Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Richard Riddle Jan 2016
(My first posting on HP, August 28, 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 search 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-
when 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, I 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 the "bumps" upon my head?

I got back home and with a smile-
strode up to the door-
And there, hung a handmade sign
on a rotting board, said-


"Welcome Home, 1894”

r.riddle August 2011
revised July 28, 2013

I know, for a fact, that the third stanza is true. Everything else was created from "yarns" coming, not just from my father, but uncles as well. And I also threw in my two cents. This work is dedicated to them.
Richard Riddle Dec 2016
(My first posting on HP. Nor will I ever forget the comments from Sally and Pradip.  Occasionally, I like to repost it for the newcomers to the site.)


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 search 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-
when 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 tilt the jug 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, I 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 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

copyright: r.riddle August 2011
copyright: revised July 28, 2013

I know, for a fact, that the third stanza is true. Everything else was created from "yarns" coming, not just from my father, but uncles as well. And I also threw in my two cents.
Richard Riddle Jan 2015
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 search 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-
when 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, I 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 the "bumps" upon my head?

I got back home and with a smile-
strode up to the door-
And there, hung a handmade sign
on a rotting board, said-


"Welcome Home, 1894”

r.riddle August 2011
revised July 28, 2013
I know, for a fact, that the third stanza is true. Everything else was created from "yarns" coming, not just from my father, but uncles as well. And I also threw in my two cents. This work is dedicated to them.
Richard Riddle Sep 2015
(My first posting on HP. Nor will I ever forget the comments from Sally and Pradip.  Occasionally, I like to repost it for the newcomers to the site.)


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 search 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-
when 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, I 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 the "bumps" upon my head?

I got back home and with a smile-
strode up to the door-
And there, hung a handmade sign
on a rotting board, said-


"Welcome Home, 1894”

copyright: r.riddle August 2011
copyright: revised July 28, 2013

I know, for a fact, that the third stanza is true. Everything else was created from "yarns" coming, not just from my father, but uncles as well. And I also threw in my two cents. This work is dedicated to them.
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 May 2015
PRELUDE

Who is this man with name unknown
with silver hair, and beard long-grown-
Who walks among the birds and beasts
with nature catering to his feasts-

"An eremite", say the village folk,
"the hermit on the mound!"
A mystic, an oracle, philosopher, or seer?

"Perhaps, ye'll find the answer,
buried here!"

.........................

He was sitting on a sidewalk bench
a wrinkled hat laid at his feet
Passers-by would drop their change
as they meandered down the street

"God bless you sir", or madam,
he always replied-
In such a gracious and mannerly way ,
that made him impossible to deny
                                    
Some folks would make a comment,
most were polite, others, mild rebukes-
I went to speak on his behalf,
to these young and naive groups.

When I laid my hand on his shoulder
a glint in his eyes put me amiss!
It was then, that I realized
just who this old man is!

"I'll tell you a story, I said,
to the folks standing near,
a tale of caring and compassion-
That I think you'd like to hear"

" I've read legends about "lost gold mines"
and  indian folklore
And I tell you folks, without a doubt,
I've met this man before!"

"It's been 'nigh on to fifty years
since I've been back this way
T'was a time when I nearly lost my life,
I  recall it, as if it happened yesterday!"

Now, the crowd began to grow a bit-
to listen to my tale-
Of exploring an old, abandoned mine
when the walls began to fail.

I told them of the rumble,
when the ground began to quake
How the ceiling began to crumble
when the walls began to shake-

I told them of the stranger
with silver beard, streaked with tan-
Who came out of nowhere
to help a fellow man

The stranger, who gave me water-
who smiled as he gripped my hand,
while I quenched my thirst
from the curse, of this forsaken land

The folklore tells of a holyman
a name he doesn't bore
who strolls the mountain ridges
and across these cactus covered floors

But, I know who, and what he is-
and up my spine it sends the chills-
When I tell you, "you've  come
       face to face
           with......

"The Angel of the Hills!"

copyright: richard riddle May 01, 2015
50+ years following the incident related in my work titled "1894"
Richard Riddle Nov 2015
PRELUDE

Who is this man with name unknown
with silver hair, and beard long-grown-
Who walks among the birds and beasts
with nature catering to his feasts-

"An eremite", say the village folk,
"the hermit on the mound!"
A mystic, an oracle, philosopher, or seer?

"Perhaps, ye'll find the answer,
buried here!"

.........................

He was sitting on a sidewalk bench
a wrinkled hat laid at his feet
Passers-by would drop their change
as they meandered down the street

"God bless you sir", or madam,
he always replied-
In such a gracious and mannerly way ,
that made him impossible to deny
                                    
Some folks would make a comment,
most were polite, others, mild rebukes-
I went to speak on his behalf,
to these young and naive groups.

When I laid my hand on his shoulder
a glint in his eyes put me amiss!
It was then, that I realized
just who this old man is!

"I'll tell you a story, I said,
to the folks standing near,
a tale of caring and compassion-
That I think you'd like to hear"

" I've read legends about "lost gold mines"
and  indian folklore
And I tell you folks, without a doubt,
I've met this man before!"

"It's been 'nigh on to, well, 'many' years
since I've been back this way
T'was a time when I nearly lost my life,
I  recall it, as if it happened yesterday!"

Now, the crowd began to grow a bit-
to listen to my tale-
Of exploring an old, abandoned mine
when the walls began to fail.

I told them of the rumble,
when the ground began to quake
How the ceiling began to crumble
when the walls began to shake-

I told them of the stranger
with silver beard, streaked with tan-
Who came out of nowhere
to help a fellow man

The stranger, who gave me water-
who smiled as he gripped my hand,
while I quenched my thirst
from the curse, of this forsaken land

The folklore tells of a holyman
a name he doesn't bore
who strolls the mountain ridges
and across these cactus covered floors

But, I know who, and what he is-
and up my spine it sends the chills-
When I tell you, "you've  come
       face to face
           with......

"The Angel of the Hills!"

copyright: richard riddle May 01, 2015

related to my work titled "1894"
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
Richard Riddle Dec 2015
I awoke in a cold sweat. Dream or portent, I asked myself. Was it a solution, an answer?
In the desert, battle line drawn in the sand. One side,the amassed army of ISIS. On the other, our "secret weapons." 5,000 personal injury attorneys, in battle garb, brown suit and tie, armed with leather briefcases, legal briefs filed, papers to be served. The charge began, ISIS,  terror stricken, retreats. I woke up. (Well, nothing else seems to be working.)

copyright: richard riddle-December 07, 2015
satire
Richard Riddle Dec 2016
It's a life-long process-
Learning                                              ­                                                                 ­  
to judge others-
Objectively

We shouldn't "shop" for friends.
We "earn them"

It's difficult..... hard to do
Takes time......................

Doesn't always work

It takes 'work' to keep the ones you have

r.riddle: 12-01-2016
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
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
Richard Riddle May 2015
From: Richard Riddle
using: "nicy stephanie" or "rita derrick"(this time its solicitation msgs)
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
Richard Riddle Apr 2015
Neighbor: "Hey, Amber! Did you watch the eclipse the other morning?"
Amber:(Brushing her hair from her forehead)"I tried but I couldn't see it very well."
Neighbor: "How come, it was a very clear night?"
Amber: "It was parked between two pickup trucks."

copyright: richard riddle-Revised April 08, 2015
Amber Dexterous is fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Eclipse is a vehicle manufactured by Mitsubishi.
Richard Riddle Mar 2015
Community College of Theology

Prof: "That concludes todays discussion of events during the B.C.E.(Before the Common Era) and Moses turning the Nile River into "blood." Any questions?"

Student: "I have a question! I have a question!"(brushing her hair off of her forehead)
Prof: "Okay, and your name is..."
Student: "Amber Dexterous" (brush-brush)
Prof: "Ah, yes, Amber", and your question is.....?
Amber: "What does BCE stand for again?"
Prof:(To himself, "Why me?). "Means Bachelor of Chemical Engineering."
Amber: "Moses had a college degree?!!!!

copyright: richard riddle-revised April 08, 2015
You may remember Amber from "The Interview." Amber, Episode II is written for entertainment purposes, and not directed toward any particular individual or group. Amber Dexterous and Community College of Theology are fictitious.At least, I hope so. Any resemblance to people living or dead, is purely coincidental. Stay Tuned for more episodes with Amber.
Richard Riddle Apr 2015
Neighbor: "Hey, what did you get Amber for her birthday?"

BF: I gave her a blank CD and told her it was a rare, pirated copy
      titled "Marcel Marceau's Greatest Hits."

Neighbor: "And?"

BF: "She liked it."

Neighbor: That's scary!


copyright: richard riddle 04-12-15
Amber Dexterous is written strictly for entertainment purposes.Amber Dexterous is fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, is purely coincidental. Marcel Marceau is a "mime."
Richard Riddle May 2015
(Amber is taking a Geometry class at community college)

Prof: Today, we'll discuss the Isoceles Triangle.
Amber: "Oooh, isn't that where all the planes and boats disappear in
              the ocean(brushing hair from her forehead). I love stories like
              that!"
Prof(sarcastically: "Yep", that's it!"
copyright: richard riddle May 31, 2015
Richard Riddle Oct 2015
Amber, brushing hair away from forehead, is walking to her car.

Neighbor: "Hi Amber, Happy Columbus Day!"
Amber: "What day is it, again?"
Neighbor: "Columbus Day. Banks are closed, post offices, schools closed.
Amber(Brush-brush): "Oh yea, the guy that discovered Columbus, Ohio!"
Neighbor: "That's him."
Neighbor(to himself): "It never stops."

copyright: richard riddle October 12, 2015
Columbus Day, October 12, celebrates the discovery of what is known as North America by the Italian mariner on October 12, 1492
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.
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 May 2015
(Amber and boyfriend are having dinner at her home. She is in the kitchen.)

BF: "Amber, its starting to rain, do you have an umbrella?"
Amber:" Yes'ssss."(brushing hair off of forehead))
BF: "Where is it?"
Amber: "Outside"(brush-brush)
BF: Why is it outside?"
Amber: "It's not raining in the house!"
BF:(To himself) I'll give her that one.

(if anyone wants to copyright this one-have at it!)
Richard Riddle May 2015
Amber Dexterous(The Writer)-Episode VI
(Amber is taking a creative writing class at the community college)


Prof: "Today I am going to explain, and show you what
          it means to conjugate verbs."

(Amber folds her notebook, stands, and walks toward the door)

Prof: "Where are you going Amber?"

Amber: "I'm sorry, sir(brushing hair off her forehead), but I don't like
               *******!"
    
Prof: "Uh, you're excused!"


copyright: richard riddle May 24, 2015
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.
Richard Riddle Aug 2014
By Emily Riddle-Age 9 

Special: The dictionary describes an angel as a "thing or person, that means a lot to someone. Well, I describe an angel as my grandmother.

My grandmother is a wonderful person, and what she is best at
is caring about what I will become.
I am so glad to be in her life, and in her beautiful world.

She has a heart of gold, and is a "doctor to my soul."
She is the "nurse" that make my hurts disappear.
She is my "piggy bank of niceness."

When I would get a birthday, or Christmas gift, she would always say,
"If you don't like it, be sure to try it."
I would always listen to her, for everybody knows
"grandmothers are always right."

I think of her everyday, and feel that  I can do anything
when I'm around her. Just remember,
"Always be happy for what you have, and don't imagine a life without a grandmother."

They are worth a billion dollars.

copyright: emily riddle August 27,2014
Penned in 2013 by my granddaughter, Emily Riddle. Written for her Grandmother Linda, its worth more than a billion dollars.
Richard Riddle Nov 2016
By Emily Riddle-Age 9 (She will turn 13 on Feb 16, 2016)

Special: The dictionary describes an angel as a "thing or person, that means a lot to someone. Well, I describe an angel as my grandmother.

My grandmother is a wonderful person, and what she is best at
is caring about what I will become.
I am so glad to be in her life, and in her beautiful world.

She has a heart of gold, and is a "doctor to my soul."
She is the "nurse" that make my hurts disappear.
She is my "piggy bank of niceness."

When I would get a birthday, or Christmas gift, she would always say,
"If you don't like it, be sure to try it."
I would always listen to her, for everybody knows
"grandmothers are always right."

I think of her everyday, and feel that  I can do anything
when I'm around her. Just remember,
"Always be happy for what you have, and don't imagine a life without a grandmother."

They are worth a billion dollars.

copyright: emily riddle August 27,2014

Penned in 2013 by my granddaughter, Emily Riddle. Written for her Grandmother Linda, its worth more than a billion dollars.
Richard Riddle Feb 2016
By Emily Riddle-Age 9 (She will turn 13 on Feb 16, 2016)

Special: The dictionary describes an angel as a "thing or person, that means a lot to someone. Well, I describe an angel as my grandmother.

My grandmother is a wonderful person, and what she is best at
is caring about what I will become.
I am so glad to be in her life, and in her beautiful world.

She has a heart of gold, and is a "doctor to my soul."
She is the "nurse" that make my hurts disappear.
She is my "piggy bank of niceness."

When I would get a birthday, or Christmas gift, she would always say,
"If you don't like it, be sure to try it."
I would always listen to her, for everybody knows
"grandmothers are always right."

I think of her everyday, and feel that  I can do anything
when I'm around her. Just remember,
"Always be happy for what you have, and don't imagine a life without a grandmother."

They are worth a billion dollars.

copyright: emily riddle August 27,2014

Penned in 2013 by my granddaughter, Emily Riddle. Written for her Grandmother Linda, its worth more than a billion dollars.
Richard Riddle May 2015
By Emily Riddle-Age 9  

Special: The dictionary describes an angel as a "thing or person, that means a lot to someone. Well, I describe an angel as my grandmother.

My grandmother is a wonderful person, and what she is best at
is caring about what I will become.
I am so glad to be in her life, and in her beautiful world.

She has a heart of gold, and is a "doctor to my soul."
She is the "nurse" that make my hurts disappear.
She is my "piggy bank of niceness."

When I would get a birthday, or Christmas gift, she would always say,
"If you don't like it, be sure to try it."
I would always listen to her, for everybody knows
"grandmothers are always right."

I think of her everyday, and feel that  I can do anything
when I'm around her. Just remember,
"Always be happy for what you have, and don't imagine a life without a grandmother."

They are worth a billion dollars.

copyright: emily riddle August 27,2014

Penned in 2013 by my granddaughter, Emily Riddle. Written for her Grandmother Linda, its worth more than a billion dollars.
Richard Riddle Jan 2016
6:30 a.m
Having breakfast-
Watching the morning news...

Shots fired!
Another night in the metroplex
But, last night.......

"OFFICER DOWN!!

When will it stop?.........

It won't!

01-20-2016
Just a capulization of events over the last few months.
Richard Riddle Jul 2016
Took a trip to the private storage facility to "**** out" unnecessary and useless "stuff" in order to replace it with newer unnecessary and useless stuff.The problem I ran into was I couldn't find that "box of unnecessary and useless stuff!"
"Oh, there were items I hadn't looked at in a long time, but the instant visions of times past that was presented to me with memories forever embedded, made me realize the importance, and impact, of keeping them. Like that mobile, that contraption of various dangling items attached to the side of our sons crib (who is now 47 by the way)  in a losing battle to keep him quiet.
There is an "Etch-a-Sketch", a favorite item of parents everywhere, especially when going on  a motor trip, first pair of shoes, not 'bronzed', but kept in good condition, for he grew so fast, there wasn't enough time to wear them out before outgrowing them(this went on forever). You get the idea. Essays, written by my wife, Karen, during her high school and college years, along with items she purchased at various truck stops during our travels. Greeting cards from various people, now deceased, hardback and paperback books, long out of print, but reminders of times past.
I realized I was sitting among items of an old, dusty museum. "Priceless" artifacts they are, and hopefully, some day, I will look down, not up, and see my grandchidren rustling through these same boxes, guarding those "relics of ancient days."

copyright: r riddle 07-11-2016
Accidentally deleted this a few weeks ago and then forgot about it, until this morning.
Richard Riddle Jun 2016
I received an invitation to go camping. An opportunity to:

"Commune with nature"

"Become, 'one'....... with the elements"
                             V
                             V
                             V
.                                        











  
"Waaa­hahahee-hee!, don't make me laff!-hahaha-hoho-hahahaa!!"



r.riddle 06-10-2016
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.
Richard Riddle Dec 2016
reposted for my granddaughter, Emily Riddle, in memory of my wife, Karen Riddle.*


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. (She is about to turn 13.) Love you, so much!!
Granddad.
Richard Riddle Feb 2016
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
(She turns 12yrs old on Feb 16, 2016)

My granddaughter Emily, wrote this  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.
Richard Riddle May 2015
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.
Richard Riddle Sep 2015
Formerly - "Untitled(You'll See Why)"


It's 3a.m.

The coffee's cold-
the screen is blank-
My mind is churning butter-
I've already tossed two ideas,
Now I have to find anudder!
Help!

copyright: Richard Riddle 01-10-2015
Richard Riddle Sep 2015
Here I sit
with much chagrin-
Trying to figure out Windows 10

Changes have set my mind aswirl-
as I venture  into this
'Netherworld'-

From all the hype-
it was "made in heaven"-
But, please dear Lord-

Give me back my 7.


copyright: richard riddle 09-22-15
Richard Riddle Nov 2016
When I would call my parents and speak with my dad, the first thing I would ask him was , "Dad, how are you doing today?" He would invariably answer, "Not bad for someone who is closer to one hundred than to fifty". I've been "inching" towards a hundred for the past 25 years, when I said  "goodbye" to fifty, which will become more apparent in thirteen days. "Oh well, not much, if anything, can be done about it. However, it does serve as a platter of reflections heaped with "shoulda's, coulda's woulda's", and a large sideorder of  "shouldn't haves" and "lessons learned."
I find myself having lost interest in 'materialism." What once seemed
to be important, no longer 'is', if it ever 'was'.... in the first place. But, what I do have is absolutely "PRICELESS!" Although my wife Karen   is no longer on this mortal earth, she lives in our son, and in our grandchildren. They are my Christmas gifts every day, of every week, of every month, of every year, which is how it should be. My 'waning years' are for them.

I ask for no more than that!!

r.riddle: 11-25-2016
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 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
Richard Riddle Oct 2016
Stereotyping often portrays poets as being brooders, loners,psychotics, manic-depressives, addicts, or just plain "nuts." In other words (in terms of their peers), "normal people." They should be 'French', or know at least three French words, and be able to wear a striped, long sleeve pull-over, topped with a black beret(neck-scarf optional). Should be able to write stuff no one understands, yet readers will pretend they do as long as it reads and sounds 'intellectual'. Must be able to stomach the taste of Espresso, which must come from Starbucks, and enjoy the so-called 'Bohemian' life style. Must be able to sit comfortably with a set of bongo drums between their knees, and continue living in the 50's, the 'Beat Generation." "Maynard G. Krebbs" is their idol.
This is a satirical piece, and written strictly for "entertainment" purposes. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Richard Riddle
Richard Riddle Feb 2015
7:30am.
Pleasantly cool morning, a fresh cup of hot coffee sits on the glass top of the patio table.
School buses are rolling towards the high school a quarter of a mile away.
Others are walking  with their backpacks, heavily laden with enough material to prevent them from standing *****.
Some in groups, some in twos,
boy and girl in love, hands clasped together-
All like the animals heading towards the ark.
I wonder what they are thinking.  
Perhaps an exam to face, an unfinished essay due, the upcoming weekend.
Or, just wanting to-

"Make it through the Day."

copyright: richard riddle: February 19, 2015
Richard Riddle Aug 2015
Another school year is underway. I thought a repost would be appropriate:


7:30am.
Pleasantly cool morning, a fresh cup of hot coffee sits on the glass top of the patio table.
School buses are rolling towards the high school a quarter of a mile away.
Others are walking  with their backpacks, heavily laden with enough material to prevent them from standing *****.
Some in groups, some in twos,
boy and girl in love, hands clasped together-
All like the animals heading towards the ark.
I wonder what they are thinking.  
Perhaps an exam to face, an unfinished essay due, the upcoming weekend.
Or, just wanting to-

"Make it through the Day."

copyright: richard riddle: February 19, 2015
Richard Riddle Jun 2016
My wife, Karen, and I were watching the opening ceremony, soon, the lighting of the torch. It was a well-kept secret as to who would light the flame.
When the spotlights came on, the arena went wild! Mohammad Ali! Holding the torch in his right-hand, his left, shaking from the Parkinsons. Karen and I both felt tears coming down our cheeks.

Mr. Ali, that night you displayed the meaning of the word, "PRIDE!"

"Rest in Peace", MISTER ALI. You ARE the fighter, you always claimed to be!"

r.riddle 06-10-2016
This event can be viewed on You Tube.
Richard Riddle Oct 2015
In our lifetime, will be events,                                                        ­                                                                 ­  small, in  scope-

To which, we will bear witness-
perhaps, be  part of-

The impact....
Will pass -

Unseen-

Unfelt-

Until..........

Years Later............................

"Before Our Eyes".............

copyright: richard riddle - October 16, 2015
realization
Richard Riddle Mar 2016
(From October 20, 2015)

It  can happen anywhere, at anytime-
week,day,month,year
It isn't up to you
-

In the car,
listening to the radio-
Having dinner with friends,
or alone-

At a baseball game,
bottom of the ninth-
Score tied-two outs,
bases loaded

Youth re-visited

A certain sound, song, phrase,
overheard-
the aroma of freshly baked bread
glimpse-movement-
indiscriminate-


All unleashing a memory cell
Lying dormant -
Long forgotten-
"What made me think of that?"
you ask yourself

For a door had opened.....
"before your eyes"
and you stepped into........
              v

"The Attic of Forgotten Things."


copyright:(Emended) richard riddle-October 20, 2015

Sometimes we forget...what our brain....has kept.
"I've got to lay off the coffee!!"
Richard Riddle Dec 2016
From October,2015

It  can happen anywhere, at anytime-
week,day,month,year
It isn't up to you-

In the car,
listening to the radio-
Having dinner with friends,
or alone-

At a baseball game,
bottom of the ninth-
Score tied-two outs,
bases loaded

Youth re-visited

A certain sound, song, phrase,
overheard-
the aroma of freshly baked bread
glimpse-movement-
indiscriminate-

All unleashing a memory cell
Lying dormant -
Long forgotten-
"What made me think of that?"
you ask yourself

For a door had opened.....
"before your eyes"
and you stepped into........
              v

"The Attic of Forgotten Things."*


copyright:(Emended) richard riddle-October 20, 2015

Sometimes we forget...what our brain....has kept.
"I've got to lay off the coffee!!"
Richard Riddle Oct 2015
From October,2015

It  can happen anywhere, at anytime-
week,* day,month,year
It isn't up to you-

In the car,
listening to the radio-
Having dinner with friends,
or alone-

At a baseball game,
bottom of the ninth-
Score tied-two outs,
bases loaded

Youth re-visited

A certain sound, song, phrase,
overheard-
the aroma of freshly baked bread
glimpse-movement-
indiscriminate-

All unleashing a memory cell
Lying dormant -
Long forgotten-
"What made me think of that?"
you ask yourself

For a door had opened.....
"before your eyes"
and you stepped into........
              v

"The Attic of Forgotten Things."


copyright:(Emended) richard riddle-October 20, 2015
Sometimes we forget...what our brain....has kept.
"I've got to lay off the coffee!!"
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 Sep 2015
An omen, a portent-
heralding the coming
of autumn and winter-
As Orion graces heaven's center stage

Mornings  become more crisp-
the aroma of fresh, hot coffee,
Permeating  from a cup on the patio table,
forces the senses to ask for more.

Fireplaces will send wisps of smoke
up their chimneys and over rooftops,
Adding to the exhilaration of knowing
that it's going to be a "good day."

If only the concrete could change colors-
as do the leaves.


copyright: richard riddle-September 11, 2015
Richard Riddle Oct 2016
a repost from September, 2015*


An omen, a portent-
heralding the coming
of autumn and winter-
As Orion graces heaven's center stage

Mornings  become more crisp-
the aroma of fresh, hot coffee,
Permeating  from a cup on the patio table,
forces the senses to ask for more.

Fireplaces will send wisps of smoke
up their chimneys and over rooftops,
Adding to the exhilaration of knowing
that it's going to be a "good day."

If only the concrete could change colors-
as do the leaves.


copyright: richard riddle-September 11, 2015
Next page