Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
9.8k · Oct 2013
Perseverance
Richard Riddle Oct 2013
When I think of  places where I've been
and  things that I have done-
I recall many battles fought-
and those I've lost, and won.

I've met a lot of people-
on my stops along the way-
and remember a lot of faces-
But many names, have gone astray.

Friends have even asked me,
"why don't you retire?"
I answer very simply,
"I'm not ready to expire!
         
r. riddle: 10- 15- 2013
8.8k · Jan 2015
Siblings
Richard Riddle Jan 2015
Brother: "I'm older than you, so I'm smarter than you!"
Sister: "Older, yes, smarter, no."
Brother: "Yes I am!"
Sister: "No you're not"
Brother: "Yes I am!"
Sister: "Okay, Okay. I apologize. I'm sorry I'm less stupid than you are."
Brother" That's better."

(its all about the phrasing)

copyright: Richard Riddle-January 05, 2015
7.4k · Jun 2015
Thought for the Day XLIII
Richard Riddle Jun 2015
Reading the works by Sally, Vicki, Catherine(SoulSurvivor), Ryn, Deborah, Elizabeth, and Pamela Rae, is akin to drinking champagne from a crystal flute. Me, cheap beer from a Mason Jar.

copyright:(revised) June 03, 2015
Richard Riddle Jan 2016
Friends, there are many(I think, I hope). So, to be fair, I will respond with this.


"Stricly an Opinion"
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, with 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
Richard Riddle Jan 2014
Perhaps, the most profound poem I have ever read



There are too many saviors on my cross,
lending their blood to flood out my ballot box with needs of their own.
Who put you there?
Who told you that that was your place?

You carry me secretly naked in your heart
and clothe me publicly in armor
crying “God is on our side,” yet I openly cry
Who is on mine?
Who?
Tell me, who?
You who bury your sons and ******* your fathers
whilst you bury my father in crippling his son.

The antiquated Saxon sword,
rusty in its scabbard of time now rises—
you gave it cause in my name,
bringing shame to the thorned head
that once bled for your salvation.

I hear your daily cries
in the far-off byways in your mouth
pointing north and south
and my Calvary looms again,
desperate in rebirth.
Your earth is partitioned,
but in contrition
it is the partition
in your hearts that you must abolish.

You nightly watchers of Gethsemene
who sat through my nightly trial delivering me from evil—
now deserted, I watch you share your silver.
Your purse, rich in hate,
bleeds my veins of love,
shattering my bone in the dust of the bogside and the Shankhill road.

There is no issue stronger than the tissue of love,
no need as holy as the palm outstretched in the run of generosity,
no monstrosity greater than the acre you inflict.
Who gave you the right to increase your fold
and decrease the pastures of my flock?
Who gave you the right?
Who gave it to you?
Who?
And in whose name do you fight?

I am not in heaven,
I am here,
hear me.
I am in you,
feel me.
I am of you,
be me.
I am with you,
see me.
I am for you,
need me.
I am all mankind;
only through kindness will you reach me.

What masked and bannered men can rock the ark
and navigate a course to their annointed kingdom come?
Who sailed their captain to waters that they troubled in my font,
sinking in the ignorant seas of prejudice?

There is no ****** willing to conceive in the heat of any ****** Sunday.
You crippled children lying in cries on Derry’s streets,
pushing your innocence to the full flush face of Christian guns,
battling the blame on each other,
do not grow tongues in your dying dumb wounds speaking my name.
I am not your prize in your death.
You have exorcized me in your game of politics.

Go home to your knees and worship me in any cloth,
for I was never tailor-made.
Who told you I was?
Who gave you the right to think it?
Take your beads in your crippled hands,
can you count my decades?
Take my love in your crippled hearts,
can you count the loss?

I am not orange.
I am not green.
I am a half-ripe fruit needing both colors to grow into ripeness,
and shame on you to have withered my orchard.
I in my poverty,
alone without trust,
cry shame on you
and shame on you again and again
for converting me into a bullet and shooting me into men’s hearts.

The ageless legend of my trial grows old
in the youth of your pulse staggering shamelessly from barricade to grave,
filing in the book of history my needless death one April.
Let me, in my betrayal, lie low in my grave,
and you, in your bitterness, lie low in yours,
for our measurements grow strangely dissimilar.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
sullied be thy name.
Richard Harris, actor, Irishman, wrote this, pertaining to the protestant-catholic conflict in the sixties and early seventies,
Richard Riddle Nov 2013
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, if 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
3.0k · Jun 2015
"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!!
2.9k · Oct 2013
The Legend of Riddle's Gold
Richard Riddle Oct 2013
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.



Epilogue
(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 *****, 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





True story- sort of. Originally written in three parts.The holdup actually did occur, and witnessed by William Nelson Riddle.  Years later, believing he had hidden the strongbox elsewhere, relatives converged on the property to conduct a "massive" search. A story on this saga appeared in the San Diego Union newspaper on May 7, 1939. William Nelson Riddle is my great-grandfather and resided in Crowley, Johnson County, Tx. This piece was originally written in three parts.
2.8k · Jul 2016
America, Why I Love Her
Richard Riddle Jul 2016
America, Why I Love Her
Written by John Mitchum
Poet/Actor

You ask me why I love her? Well, give me time, and I'll explain...
Have you seen a Kansas sunset or an Arizona rain?
Have you drifted on a bayou down Louisiana way?
Have you watched the cold fog drifting over San Francisco Bay?


Have you heard a Bobwhite calling in the Carolina pines?
Or heard the bellow of a diesel in the Appalachia mines?
Does the call of Niagara thrill you when you hear her waters roar?
Do you look with awe and wonder at a Massachusetts shore...
Where men who braved a hard new world, first stepped on Plymouth Rock?
And do you think of them when you stroll along a New York City dock ?


Have you seen a snowflake drifting in the Rockies...way up high?
Have you seen the sun come blazing down from a bright Nevada sky?
Do you hail to the Columbia as she rushes to the sea...
Or bow your head at Gettysburg...in our struggle to be free?


Have you seen the mighty Tetons? ...Have you watched an eagle soar?
Have you seen the Mississippi roll along Missouri's shore?
Have you felt a chill at Michigan, when on a winters day,
Her waters rage along the shore in a thunderous display?
Does the word "Aloha"... make you warm?
Do you stare in disbelief When you see the surf come roaring in at Waimea reef?


From Alaska's gold to the Everglades...from the Rio Grande to Maine...
My heart cries out... my pulse runs fast at the might of her domain.
You ask me why I love her?... I've a million reasons why.
My beautiful America... beneath Gods' wide, wide sky.





[topp]
Actor John Wayne recorded this back in the 1970's in an album "America, Why I Love her." I've had the opportunies to travel this country from coast to coast, from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico. There's nothing that can equal this country.
2.8k · Sep 2016
"Tree of Life"
Richard Riddle Sep 2016
Your "Tree of Life" has many 'leaves'.......
not all are family...and friends

It's that person
   to whom you just said "Hi"....
While walking down the street

It's the driver of the car
   you let back out of that parking space...
and returned a wave as it was driven away

It's the homeless person
    to whom you gave a couple of dollars
without having been asked

It's that elderly person
    you let in front of you
in the check-out line at the grocery

It's those to whom you gave a smile
    those, whose name... you will never know
And may never......see again......

It's those acts of un-selfishness
     that seem to be 'minor' in scope.....
But, not.....to those addressed-

These are the 'leaves'
      that are on your....

'Tree of Life'...

Keep yours"watered", everyday

r. riddle 09-25-2016
2.6k · Jun 2015
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
2.3k · Jan 2015
Dear Karen
Richard Riddle Jan 2015
Dear Karen,
It is seven years this month when you left us.
I miss you everyday. In the car, seeing the passenger seat empty, but can still hear you telling me to slow down. When I see Russ and Mea, I smile, knowing that our grandchildren, Evan and Emily, would not be here if not for you.

Not long ago, at one of Evan's hockey games, I turned to Mea and said, "I hope Karen is watching this", for Evan(goalie) was playing exceptionally well. Mea put her hand on my shoulder, "she probably has a better seat than we do." I don't doubt that at all. The same goes for Emily and her activities, whether it be soccer, basketball, softball, or who knows what else, I know that you keep that protective blanket around both of them. Yes, there will be scrapes, scratches, bumps, and bruises. perhaps a broken bone. But when the game calls for a "clutch" player, is when the power of the angel, you, leaves the bench, strengthening the confidence of all the players, not just one, or two, but all. Like all things mortal, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. But most of all, they learn. A most important result.

Love you, and miss you!

Richard

copyright: richardriddle 01-07-2015
2.3k · May 2015
To My Grandson-Evan Riddle
Richard Riddle May 2015
Written for a school project*

September 09, 2013

To: Evan Riddle
From: Granddad

Well, I understand that you would like to have a letter from me, recognizing certain traits, and accomplishments, and so forth. Begging your pardon, I will begin in this manner.
A couple of years ago, during a"pre-game warmup" prior to the start of one of your games, I was standing behind the glass watching the pucks bounce off your chest. A young boy, perhaps a year younger, came up, stood beside me, also watching you. He then turned, yelling to a friend, "here he is, #41!"  He was quickly joined by his friend and another, all three watching you at close range.You have no idea how that made me feel. How proud of you I was, that apparently your reputation was developing among your peers within the "ice crowd."
In my home, on a wall, is a photo of you, taken during the All-Star game in Ottawa, Canada. You, wearing the red and white All-Star jersey,  standing in front of the net watching and observing the action that soon would be coming at you.
This is my favorite photo. The expression on your face silently reflects your abilities to "focus" on what you are supposed to do, the "determination" to do it, and the "perseverance" to get it done. Three traits that have followed, and stayed with you, and guided you to be successful, in all you have accomplished in both sport and academic activities in which you have participated. You are respected by your team, your coaches, your teachers, and your classmates. You can't have better than that.

Love you,
Granddad
Although this is not a poem, per se, for personal reasons I find it necessary to post. Circle photo taken during All-star game at a tournament in Ottawa, Canada, 2012. His team won 4-3 in a shoot-out.
2.2k · Jul 2016
Face the Flag
Richard Riddle Jul 2016
(Composed by Billy Liebert; Recorded by John Wayne -1973)

Face the Flag of stars and bars,
Of red and white and blue,
A flag that guarantees the rights
For men like me and you.
Face the Flag, son! Read what's written there--
The history, the progress and the heritage we share.
Our flag relects the past, son, but stands for so much more,
And in this Age of Aquarius, it still flies in the fore.
It leads the forward movement, shared by all mankind,
To learn...to love...to live with peace of mind;
To learn the mysteries of space, as well as those of earth;
To love each man for what he is, regardless of his birth;
To live without the fear of reprisal for belief;
To ease the tensions of a world that cries out for relief.
Face the Flag of stars and bars,
Of red and white and blue,
A flag that guarantees the rights
For men like me and you.
Face the Flag, son! Take a good long look.
What you're seeing now can't be found in a history book.
It's the present and the future, son. It's being written now,
And you're the one to write it, but the flag can show you how.
Do you know what it stands for? What its makers meant?
To think...to speak...the privilege of dissent;
To think our leaders might be wrong...to stand and tell them so.
These are the things that other men under other flags will never know.
But responsibility...that's the cross that free men must bear,
And if you don't accept that, the freedom isn't there.
Face the Flag of stars and bars,
Of red and white and blue,
A flag that guarantees the rights
For men like me and you.
Face the Flag, son, and face reality.
Our strengths and our freedoms are based in unity.
The flag is but a symbol, son, of the world's greatest nation,
And as long as it keeps flying, there's cause for celebration.
So do what you've got to do, but always keep in mind,
A lot of people believe in peace...but there are the other kind.
If we want to keep these freedoms, we may have to fight again.
God forbid, but if we do, let's always fight to win,
For the fate of a loser is futile and it's bare:
No love, no peace...just misery and despair.
2.2k · Jan 2016
Culinary Pleasures
Richard Riddle Jan 2016
My wife, Karen, was an excellent cook.....
learned from her mother...
Who learned from her mother

My sister-in-law, Marcia, magnificent....
learned from her mother....
Who learned from her mother

My mother, Grace, exceptional...
especially, when it came to "pies."
Learned from her mother....
who learned from her mother....

Well, they had to learn the art from somewhere!

"Magicians in their kitchens", my father-in-law, Larry, often said, when Karen's mother started preparing a festive meal, especially for a holiday such as Christmas or New Year's. (She could prepare a Crown Roast so tender it could be cut with the blade of a toy rubber knife). All three had a common denominator that was learned from their mothers, our "Grandmothers." Very seldom did either of them use a measuring cup, or spoon.

A 'pinch' of this, a 'dash' of that! If the recipe called for a cup of milk, Karen's mother would tip that bottle of milk over the ***, count to "two", utter "that's about enough." If a recipe called for a cup of flour, my mother would extend her hand over the bowl, pour the flour into her hand, "that's about right," she'd say. The best apple, or peach pie, you ever tasted. "There's something missing", was Marcia's favorite statement, then reach into the pantry for "whatever."

Passed down from grandmothers, to mothers, to daughters, and to sons as well, we all knew that when we sat down at the table, for however long it would be, we would be in heaven. All because of........

"GRANDMOTHERS!"







.


.
Richard Riddle Jan 2015
From: Richard Riddle
using: "nicy stephanie" or "rita derrick"


THE INFO BELOW STILL APPLIES---DO NOT RESPOND!!
ALERT !!
You may already be aware of a message currently showing up in the HP message boxes from a female(supposedly) identifying herself only as "Miss Stephanie". She states that she saw/read your profile and is interested you, and has something important to tell you. She asks that you reply with YOUR email, then gives an email address supposedly belonging to her. No other information is given.
DO NOT REPLY!!
She will post two, or more poems, probably in an effort to gain trust and establish credibility. She may even mention the on-going situation with Boko Haram, or some other conflict. THIS IS A SCAM!! Once your email falls into the wrong hands, there are untold numbers of consequences.DELETE it immediately, then BLOCK IT.
Please pass this on!

Thanks,
Richard Riddle
1.9k · Aug 2015
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
Richard Riddle Jan 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, the children,
watched generations come and go thru that 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."
1.8k · Feb 2015
For Sally Bayan
Richard Riddle Feb 2015
The hieroglyphs of the pharoahs,
and those of the ancient Mayan-
Their elegance, and eloquence,
"Yield"
To the words of Sally Bayan.

(love your talent, Sally!)

copyright: Richard Riddle-February 04, 2015
Richard Riddle Feb 2017
From September - 2016*


"Comforting", it is-
in its application"

"Calming", it is-
in its purpose"

"Love",
is its message"

Whether applied to an infant babe in a crib....
or making the tears of a crying child disappear...

or, simply giving a hug to mom and dad.......

or, your children.......grandchildren.........

or, to a friend.......

Channeled thru you... from heaven..........

The "power".................of..............a "touch"


r.riddle: 09-18-2016

*inspired by Pradip Chattopadhyay's "Distance"
1.7k · Jun 2014
A Piece of My Life
Richard Riddle Jun 2014
By Emily Riddle(age-9)


I just couldn't do without
my grandma's heart necklace -
It was a gift to me, although
she passed away when I was little.

It also holds all of my mad,
sad, and happy memories,
just like it is a part of me.
I wear it on very special occasions,
since it is so unique.

When I wear it close to my heart-
it makes me feel special.
That's why I would always
feel happy, or at least, a little joyful,
when I hold it to my chest-
to pretend my grandma is
still alive.

She was very important to me-
We did so much together,
and I miss her,
and the special times we shared.

I can feel her with me
when I wear it, or hold it,
close to me.

Without this prized possession,
all of my feelings
would be lost,
with my grandma, in the sky.

My heart necklace
means the world to me,
and I wouldn't change
anything about it.

People say
"jewelry is made
to look beautiful."

Well, I say,
It was made to be a
"Memory Holder!!"

copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013
My granddaughter Emily, wrote this essay as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle.
1.7k · Aug 2013
"1894"
Richard Riddle Aug 2013
I wish to share a story
of when I nearly met my fate-
A tale of an adventure,
and a quest I had to make

A story of an abandoned mine-
A search for silver and gold-
Of prospectors, and the miners-
And the secrets they must hold

My father used to pan for gold
in the mountains and their streams-
And found enough of the elusive stuff
to make my mother's wedding rings.

I thought that I would try my hand-
to see what I could find-
So I set out to seek the entrance
to an old, abandoned, mine

I left for Arizona,
     to Prescott, I wished to go -
    Crossed the Rio Grande,
   on thru New Mexico.

Finally got to Phoenix -
   800 miles and count'n,
     then north, up to Prescott,
        Thumb Butte, and Granite Mountain.

            I pitched my tent on Granite Creek,
          with great anticipation-
           Checked the notes from my father's quotes,
                and began the exploration

   With my father's tin pan packed in a bag-
and his pic-ax at my side-
I felt like a real "old timer",
with heaven as my guide.

           I found the one I was looking for-
                with a darkened cave as the entrance door-
           And a handmade sign on a rotting board, said
"Welcome Friend, 1894."

Well, I picked and I chipped! and I chipped and I picked!
til the sores on my hands ran red-
             When I felt some dirt, drifting down on my shirt-
and some pebbles hit my head.

It only took a second-
for the ground to start to quake-
The dirt was falling faster,
and the walls began to shake.

I ran as fast as I knew how,
toward that entrance door-
When the last crosstimber broke in half,
and came crashing to the floor!

Now, I don't know how much time had passed-
since all of that began-
But felt as if I had been in a trance-
when someone took my hand.

I grabbed my shirt-tail, wiped my eyes-
tilt my head to see-
And saw a sun-dried, weathered face,
looking down on me!

He wore a wrinkled old hat,
an old flannel shirt-
Raggedy old pants, and a mile's
worth of dirt-

He had a beard of silver threads,
with a tinge of ginger root-
His hands were thick, and calloused,
and their color matched his boots.

He gave me a jug of water
that came from the nearby creek
As I began to take a drink-
he began to speak-

"Strange thing about abandoned mines-
they wish to be left alone,
To keep the souls of all of those-
who often called them home."

His voice began to tremble-
as he spoke those woeful words,
He seemed to be recalling
many things he'd seen and heard.

"It isn't greed that brought you here,
I can see that, in your eyes,
it's not just ore, you're looking for-
But another kind of prize."

"You must go back to your domain,
and you'll find that treasure chest-
For it lies deep within your heart-
and in those folks you favor best."

I shut my eyes, said a prayer-
  and asked, if what I did was wrong?
When I finished, and said "amen",
that old man was gone.

I never asked him for his name-
    or the place from whence he came-
    Some things are better left in silence-
and not to be explained.

I went back to take another look,
and gather up my gear-
Tried to find that “Welcome” sign,
but, it too, had disappeared.

I stood in "awe,and wonder,"-
of the place that I had found-
And with my eyes, realized,
I had trod on hallowed ground.

Going home I pondered,
'o'er the words that old man said-
But, did all that really happen,
   or was it from the "bumps" upon my head?

I got back home, and cracked a smile,
As I strode up to the door-
And there, hung a handmade sign
on a rotting board, said-
 "Welcome Home, 1894!"
Richard Riddle Feb 2015
HR Mgr:  So, Amber, you're applying for the file clerk position?
App: "Yea."(Keeps brushing her hair off of her right eyebrow)
HR: "You didn't fill in the space for your last name. Does Amber
         have a last name?"
App: "Yea."(giggle). "Dexterous."
HR: "Amber Dexterous, interesting." and you say your former job
         was "entertainment dancing."  
App: "Yea."(Brush-brush!)
HR: "Poetry in motion, I'm sure." "Amber, are you a stripper?"
App: "I'm not a "Strip-AH! I'm a Dan-SAH!"
HR: "Okay, okay! So, do you use poles in your dance routines?"
App: "Nooooo, I don't do thaaa't. But, I do like the Canadians!"


copyright: richard riddle February 14, 2015
I should apologize for the "wordplay", but I won't! This piece was written for entertainment purposes only, and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
1.6k · May 2014
Predator
Richard Riddle May 2014
Silent-
   Still-
Listening-
   Observing-
Reasoning-
   Waiting-
For the right moment-
    For the right distance-
Precise timing-
    Then--
LEAP!!!
Attacking the unsuspecting prey!
    clinging!
To my socks-
Kicking!     
   clawing!
Running away.
   hiding-
Behind the sofa
  
My cat-
BRIE!(as in cheese)

copyright-Richard riddle 05-20-14
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
1.6k · Dec 2015
Best Christmas Gifts
Richard Riddle Dec 2015
I've been asked by our son and the grandchildren, Evan and Emily, "Granddad, what would you like to have Santa bring you for Christmas?" A stock answer with grandparents nearly everywhere is, "Don't get me anything, for I have everything I need or want, so save your money."
Although this is a true answer, I usually give some kind of a rediculous answer like, "A pair of horseshoes would be nice." They smile, laugh, but it wouldn't surprise me if they bought a pair.
When I say, "I have what I want", I mean just that. For you see, my family, our son Russ, daughter-in-law, Mea, Evan and Emily, and my "Guardian Angel", "Brie", are my Christmas gifts, 365 days a year.

I can't ask for more than that!

copyright: richard riddle- 12-21-2015
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
1.5k · Aug 2013
Folklore and Fairy Tales
Richard Riddle Aug 2013
Where is that inner child,
why did it depart-
And take with it the stories,
That were close unto your heart

From Mother Goose to Tennyson's
"Idyll's of the King",
folklore and fairy tales-
Of which the minstrels sing

              Knights in shining armor,                  
atop their steeds of grace-
Protecting king and country
as they ride from place to place

There’s Jack and his stalk of beans,
“Lil Red and her hood-
Hansel, and his sister-
traips'n thru the wood

Rainbows and leprechauns,
elusive pots ‘o’ gold,
Oh, how many, many times have these
tales been told-

Fairies ‘neath the mushroom caps,
elves in their acorn hats,
Dancing 'neath the moon-ring light-
as fireflies flicker, to the “music
of the night”

And from the heavens, a horse appears-
adorned with wings of flight-
And from its head, a single horn-
the pure, and blessed, unicorn.

The minstrels, with their lutes and lyres-
amused the population-
But, could it be, these tales be true,
or just your imagination?

That inner child, it's still there
It hasn’t gone away-
It just needs to be awakened-
on perhaps, this very day.*


r.riddle December 18, 2010-Copyright
Richard Riddle May 2015
Dear Karen


Dear Karen,
It is seven years this month when you left us.
I miss you everyday. In the car, seeing the passenger seat empty, but can still hear you telling me to slow down. When I see Russ and Mea, I smile, knowing that our grandchildren, Evan and Emily, would not be here if not for you.

Not long ago, at one of Evan's hockey games, I turned to Mea and said, "I hope Karen is watching this", for Evan(goalie) was playing exceptionally well. Mea put her hand on my shoulder, "she probably has a better seat than we do." I don't doubt that at all. The same goes for Emily and her activities, whether it be soccer, basketball, softball, or who knows what else, I know that you keep that protective blanket around both of them. Yes, there will be scrapes, scratches, bumps, and bruises. perhaps a broken bone. But when the game calls for a "clutch" player, is when the power of the angel, you, leaves the bench, strengthening the confidence of all the players, not just one, or two, but all. Like all things mortal, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. But most of all, they learn. A most important result.

Love you, and miss you!

Richard

copyright: richardriddle 01-07-2015
1.5k · Oct 2016
" Out From the Mist"
Richard Riddle Oct 2016
Ragged cliffs loom o'er the shore-
as waves punish the rocks below -
"Deafening",
is their roar..........

*A fleece, a blanket, of mist...and fog,
muffles the 'pleas'
From the 'sailing ships'.....
moored in the salty seas


Out from the mist...
alone.........she comes-
"A battle waits.... to be won"
says this maiden.....from Avalon


With arms outspread--
and opened palms.......
She 'chants'...for the sea to lie "still.... and calm"...
says the maiden.......from Avalon


"Oh God of Nature....of  all men -
I beseech thee..........
To shield these men of  gallantry".....
'Chants'...the maiden from Avalon


As she speaks.....
the waves subside.....silent, is their roar
The solar orb....no longer hides....
As the brave doth come ashore
.

Is it magic, myth, or simply......lore?
perhaps, a tale not told before-
But....... when all was said, and done......
"Blessed be the maiden"
.....

"From Avalon"

r.riddle- 10-29-2016
1.5k · Nov 2013
New Shoes
Richard Riddle Nov 2013
I bought a pair of shoes, not too long ago-
Some folks call them “sneakers"-
I prefer to call them “squeakers.”
because they "squish and squawk" from heel to toe

Yes, it can be annoying-
To those with whom I work-
Walking down the hallway,
causing heads to turn, and shirk.

Reactions are amusing-
but mostly a lot of fun-
The only disadvantage is-
I can’t sneak up on anyone.

                                             Copyright r.riddle November 21, 2013
1.5k · Apr 2015
Thought for the Day XXX
Richard Riddle Apr 2015
There is one advantage to being self-employed. You can show favoritism in selecting the "Employee of the Week."
Richard Riddle Mar 2015
Re: Ancient Greece: How do you read a sundial, especially if you work on a nightshift at Acme Stonecutters, Inc.? Something for Socrates to ponder.(He was always late for work)
1.4k · Dec 2014
The Vendor
Richard Riddle Dec 2014
I've been through "complicated"
Its time for "simple" to take a seat-
So I looked for a job with a lot less stress
that would take me off my feet

I applied over here, and applied over there-
Finally got a stroke of luck-
Here I sit, next to the curb,
In my ice cream truck.

Mothers with their children
gather with gleaming faces-
I give the bars with nuts and toffee
to those with dental braces.

copyright: richard riddle December 26, 2014
1.4k · Jun 2016
A Remarkable Man
Richard Riddle Jun 2016
I have had two opportunites to meet Muhammad Ali, once in Oklahoma City(1972) while working for KWTV Channel-9, and the second time in 1975,working for WAVE-TV Channel-3, Louisville, Kentucky, which is his hometown. On each occasion he was in town for some type of benefit appearance. At Channel 3, the sports director was Ed Kallay, who was to do the interview, and who just happened to be Ali's mentor when Ali was much younger and involved with "Golden Gloves", a youth boxing organization. I was a 'director' in the production dept. and it was my job to set up and direct the cameras, etc., during the taping.
He was a fascinating man, eloquent, extremely intelligent, charismatic, approachable, with a great sense of humor. When I introduced myself, he looked at me and said,"I've met you before, in Oklahoma City." Needless to say, "I was stunned!"
During the 'pre-taping' conversation, the three of us were having a cup of coffee. I made a comment on the size of his hands. I placed my right hand flat against his left, thumb to thumb, finger to finger.. He curled his fingers over mine, nearly hiding them. I sure wouldn't want to get hit by him.
He was, admittingly, also a 'bit' of a 'self-promoter.' During that conversation, he made the following comment: "A few weeks before a fight, I start shooting my mouth off, make a lot of people mad, but come fight night they really lay it down, (then took his thumb and swiped it across the open palm of his other hand, simulating the money bets being placed with the Vegas bookies.) let the 'show' begin!" And, did it ever!!

He was also a great humanitarian, donating to various charities, youth organizations, and never forgetting his roots.

A remarkable man! God Bless You, Muhammad Ali!

richard riddle: 06-05-2016
1.4k · Mar 2015
Perseverance (repost)
Richard Riddle Mar 2015
When I think of  places where I've been
and  things that I have done-
I recall many battles fought-
and those I've lost, and won.

I've met a lot of people-
on my stops along the way-
and remember a lot of faces-
But many names, have gone astray.

Friends have even asked me,
"why don't you retire?"
I answer very simply,
"I'm not ready to expire!"

                        richard riddle-copyright October 15, 2013
Richard Riddle Nov 2015
HR Mgr:  So, Amber, you're applying for the file clerk position?
App: "Yea."(Keeps brushing her hair off of her right eyebrow)
HR: "You didn't fill in the space for your last name. Does Amber
         have a last name?"
App: "Yea."(giggle). "Dexterous."
HR: "Amber Dexterous, interesting." and you say your former job
         was "entertainment dancing."  
App: "Yea."(Brush-brush!)
HR: "Poetry in motion, I'm sure." "Amber, are you a stripper?"
App: "I'm not a "Strip-AH! I'm a Dan-SAH!"
HR: "Okay, okay! So, do you use poles in your dance routines?"
App: "Nooooo, but, I do like the Canadians!"


copyright: richard riddle February 14, 2015

I should apologize for the "wordplay", but I won't! This piece was written for entertainment purposes only, and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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 Jan 2016
5:30 a.m:

Been awake for an hour, can't sleep, can't relax the brain. Came up with this. Just something to do at this tme of the morning.

I don't know how many times, never counted them, when investigating a motor vehicle accident, a participating driver said to me: "I wouldn't have hit that parked car if that "little brown dog" hadn't run out in front of me!", or "I had to swerve to keep from hitting that "little brown dog!" If in a tree-lined neighborhood, substitute a squirrel. Squirrels add more crediblity, simply because their reputation for running out in front of moving vehicles at the 'last second" is universal.

Why do squirrels do that? I don't know. I don't know anyone that knows. I don't know anyone who knows anyone that knows! It is truly, one of "natures mysteries." And, it's hard to prove that it didn't happen, for these little beasts always seem to disappear,  never to be seen again.

Why a "little brown dog?" Dogs come in different colors, different sizes, but in vehicle accidents, it's always the small, "little brown dog".. It makes no difference that the blood alcohol level in the driver may be two to three times over the limit, or talking on their cell phone, it's always the fault of the creature with the furry little ****.

This will probably generate some comments on collisions with deer, moose, perhaps a rhinocerous, but that's a different level. I interviewed one driver who claimed the bright lights from a UFO blinded him moments before he "ran into the ditch", then sped off into "nether space." That UFO was probably piloted by a "little brown dog" and a squirrel.

01-24-2016
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!
1.3k · Nov 2015
My Grandparents House
Richard Riddle Nov 2015
In the dining room, on the wall
were pictures of times past-
Of aunts and uncles, and some curios-
memories, that will, forever last-

One item hung in silence-
a product of those olden days-
Called into service-
when respect for others-often went astray

I remember what my father said
when I asked what 'that' was for-
and a slight grin crossed his face-
"Ahh, yes, I recall it, that's for sure!"

"That's a leather strop", he said -
"to hone a razor, when we shaved-
It was also a "learning tool"-
when we, as kids, misbehaved."

My dad was from the "old school"
when "respect" was being taught
Not by others, but by our parents
else our purpose..........
"Went for naught!"

richard riddle: 11.10.2015
Back then, it took a little "paddl'n" now and then, to attain a certain level of communication.
1.3k · Sep 2015
Rust to Rust(repost)
Richard Riddle Sep 2015
Indulge me for a few brief moments, if you will. While placing some old photos in an album, I realized that soon it will have been 25 years since the passing of my father. Had it not been for him, I wouldn't have been able to compose some of the stories that have appeared on HP. For that reason, I chose to re-post my piece, "Rust to Rust." For those that have taken the time to have previously read it, "thank you."  For any new members that I hope will read it, thank you, ahead of time.

Richard Riddle


At first glance, it's just a rust-covered pan, typical of what could be found in the trash, hiding behind an old abandoned building. But, its more than that.

This pan is more than a hundred years old. It belonged to my great-grandfather, to my grandfather, then my father. It's the pan my father used to find those small, glistening nuggets, taken from small streams in the mountains of Arizona and California, from which my mother's wedding rings were created.

I cannot  begin to imagine the events this pan had laid witness to, or how many stories lie beneath that blanket of red crust. Oh, the history lessons it could teach. Held by calloused hands, it tasted the water that held those particles of nature that men sought, and died for, in their search for wealth. It heard the cries, and caught the tears, of many who failed in their endeavors.

At one time I considered restoring it to it's earlier time, then realized I would be destroying a history book, and the protective blanket that preserves those untold stories, hopefully, for many more years to come. It will be passed to my grandchildren.

               copyright: richard riddle-February 16,2015
Thank you, Dad! A color photo of the "pan" can be seen on Facebook.
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.)
1.3k · Sep 2014
For My Friends at HP
Richard Riddle Sep 2014
There will always be someone who wants what you have, for its easier to steal from someone who has already performed the work, whether a material object, idea, or talent, etc.. Someone who takes credit, where it isn't due, for what you have accomplished, worked hard to attain, or saved for a special purchase. Hence, the PLAGIARIST!

The counterfeiters, whether it be money, or the reproduction of the "Old Masters" oil paintings, claiming it was purchased at a garage sale, or found in an old trunk in the attic of an old house they purchased. Many scenarios, many such events, and mostly untrue. Plain, and simple, they are nothing but "THIEVES." They have been around for thousands of years. Aggravating, yes! Frustrating, absolutely! Discouraging, you bet! The difficult part is knowing"they don't care!", as long as they get what you have, or think they can.

To my friends at HP: Regardless of whatever name they wish to use at the bottom of your piece, your signature is still inside the piece itself. Whether it be a particular phrase or word meticulously placed, the style of your writings, the way you approach your thought, the rhythmic flow of your prose, the softness or harshness of expression. All which has created "your signature". That, cannot be reproduced.

To those literary "thieves: You will continue to try and steal our work. But, for each letter stolen, for each word stolen, only creates another rung on your ladder, leading you deeper and deeper,further down into your abyss of loneliness, until the blanket of your depression, discontent, and hatred suffocates you. That is when your name will become known only as, "WHO?"

copyright: Richard Riddle September 08, 2014 10:00am(CDT)
Richard Riddle May 2016
repost from November, 2013*

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, if 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
1.3k · Jun 2015
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
Richard Riddle Aug 2013
In my travels, I happened to find this little box. It has no key, and has no locks. So, sit back, sip a cup of coffee, or favorite drink, relax for a little while,  and hopefully, enjoy the ride:

On the table, the box it sits-
All six sides of equal fit-
What is the mystery inside-?
What are the secrets that it hides?
This little box--
That has no key--and has no locks.

The Oracles of Delphi-the hermits on the peak-
Claimed to see the future-but in truth they did not seek-
The power of this little box-
That has no key ----- and has no locks.

It doesn't eat! It doesn't breath!!
But oft it can, and will, relieve
Your fears of the fiercest days ahead--
All within this little box-
That has no key---------and has no locks.

When clouds gather, dark and drea'r--
Eyes swell, and start to tear--
It's not a curse! nor a pox!
Just pick up the little box--
That has no key---------------and has no locks.

So, with great ferocity--
Quench your thirst of curiosity!
Discover the secrets held within!!
Feel the power again, and again!!!
Learn the mystery of the box--
That has no key--------------------and has no locks

(YOU MAY NOW OPEN THE BOX)
                                                            ­                                      
Put together with guise and guile--
With hopes that it will make you smile-
So, now you know the mystery--
And the secret of the box-
There never was a need -- for keys and locks!!!       
           
Copyright r.riddle-August 17, 2010
Should be presented as a "gag gift." A ceramic coffee cup in the shape of a toilet worked for me.
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
Richard Riddle Dec 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 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
Next page