FLAME-Heart, take back your love. Swift, sure
And poignant as the dagger to the mark,
Your will is burning ever; it is pure.
Mine is vague water welling through the dark,
Holding all substances--except the spark.

Picture the pleasure of the meadow stream
When some clear striding naked-footed girl
Cuts swift and straightly as a gleam
Across its ***** ambling and aswirl
With mooning eddies and soft lips acurl;

Such was our meeting--fatefully so brief.
I have no purpose and no power to clutch.
Gleam onward, maiden, to your goal of grief;
And I more sadly flow, remembering much,
Yet doomed to take the form of all I touch.

(in life)

who am i to warm a cave of darkness with my lust?
or assume your darkness mine to dissipate?
as if a sacred candle burned behind the windows of my heart
and ****** its light through tip of flame beyond
,above the piercing point to spark our confirmation in a universal eye

invisible, but seen as heat you flail about
and cause to quake the melting, sliding crust i am

you have wandered by to rupture me from my serene espy.
to quarrel with mycenterself i turned into myself i am a fool,
how can a taint intention claim essential gravity to good?
encumbered with a blinding zeal
i almost rage amid to satisfy
irrupt, and only drape with words i barely see defined

to justify the greed
in unknown passions gathered out to sun,
eyes aglint of golden maxims worn
by public distorts, magisters of lies
spilling over paths..the voyeuristic farce of virtuosity and virtue mating there
commodities of ****** pride and shame
that cater to ambition's lurid lure:

massively conjoined our worlds, aswirl
transform the pulsar-vortex at the base of me
from threaten-fount to million-twiching node
it sears the face from all our superficial doubts,
gluts us writhing mercy in oblivion.

...transparency collects an inner soot
as we devour red-tip wicks in wax we puddle with our sport--
the outer glass respires steam into the winter nights
--hot against the skin
in flesh embarking in that window *** at last,
we smudge our bodies over every icy pane
--entwined, concupiscent flames
to blacken out the world we claim as only there for us




.

she does not speak to me often in this way
she is the virile silence of walking truly like meadows

their time is always perfect and infinitely perfectlessness
how skies do not sing birds but are only masters of truth

but she is tender and fierce she shows me that they are innocent

when, I, confounded, aswirl with origami of things past,
she shows me a bestilled flapping silence of forgotten things

she does not speak often in this way

when her hands are like eagles tending planets
there is a secret river her eyes are filled with

these pupils of newborn seeking first sight
its graves and their strolling kisses no clock dares lie another tick

she is brightly curved; night seeks to master her sleeping motions
there is the skin of all salads I imagine I came from

when she is gone I feel  rain graveyards feed to oceans
when water braided through myths and legends and lies
is truest perfect lover, but no perfect lover is so tender and fierce

she has taught me in this way how I am
if I am a perfect child, then I am a perfect man

                                                but she whispers to me
"this is why the wind is so filled with sleep"

I know why the wind is the slave of kites
and why balloons are thoughtful, secretly joyless,
but filled with bad dogs and hope

when she touches small flowers and leaves them be
I know why birds are most beautiful in flight
gracefully jetting terrifying rivers

she walking strums wild instruments into me
I wish to play like birds but only newborns are masters of truth

                                                but she whispers to me
"this is why the wind is so filled with laughter"








.

No frills tonight,I'll tell you why we hold so tight,
to yesteryear and yesterday and...and last ******' night...
before the sky broke open,
lately I'd been vaguely sorta hopin'(not doin ****,just hopin')...
that we'd get the magic back,that we'd bring back all the craic
when it was you for me and me for you again' the world,
I'm starin at the wall my mind aswirl,

Then I'm starin' thru a window to the past
when we KNEW that we would last
forever,never ever fall apart,
never ever pulled apart,
by life and time and ******' work,
we knew we were the ones to make it work!,
and now I'm staring through that window to the past,
like trying to piece a champagne glass,
back together when it's smashed,
I'm kneelin' here with ****** fingers,
tryin' to make these memories linger
REALISIN' how you'll linger there,
your scent...your smile...your shedded hair(seriously I find it EVERYWHERE!)
sorry hon I lost it there(but seriously your frickin' hair!)
your company was past compare,
I close my eyes and see you there,

I pound my fist against the glass
praying that you'll see the danger see the future Nuclear blast,
but you're just blissfully gracefully strolling past,
holding me,enfolding me
emboldening me like nobody past or present ever did or will,
the thrill begat the skill begat the quill of you so deep in me,
thought we were our Destiny.
you're under my skin like a Sinatra tattoo,
but enough bout me...how bout you?

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

Ah...yeah...exhaustion as previously related awoke from extensive frantically grabbing handy anchor rites, while aswirl within a vortex of time stream. Nonetheless, aye did manage to get a sneak peak at my future twenty two years from now.

     Let young-bloods zip (per) across milieu of spatial time fifth dimension! No more coming and going back to the the future! Just by the amazing Grace (slick ride on a outdated Jefferson Aeroplane) found this beastie boy pitched thru of an unforgettable journey, now among familiar village people, who comprise his literati culture club. This doggone rough draft (written a tad more'n one score years from present) summarily sketches mein kempf among a raft taking heads, sans family, especially goo goo dolls grand kin.

     This veritable unknown widower felt the mood of nostalgia, hence he took a mental stroll back many decades where at sat at the laughably now primitive macbook. He wistfully experiences snippets of flashbacks pertaining to his rather bland humdrum life.

     The recurrent pallor of despair hung like a virtual "iron curtain" shutting out capacity to enjoy life to the max. Social anxiety the pernicious pet peeve that induced much chunk of time to be voluntarily shuttered inside a soundproof stainless steel bunker carved deep within the bowels of the earth. Oft times longevity seems like a curse with unforgettable past...

(particularly prepubescent days of yore –
revenant sans deep pressed matinee with grim reaper hid as alloy

well…sit back and enjoy this vignette –
many moons since mine being a boy
a core sampled striated fragment
of existence from a Semitic goy
my life in the year twenty forty ah hoy
interspersed with a sprinkling of joy
some re: dears may bow out
and i.e. averse to this lyrical ploy.

     I celebrated my eighty first birthday this past January thirteenth. Just nineteen more journeys for the big bright wheel in the sky to turn before this curmudgeon reaches centennial milestone. The coterie of grandchildren (Arial, Castellar, Cooper Black, Georgia, Pristina, Ravie, Rockwell and Vivaldi) apprised me as their favorite Zayda...

Here, atop a rocky crag,
walking stick in hand,
I survey the swirling
mountains of fog,
a vast gray-white panoply
of vanishing peaks,
blanketed in clouds
doomed to dissipate
in the returning sun.

But no heat ever comes,
leaving me wrapped
in my moody solitude,
eyeing the outcroppings
of ragged stone, reveling
at summiting the top of Europe,
scaling the sluggish
slopes of transcendence.

This is what Nietzsche
hailed as self-overcoming,
rising to the grand height
of perfect power and control:
my will alone uber alles.
Aswirl, I order the horizon
to fulfill my desire, to shift
into view all that is missing
from my finite vista -- the glory
of nature -- only to have it
swallowed up instantly
in the menacing shadows
and mists of immovable stone.

All fruit is sweet as marzipan
and seraphs carol just for me
Each brook sings like a silver lyre
and finches trill in every tree

Life is a cloth embossed with gold
and even through the blackest rains
No rainbow seems too hard to reach
for ichor courses through my veins

Those daedal thoughts flow thick and fast
like honey from mosaicked hive
The world's a Garden of Delights
I burst with joy to be alive

And now it starts, the skyward flight
slow at first then gath'ring pace
Just like a breathless fairground ride
that sends me whirling into space

And on my climb to crackling sun
I glimpse a gilded paradise
That sphere aswirl with cherubim
and full of riches without price

But like hot-headed Icarus
who thought that he would try his luck
I, too, fly straight towards the sun
and all my feathers come unstuck

Then rainbows smash like Roman glass
and splinters ****** all around
My head aswarm with twinkling stars
as floating castles hit the ground

That plump brocade I once called life
is torn asunder at the seams
Now all I wish to do is sleep
and quench my thirst in lethean streams.