"paine" poems
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
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Tell me about your dreams
of you
wondering in starlit dew
Tell about each dreamy breath you take
making love for lover's sake
Whisper in my ear my dear
of magical dreams with you
falling into clouds of love
feeling the warmth of you
Tell me about ancient fable times;
Oracle's love questions in rhymes;
rhyming about you and me; beyond an ever calming sea
Tell me about vines that creep
up walls too steep that carry me to you
into bedroom dreams of bliss
Tell me about your dreamy house;
it's lilac door, it's French domain, and flowery window paine
Tell me you dream of two, just me and you
within its walls of love, two like dreamy turtle doves
dreaming of only love...
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
Gathering up my thoughts like the Pieces of a broken vase smashed by a careless hand,
passed times all over the floor the future not mapped out as before,
a vase no-longer holds flowers for me a life time on the floor for all to see
trying to step trough the broken shards and not cause more damage and Paine even if I could glue it back
Together it would never be the same, the cracks would show and the pattern not Mach so the broke vase will remans skated for all to see .
Was it her or was it me, was it never ment to be
it's all smashed up for all to see Broken shards scattered pieces tell me it wasn't me
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 4:37 PM UTC
It all started here;
Some thirty students-
Minds controlled by their puppeteer,
Walked in clueless
My mind came colorful, progressive-
Only my beliefs sprouted!
The seed had already been expressive
Just- the stem was clouded
The renaissance fertilized the soil
Dry, cracked, barren, deprived;
Destitute of the benevolent oil-
Used to awaken thoughts: revived
But what truly blossomed my bud-
Were the French philosophes,
Who's blue, liberal blood-
Solidified my leftist approach
I have always been the optimist;
Through many deaths and rebirths-
I knew it wasn't the apocalypse,
And instead kept the beauty of earth
Because I filled my life with fascination,
My opinions bloomed:bright and rich.
The rain could not cleanse my veneration,
Not to a diety, but to my democratic itch
My petals are strong to hold bees-
Who cannot fly or make honey
It's my civic duty to fight this disease
That in life- one is subject to money
However, I am not just one of Paine's flowers,
I am an independent with liberal powers.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
I've never liked the expression
'Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me."
I think it undermines the power of words
It's undeniable that words have an impact on people
Letters strung together can sting a person's soul
When they are spoken with a tongue used like a whip
Words evoke passion,
They inspire us,
Make our blood boil,
Horrify us,
And yes, they can hurt us
To say that words can't hurt,
Is to demean all that words do
Look at Marat,
Martin Luther,
Shakespeare,
Darwin,
Hobbes,
Freud,
Orwell,
Paine
And tell me words can't change the world
Words are what I turn to when I have nothing left
I'd rather my bones break,
That would be much better,
Than to lose my dignity,
To have a record of voices
Tell me I'm useless,
I'm stupid,
I'm fat,
I'm never good enough
Always on repeat,
Always on my mind,
Always ringing true
Maybe I'm over analytical
Maybe I care too much
About things said in the past
But here's to all the "I love you's"
All the "I hate you's"
To saying "I don't give a ****
The pen is indeed mightier than the sword
Because your words
Are what made me turn the blade
On myself
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
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
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
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
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
Tichborne's Elegie,
(written with his owne hand in the Tower before his execution)
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of paine,
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,
And al my good is but vaine hope of gaine.
The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,
My fruite is falne, & yet my leaves are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut, and yet it is not spunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
And now I die, and now I was but made.
My glasse is full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Driving down the highway
Stormclouds
have turned to rain.
Droplets
splatter
against the paine.
Streams of possibility
Gliding over the horizon
I stick my hand out.
It returns dry.
The feeling,
I’m perplexed.
No rain, graces
my palm. I was taken
back to when my
old man failed to show up
or would slide
away just as suddenly
as he appeared.
The sense that something.
was off started to rise
then disappeared in a flash.
A big wet one
hit my palm.
Aug 16, 2025
Aug 16, 2025 at 8:07 PM UTC
Rain is f a l l i n g on my window paine, darkness is taking away the light
I can't go to sleep I have to fight
These memories of you
From hiding under my bed any longer
Because I know if I keep you in my heart they will just grow stronger
What do I have to do to scare these monsters out from under my bed
These monsters are feasting on my soul and sooner or later I'll be dead
I can't hide under my covers and pretend they were never there
Because when it comes to these monsters, there is never ending memories of you to share.
I can't turn on my light
My nightmeres are taking flight
I can't stop them
My fate they'll condemn
I wish they would just go a w a y
These monsters will lead me a s t r a y
I am a b r o k e n body forever ment to d e c a y.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality
The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class
A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence
But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies
Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity
Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled
Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it
Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of
The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity
Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things
So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic
I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding
I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses
But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice
Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Where did she go?
The curls cut and dyed.
Her face replaced with makeup.
Her fear rises and she explodes.
Our memories forgotten,
She bites hard,
I cling to her essence.
Remind her of what should be.
We had plans for a lifetime.
This is wrong.
I miss her.
Paine has taken over,
Rayne has destroyed her.
All is left is our muddy time capsule,
and all of my scars.
My best friend is gone.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
the silent witness washing
her truth in the forgiving rain
rinse away all the lies you convinced yourself with
and hope tomorrow wont remember
what today couldn't bear to believe
maybe if you feel it hard enough
you can be somebody new
with a new road to get lost on
she evaporates as the day drags on
cant keep up the purchased pretense
without a rationalization or blame game
she runs in a raincoat
but gets wet anyway
seems like its all for naught
gave up a bitter truth hiding her lie
for a reality of greys and endorsement of hand creams
grease the palm to ease the way
but it just leaves you hurting inside
she says turn me into a bird so i can fly away
a dark day calls my name
a reckoning for all iv done
this fate labored for
the one i sewed to my soul
spare me this weight
tell me i'm free to run far away
far far away
but she had left her last true companion long ago
and the shadows surrounding now
commiserate only with the tears of loss
and only bear the burdens that pay in silver and gold
she turns to meet the thunder drums
of the coming sun
to meet the maker of her design
and that mirror waits for her alone
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
Obscurity in The City
Roots in The Desolate
Taken in by Wind
Lone tone in Paradise
Black shades in Red
Holding the drum's Roar
Crooked grains in Glass
Shot down stars Glow
Rug by the Roadside
Crimson tide in Blue
Ghost windows without Paine
Tireless metal boxes perched
Torpid tornadoes remain still
Structure floating motionless; inert
Drifting, they lay, dead in one Place.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
a slow slipping into the dark abyss of thinking
such dark wicked thought twists
on the vines overgrowing the living breathing edge of perception
its hard white metal edge baking in ever present sunlight
like wine i am a drunkard of the softest touch
i am a ***** to the sweetest line
master of none...fool for some
its all a memory a moment after it happened
so why am i so glued to the window paine
staring into the brief bright glitter of passing time
staring into the abyss
her eyes slowly scattered across my form
as her words escaping in rapid succession
splatter the cold tile like breadcrumbs for the miserable beast
the trail of which is lewd in my mind like razors
her reservations slip back into her lips past thick gloss
her dire predictions limp hollow into the
heavy thick humid florida air
laughing like a mad mad woman
like a mad mad man
teeth gritted and hands contorted to the form
of the pill bottle long empty
the headache has returned to her lips
spew itself across the dim room
leaving splashes of hand wrought pain
leaving traces of hand carved memories
her tricycle broken and burning
her doll sitting in darkness
she weeps
i sleep
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
she cradled the thought of me in the eyes of her heart
and constructed me from fragments
of what she had thought she knew
with deliberate care stitched the pieces
of her self deceptions to the fabric of reality's rags
a wedding cake of circumstance and make believe
that was the union of her fears and madness
she crept up to my window paine
and carved into the stain of frost on winters nights glass
the thought of the face of the bitter dogs
their lonely years hanging loose upon their bones
their fear have all withdrawn to gather in moonlight
the stillness of her own reflection
fails to bear fruits of reason
so she joins them to whisper at the falling sky
she lay in the halflight of evening
fully clothed under the sheets
writing in her mind symphony's of silence
embracing the gloom
while beads of desperation's labors burst upon her brow
her tight lips pressed to retain
but the words cannot help but but be spoken
please love me
in her hearts eye she cradles me in
the embrace of a lover
in her hearts mad mind it was meant to be
she has known it since secret writings came to light
never you mind they bore another woman's name
the just feel like they speak to her alone
in her hearts mad mind
she carves heart shaped love letters
in the stain of frost of winter nights glass
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
any action brings
intolerable dreams
inaction is not possible
decree of destitution
the image to impart to you
is a small framed window
single paine glass
old old glass
the kind that gave little more
than greasy distorted image
and the contained within is the fleeting distant
cries pleading and warning
calling for hope within a
decree of destitution
both a wretched creature malformed and ill
and man stout and fair within the same coffin of flesh
innocence vilified
as if they were mere
words these phrases i throw
down on the page with the haste of rage
as if mere words could blast and sunder stone
as these have the cold rock of my heart
as if mere words could rip screaming vengeance
from the blood faces of a battlefield
but that is the nature of warring desires
within the cage of one mans soul
no....these words i wrest from burning rage
are not passing fancy on some distant summers day
but the very fingers of ****** clawing for
purchase on vile enemy's throat
the very sweat of the embittered battle between
sworn foe
but that is the nature of warring desires
within the cage of one mans soul
i cannot contain my fear
it run rampant in the fresh planted fields
of plans come to naught
my rancid terror dances and tramples
thru the ordered lines of what we have built
my horror
feeds loose and hungry
on the fallow crop
distorted and screaming obscenity's at your soft skin
the discharge of pointless angers
retort to my hope
i cannot remain seated here a moment longer
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
there are moments
that endure in memory for a lifetime
only in the simple nuance
of their presence in ones life
the smell of your mothers french
toast sunday morning breakfast after the fire on the poarch
and the crisp harsh sound of eggs sizzling
the first day of school
and your locker full of new books
and unopened notebooks
crisp new paper had a scent
i recall it clearly
crisp wood with a metallic sharp undertone
the smell of newly sharpened number two pencils
i cannot place the memory
as to how old i was
or anything beyond the fragment
but its one that lingers for me:
spring sunlight
near dusk
as i rode in the backseat of a strange car
some friend of my parents
we were driving past Paine lake
and the sunlight burst upon me
thru a break in the overhead trees
and the thought that filled me with
such wondrous joy
'its finally summer'
what i wouldnt
give to feel that free again
without care or burden
simply filled with joy at
the simple wonder of it all
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
I stood alone against the wall,
They all looked tall, I felt so small.
Never asked to join in any games,
More often laughed at or called names.
I was not different, or had an unusual look,
I was not bright, or kept my head in a book.
Shy, timid, quiet, almost afraid to speak,
As they shouted I turned my cheek.
Alone in a different world,
Faces frowned lips were curled.
Every day I would dread school,
Made to feel like a fool.
Paine I felt was deep inside,
Hiding away with no pride.
Never coming first, not a friend,
On a bad day I wished my life would end.
No one knew how I felt,
Or how I prayed when I knelt.
Why was I made this way?
Why can't I shout or play?
I couldn’t see we were all the same,
To them it was just a game.
Children do this every where,
It seems as if they didn’t care.
It may be part of growing up,
To adult from a pup.
Just How cruel can people be,
Somewhere someone will also see.
What I saw through my eyes,
Now I see and recognize.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 12:22 AM UTC
It feels like I'm repeating the pattern
Ambition vaster then Saturn
My heart refuses to be cold like Vattern
People always have their back turned
It's nothing new to me
The improvements have been few to me
Don't try and start a feud with me
I get why they took a knee
Because hate is on a killing spree
It's been awhile since I drank a pouch of Capri
I'm not trying to be a fusee
Only when it is done the correct way
I could write this all day
But not feel like I'm exigent
It just continues and effects like vesicant
I hope that there's a mouthwash that reduces this bad taste
Because I hope these aren't a waste
I aspire to not be copy and paste
I still got a ton of haste
I'm opened up, spaced
I hope this doesn't debase
My prior work before this
I'm just reiterating how I feel
Turning it into a spiel
Living in poetry is ideal
So I hope these words congeal
And hold the same appeal
To the newer readers
You're not the bottomfeeders
You are the possible leaders
To this stormy and confused campaign
Help end the blain
That's caused me mental pain
I just want to be your Thomas Paine
But I can't unless you show me your light
So we can sleep better every night
To end stress, people get high as a kite
I know that isn't right
We can't ignore the problem
We have to create a way to stop them
And that's been the desperate attempt I've had
That's why I get so glad
When I achieve it
You are not something I ever want to aggrieve.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
In the fall of 1973
walking home from school
i went by the stone bridge
every day, rain or shine
on my way home i would stop there
at the middle of the bridge
and look over the edge
at the water wispering below
i had a song in my head that day
some girl singer
talking about love and hope
i felt so alone, and i just wanted that girl
from the song to see that it wasnt ok
that it isnt a sunny day
Thomas paines cottage
has stood there since 1733
along with its dumb little stone bridge
over a small stream
I want go back to my home town and tear that stupid
cottage down and blow up that bridge
then maybe it would be ok
maybe it would be a sunny day
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
I dreamed I saw Tom Paine last night…
The dream became a nightmare. Ride it. Fall.
A Republic if you can keep it. You didn’t.
Every four years a buffoon appears in TVs
who can bleed the American people to disaster.
Burnt Knees. Hill artillery. Hearts not Trump.
An article on now. The inherent absurdity of politics.
Infamy. Liars in public places. Old lies. New faces.
Abandoned factories. Angry workers, Abandoned. All.
Pick a pack of proven paupers. No one cares.
We lust for the stud who can wave his thick wand
and magically make everything better. But won’t.
Even if that he is a she. Show me the money.
How can the one percent eat everything yet never ****
Faceless bureaucrats cannot be held responsible.
Zombie politicos bought and sold like cats in sacks.
Still the mindless parade charade continues
off to the public polls to be pummeled. ****** on.
Get down on your knees and set lips to *****
Due your duty, turn your trick.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
The musicians were all the
unsung heroes of those hit
records back in the day.
Tommy Tedesco, Carol Kaye,
Glen Campbell, Dusty Rain,
Earl Clapard and Cindy Paine.
The Wrecking Crew
we never knew.
Aug 2, 2021
Aug 2, 2021 at 11:12 PM UTC
the mascara streaks hidden
in closed bathroome doors
the paine of a past
and a future no more.
she cries in her pillow
and screams in her head
a million bloodstains
coating her bed.
the sheets are soiled
from meaningless nights.
trying to banish
the holes in her life.
she's fine on the outside
but deepe from within
she's far gone already.
her mask wearing thin.
the scars and bruises
that cover her skin
mark the battles
that she couldn't win.
e.s.s.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
I never wanted to go to collage
that was your dream
I never wanted to be an officer
those were your footsteps
but you made me go
made me live in your shadow
I lived under your thumb
I lived in your wake
to scared to brave the waves
without your break
but being alone
living in my own light
while living out your dream for me
I found myself
I found my voice
to say enough
I didn't whisper it
I screamed it
from the top of Paine mountain
and I dropped out
and you dropped out of my life
no I wont have a degree
but better than a degree
you don't control me
it is my path to walk
I don't live for money
I don't live for success
I live for peace
not on earth
but within me
I have things that scream inside me
and only my dream will silence them
I swore in yesterday
I'm the armies now
you don't approve
oh well
I swore you off years ago
I'm on my own path now
I'm proud of me
What I do now you'll never get to see
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC