was telling a truth,
and who was lie'n-
(a determination that never could be made)

A great way to end the week!

The building had no signs, because everyone knew what it was,
so why spend the money to tell folks something they already knew.
Then, one day, this appeared on the door:

"Welcome Stranger! Come in and see!"
"The One and Only Barbershop"
"Where the BS flows like the River Nile, and the coffee's always free!"
(Open on Saturdays 7-3)
Closed Mon-Fri

copyright: richard riddle January 27, 2015

My father, for 20 years, was a game warden for the State of Texas. I  would often ride with him on weekends throughout his 6 county district, stopping at many of these small, rural, unincorporated communities. It was, as we say, "a real hoot!"
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
When the "Queen" becomes displeased, and issues an edict, the peasantry responds, else risk the vengeance of the "Queen's Sceptre." (Having to go to the grocery store at 7am to buy:          

v
                   


                         ­                               


                               ­                                                                                                                                   

     ­           

CAT FOOD!!)

copyright:Richard Riddle-June 22, 2015
Jun 2015 · 3.1k
"My Father's Day"
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
I don't need a necktie-
I don't need a wallet-
I don't need a thingamajig-
or a whatchamacallit!

I have what I want,
a wonderful son, daughter-in-law,
and the two most powerful vitamins
known to mankind---my grandchildren.
AND, last, but not least, my "Guardian Angel",
Brie!(as in cheese)--(my cat!!! :):):)
for they make everyday, Father's Day!

copyright: richard riddle: June 21, 2015
Yea, I know; the first stanza sounds as if it belongs on a greeting card!!
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
With index fingers extended, hook a belt loop on both right and left side of pants-
2. In a "**** and twist" upward motion, hike pants up  2"-3"
3. ****!
4. Utter "****!, ****!, or Oops!"
5. Jump in septic tank truck(don't forget to secure hoses)
6. Secure gun rack
7. Propel down highway.
8. Show state trooper National Rifle Association membership card
9. Post bail
10. Go home!

submitted by: R.V. Parks - June 19, 2015
Jun 2015 · 1.3k
Strictly an Opinion (repost)
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
October 20, 2014   8:40a.m.

On August 28, 2013, strictly as a novice, and not having posted anything, anywhere, I posted my first two pieces of "literary art" on the HP site. I had previously searched other similar sites until finally deciding on posting with HP. I'm glad I did.  Why?

Not knowing what to expect, I threw "1894", and "Folklore and Fairy Tales" into the "mixing bowl". Pradip and Sally were the first to comment, and I will never forget the encouragement their words gave me. Never! Quite often, I go back and re-read them, particularly when I get a little discouraged when the "writers block" syndrome decides to attack. Thank you both, so very, very much!

But that is the core of the HP family. There is an aura, a special atmosphere of cohesiveness among its contributors, willing to offer(in most cases) constructive criticism without being cynical, and always encouraging each other. Making friends whom we may never see, whose hands we may never shake, but a friendship none the less, that is spread throughout the globe, and the thoughts that will always be there. It is a feeling I did not sense with other sites.

One thing is for certain. We never know what our readers are going to like/dislike on any given day. When we post a piece, of what we may think is the work of "pure genius" could go by the wayside in seconds. On the other end of the spectrum, what we believe is not so great, could trend in minutes.

We will keep trying.

Richard Riddle
copyright: October 20, 2014
Jun 2015 · 418
Thought for the Day L(50)
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
When reading the obituaries in the newspaper, and see the name of a person whom I had known for a long time, with whom I went to high school , did business, worked beside, etc. I say to myself, "I just moved up a rung on the ladder." I just hope it's a very tall ladder!

copyright: richard riddle-June 17, 2015
Jun 2015 · 387
Thought for the Day XLIX
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
"There is a tendency to take for granted, our existence. A natural sense of "denial" that those who are important to us won't be around forever."

  copyright: richard riddle:  re: "My Last and Only Will(an anecdote)"
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
Whatever the road, or path you choose
win or lose
Regardless of your want,
or dream-
do your best not to spoil it

So, my friends, remember this-

"There is absolutely,
no graceful way,
    to sit upon a toilet."



copyright: richard riddle June 16, 2015
emended 10-12-2016
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
When my wife, Karen, passed away nearly eight years ago, our son, Russ, and the grand-children, Evan and Emily, wanted me to move to the town where they live, about 20 miles north of Dallas. I agreed it would be best. It is the best decision I ever made.
After scheduling the moving day, Russ, Evan, Emily arrived to help me pack. In the process I pulled out the box that held my private documents which contained my will and insurance policies. I turned to Russ and said, "while I'm thinking about it, you keep these in your files",  and handed them to him. Obviously, his mind was on watching the kids, and he replied, "why are you giving them to me?" I looked at him, " now think about it, I'm not the one who's going to need'em."

So far, they remain untouched.

copyright: richard riddle June 16, 2015
Jun 2015 · 450
Thought for the Day XLVIII
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
It took Henry Wadsworth Longfellow nearly five years to complete his famous work, " Song of Hiawatha." That's a lot of wadded up parchment paper!

riddle: June 15, 2015
Jun 2015 · 414
Thought for the Day XLVII
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
For those that are "suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune", looking for someone else to blame for what happens to them; GO LOOK in a MIRROR! You'll probably find that person pretty quick.

copyright: Richard Riddle: June 10-2015
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.

When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-*****, and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.

There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.
There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard like a spell;
And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;

With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one by one.
Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he'd do,
And I turned my head — and there watching him was the lady that's known as Lou.

His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of daze,
Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the stool, so the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like a fool.

In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;
Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands —
my God! but that man could play.

Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could hear;
With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,
A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;

While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights swept in bars?  
Then you've a hunch what the music meant. . . hunger and night and the stars.
And hunger not of the belly kind, that's banished with bacon and beans,
But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that it means;

For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof above;
But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowned with a woman's love —
A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true —
(God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge, — the lady that's known as Lou.)

Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce could hear;
But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it once held dear;
That someone had stolen the woman you loved; that her love was a devil's lie;
That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl away and die.

'Twas the crowning cry of a heart's despair, and it thrilled you through and through —
"I guess I'll make it a spread misere", said Dangerous Dan McGrew.
The music almost died away ... then it burst like a pent-up flood;
And it seemed to say, "Repay, repay," and my eyes were blind with blood.

The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a frozen lash,
And the lust awoke to ****, to **** ... then the music stopped with a crash,
And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most peculiar way;
In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;

Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his voice was calm,
And "Boys," says he, "you don't know me, and none of you care a ****;
But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I'll bet my poke they're true,
That one of you is a hound of hell. . .and that one is Dan McGrew."

Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out, and two guns blazed in the dark,
And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men lay stiff and stark.
Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous Dan McGrew,
While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the lady that's known as Lou.

These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to know.
They say that the stranger was crazed with "*****," and I'm not denying it's so.

I'm not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us two —
The woman that kissed him and — pinched his poke — was the lady that's known as Lou.
Perhaps Robert W. Service's most popular and well-known works.
Thanks, dear readers, for reading, and hopefully enjoying, these last
few posts.
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
I wanted the gold, and I got it—
Came out with a fortune last fall,—
Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn't all.

No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)
It's the cussedest land that I know,
From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it
To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
Some say God was tired when He made it;
Some say it's a fine land to shun;
Maybe; but there's some as would trade it
For no land on earth—and I'm one.

You come to get rich (****** good reason)
You feel like an exile at first;
You hate it like hell for a season,
And then you are worse than the worst.
It grips you like some kinds of sinning;
It twists you from foe to a friend;
It seems it's been since the beginning;
It seems it will be to the end.

I've stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow
That's plumb-full of hush to the brim;
I've watched the big, husky sun wallow
In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
And I've thought that I surely was dreaming,
With the peace o' the world piled on top.

The summer—no sweeter was ever;
The sunshiny woods all athrill;
The grayling aleap in the river,
The bighorn asleep on the hill.
The strong life that never knows harness;
The wilds where the caribou call;
The freshness, the freedom, the farness—
O God! how I'm stuck on it all.

The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
The white land locked tight as a drum,
The cold fear that follows and finds you,
The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
The snows that are older than history,
The woods where the weird shadows slant;
The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,
I've bade 'em good-by—but I can't.

There's a land where the mountains are nameless,
And the rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
And deaths that just hang by a hair;
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
There are valleys unpeopled and still;
There's a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,
And I want to go back—and I will.

They're making my money diminish;
I'm sick of the taste of champagne.
Thank God! when I'm skinned to a finish
I'll pike to the Yukon again.
I'll fight—and you bet it's no sham-fight;
It's hell!—but I've been there before;
And it's better than this by a damsite—
So me for the Yukon once more.

There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting;
It's luring me on as of old;
Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting
So much as just finding the gold.
It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder,
It's the forests where silence has lease;
It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It's the stillness that fills me with peace.
Hope you have enjoyed these.!!
Jun 2015 · 405
Thought for the Day XLVI
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
I so dislike Roman Numerals. However, they do add a bit of class to the titles.

richard riddle: June 10. 2015
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
'Twas a balmy summer evening, and a goodly crowd was there.
Which well-nigh filled Joe's bar-room on the corner of the square;
And as songs and witty stories came through the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.

"Where did it come from?" someone said, "The wind has blown it in."
"What does it want?" another cried. "Some whisky, *** or gin?"
"Here, Toby, sic him, if your stomach's equal to the work -
I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as filthy as a Turk."

This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact, he smiled as though he thought he'd struck the proper place.
"Come, boys, I know there's burly hearts among so good a crowd
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud."

"Give me a drink -- that's what I want -- I'm out of funds, you know;
When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow.
What? You laugh as though you thought this pocket never held a sou!
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as anyone of you."

"There, thanks; that's braced me nicely! God bless you one and all!
Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast."

"Say! Give me another whisky, and I'll tell you what I'll do
I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too.
That I was ever a decent man not one of you would think;
But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink."

"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame --
Such little drinks to a *** like me are miserably tame;
Five fingers -- there, that's the scheme - and corking whisky, too.
Well, here's luck, boys! and, landlord, my best regards to you!"

"You've treated me pretty kindly, and I'd like to tell you how
I came to be the ***** sot you see before you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame and health,
And, but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth."

"I was a painter -- not one that daubed on bricks and wood
But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes."

"I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 'tis called the 'Chase of Fame.'
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name.
And then I met a woman -- now comes the funny part --
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart."

"Why don't you laugh? 'Tis funny that the vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
But 'twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine it carried me to heaven."

"Did you ever see a woman for whom your soul you'd give,
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, 'twas she, for there never was another half so fair."

"I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way,
And Madeleine admired it, and, much to my surprise,
Said that she'd like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes."

"It didn't take long to know him, and before the month had flown
My friend had stolen my darling, and I was left alone;
And, ere a year of misery had passed above my head,
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead."

"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, I never saw you smile!
I thought you'd be amused, and laughing all the while.
Why, what's the matter, friend? There's a teardrop in your eye,
Come, laugh, like me; 'tis only babies and women that should cry."

"Say, boys, if you give me just another whisky, I'll be glad,
And I'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score --
You shall see the lovely Madeleine upon the bar-room floor."

Another drink, and with chalk in hand the vagabond began
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture -- dead.
I was going to wait a couple of days, but, what the heck!
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows -- O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; . . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.


Robert William Service
Hope you enjoyed this. Published in 1907
Jun 2015 · 402
Here I go Again
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
My wife, Karen, often stated, "You inherited your family's B S genes." I suppose there is a "bit of truth" in that. Okay, maybe a little more than "a bit." Most would probably take that kind of statement as an insult. However, I would rather consider it as a complement. I like, for the most part,  being placed in the catagory of being a "storyteller."
Throughout my childhood, yes, I was a child at one time,  I was fascinated with poets in the genre of the storytellers like Robert W. Service, a master of poetic storytelling(verse) who  could grab you by the seat of your pants with his tales of the Yukon Territory. Hugh Antoine d'Arcy's The Face Upon the Floor", another classic of verse. And many other poets trying to emulate those writing styles, and having their works instead attributed to those "grand masters."
It is my opinion that most of the newcomers, to this site anyway, have little or no knowledge of these writer's whom I consider the "true raconteurs." Someone will comment that Edgar Allan Poe was a great storyteller. Yes, he was, but he died in 1849, long before the arrival of those that I mentioned in the period(late 19th century to early 20th) .
Over the next day, or two, or three, I plan to post a couple of these early works, and hope you enjoy them as much as I have.

Sincerely,
Richard
Jun 2015 · 336
Thought for the Day XLV
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
When the fire departments HAZMAT(Hazardous Material) Response Vehicle keeps stopping in front of your home, you know its way past time in doing your laundry.

copyright: richard riddle: June 08, 2015
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
Written approximately1890-1899 by American poet Will Carleton, and is shown as it appeared in the Sacramento Daily Union Newspaper on July 15, 1899. Even in his elder years, my grandfather, Odis Riddle, could recite this word for word, and not skip a beat, mesmerizing all of us grandchildren that had gathered around his chair for the performance.

Enj­oy

"If the weary crowd is willing, I've a little word to say of a lightning-rod dispenser that dropped down on me one day; with a poem in his motions,; with a sermon in his mien, with hands as white as lilies, and a face uncommon clean. No wrinkle had his vestments and his  linen glistened white, and his new-constructed necktie was an interesting sight; Which I almost wished his razor had made red that white-skinned throat, and the new-constructed necktie had • composed a hangman's knot. Ere he brought his sleek-trimmed carcass for my women folks to see and his rip-saw tongue a-buzzin' for to gouge a **** in me.

But I couldn't help but like him, as I always think i must, The gold of my own doctrine in a fellowheap of dust, When I fired my own opinions at this person, round by round, they drew an answering volley of a very similar sound; I touched him on religion, and the hopes my heart had' known; he said he'd had experiences quite similar of my own. I told him of the doubtin's that made dark my early years; he had laid awake till morning with that same old breed of fears; I told him of the rough path I hoped to heaven to go, he was on that ladder, only just a round below. I told him of my visions, of the sinfulness of gain, he had seen the self same picters, tho' not quite so clear and plain;

Our politics was different, at first he galled and winced. But I arg'ed him so able, he was very soon convinced. And, 'twas getting toward the middle cf a hungry summer day, There was dinner on the table, and I asked him would he stay? And he sat down among us, everlasting trim and neat. And asked a short, crisp blessing, almost good enough to eat; Then he fired upon the mercies of our Great Eternal Friend, and gave the Lord Almighty a good, .first-class recommend; And for full an hour we listened to this sugar-coated scamp, Talking like a blessed angel—eating like a blasted *****.

\My wife, she liked the stranger, smiling on him warm and sweet, (It always flatters women when their guests are on the eat), and he hinted that some ladies never lose their early charms. And kissed her latest baby and received it in his arms.

My sons and daughters liked him, for he had progressive views, And chewed the quill of fancy, and gave down the latest news: And I couldn't help but like him, as I fear I always must, The gold of my own doctrine, in a fellowheap of dust.

He was spreading desolation through a piece of apple pie, when he paused and looked upon us with a tear in his off-eye. and said. O, happy family! your blessings make me sad: You call to mind those dear ones that in happier days I had, a wife as sweet as this one; a babe as bright and fair; a little girl with ringlets, like that one over there; I worshiped them too blindly! My eyes with love were dim! God took them to His own heart and now I worship Him. But had I not neglected the means within my way, Then they might still be living, and loving me to-day.  

.-.• One night there came a tempest; the thunder peals were dire; The clouds that tramped above us were shooting bolts of fire; In my own house, I, lying, was thinking to my blame. How little I had guarded against those shafts of flame. When crash! through roof and ceiling the deadly lightning cleft. And killed my wife and children, and only I was left. Since that dread time I've wandered, and naught for life have cared, Save to save other's loved ones, whose lives have yet been spared; Since then, it is my mission, where'er by sorrow tossed, To sell to virtuous people good lightning rods—at cost."

" With sure and strong protection I'll clothe your buildings o'er, 'Twill cost you fifty dollars (perhaps a trifle more), What little else it comes to at lowest price I'll put, (You signing this agreement to pay so much per foot). I signed it, while my family all approving stood about. And dropped a tear upon it (but it didn't blot it out).

That very day with wagons came some men, both great and small; They climbed upon my buildings just as if they owned 'em all. They hacked 'em and they hewed 'em, much against my loud desire, They trimmed 'em up with gewgaws, and they bound 'em down with wires:

They trimmed 'em and they wired 'em and they trimmed and wired 'em still, t And every precious minute kept a-run-nlng up the bill. My soft spoke guest a-seeking, did I rave and rush and run; He was supping with a neighbor, just a-three mile further on. "Do you think," I fiercely shouted, "that I want a mile o' Wire, To save each, separate hay-coclc out of heaven's consuming fire? Do you think to keep my biuldin's safe from some uncertain harm, I'm going' to deed you over all the balance of my farm?"
He looked up quite astonished, with a face devoid of guile. And he pointed to the contract with a reassuring smile. It was the first occasion that he disagreed with me, But he held me to that paper with a firmness sad to see; And for that thunder story ere the rascal i finally went, I paid two hundred dollars, if I paid a single cent. And if any lightning rodder wants a dinner dialogue. With the restaurant department of an enterprising dog, Let him set his mill a-runnin' Just Inside my outside gate, And I'll bet two hundred dollars that he won't have long to wait.
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
I'm sure that the majority of writers like to create and compose in relative solitude, perhaps with soft music, or birds tweeting(unless its a crow) in the background. I have a cat clinging to my socks!

Richard
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
If you’re in an accident,
and it's compensation, you wish to gain-
Look no further than the law firm
Of “Grimace, Limpe, and Paine.”

If you’ve been arrested-
With a bag of stolen stuff-
Call the criminal defense firm
Of “Shackles, Chains, and Cuffs.”

But, you want to hire a lawyer-
That’s known from “coast to coast”
Pick up the phone, and call the firm,
of “Bluster, Bluffe, and Boaste.”

Choosing an attorney
is not an easy task-
For every question answered
there's another to be asked.

So, I will make it simple,
amidst your sighs and moans-
Just pick up your telephone-
and call the firm of "Smith and Jones."


copyright: r. riddle November 27, 2013
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
My wife, Karen, looked out onto the patio, "why do they always come to us?", speaking of mama and her kits, newcomers they were, but apparently enjoying the food and shelter of this "safe house". Just some, of the many, that had blessed us over the years  with their magic , showing up unannounced, cats, dogs, raccoons, possum, to name a few. Some stayed, some left.

You see, it is our firm belief, that God's closed fist, with index finger extended and pointing downward, looming over our rooftop, wherever we happened to be, is a "guiding star"for them, and only the animals are capable of seeing it, telling them to "go here, for your safety, shelter, and food".

God has many such fingers, in every city, town, state, province, and country on this earth. Why, I would bet that right now, he has a cat(s) asleep on his lap, their way of saying, "thank you, Lord, for helping all of us."

(Make a visit to your local ASPCA Shelter-Adopt an "Angel!)
copyright May 18-2014 richard riddle
Jun 2015 · 1.0k
"Luna"
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
The moon hangs full, above our eyes-
a glow of gold upon it's plate
calm and serene, the Wiccans rise
to cast their spells of love, not hate.

copyright: richard riddle-June 03, 2015
Jun 2015 · 2.7k
A Bit of Gratitude
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
In my "Thought for the Day XLIII" (43), I spoke of poets that have been with me, and supported me for quite some time. Sally and Pradip have been with me since my first posting, "1894", nearly two years ago, and I have  "adopted"  Vicki, Catherine, Ryn, Deborah, Pamela Rae,and others along the way. There is Quinn, Phil, Pradip, Francie, Frankie J, Mike, John, Nat, SE Reimer, Sverre, "The 'Ole Storyteller!" and,"Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe!"  
Unfortunately, I cannot list everyone, in fear of overlooking writers who, collectively, mean so much to me. Please forgive me for that.
I will continue to "do my best" for all of the poets/writers/contributors to the HP site. I do not write for monetary remuneration, but for relaxation and recreation, with the end result, hopefully, bringing a smile to my peers. I thank all of you for allowing me to attempt, and occasionally, reach that goal.

Sincerely
Richard Riddle- June 03, 2015
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