"xxiv" poems
XXIV
Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life—
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of man’s reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
7.2k
XXIV. TO HESTIA (5 lines)
(ll. 1-5) Hestia, you who tend the holy house of the lord Apollo,
the Far-shooter at goodly Pytho, with soft oil dripping ever from
your locks, come now into this house, come, having one mind with
Zeus the all-wise -- draw near, and withal bestow grace upon my
song.
4.6k
Achilles does not sleep.
Instead, he seeks the lover’s embrace and curved lips alongside which he went to war;
Those same that he did not find,
Once the dark mist had come swirling down over his eyes
And his soul went winging down to the House of Death,
with a soldier’s sigh of relief.
He had whispered in Charon’s ear, “Take me to him.”
Charon had rowed on, but held his silence.
By way of greeting, a thousand faces turned away,
And no trace of his beloved’s sweet smile as he disembarked, no warm hand to take his own.
“Patroklus,” he cries,
And goes unheard.
Thus; Achilles does not sleep.
He is Achilles; he does not wait.
He is Achilles; instead, he aches.
He is Achilles; instead, he searches.
Over the horizon, he chases Patroklus’ laugh and the turn of his wrist.
He lingers in all the shadowed corners of eternity,
Leafs through the pages of unforgiving, unyielding posterity,
Whispers “Patroklus, best of the Myrmidons” and sends his name through the winds.
The headstrong runner does not drag his feet as he scours the world,
As he chases ghosts across the face of the earth.
Restless, he is never still,
Knows that each step must carry him closer,
Knows that each ragged cry may be the one
That is finally answered,
Each rendition the wound to be finally salved.
He haunts, and is haunted.
‘I did not feel it,’ he thinks. 'It should have been as though Hektor’s pierced my side, in turn. Did they not say we were one?’
As if what he felt, when they told him, had not been enough.
(Scamander would disagree).
One day, smiling among the cypress, he will cease.
One day, the thousand faces turned away will melt to the one alone that within itself holds his heart.
One day, his greeting will be that sweet smile that he found only in the dawn.
One day, a warm hand will take his own, and the word with which his beloved left him will be the same as that which retrieves him:
'Ἀχιλλέυς.’
Until the day when his heart pours out golden,
Achilles will not sleep.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
--Proverbs xxiv. 11, 12.
1.
I have done I know not what,--what have I done?
My brother's blood, my brother's soul, doth cry:
And I find no defence, find no reply,
No courage more to run this race I run
Not knowing what I have done, have left undone;
Ah me, these awful unknown hours that fly
Fruitless it may be, fleeting fruitless by
Rank with death-savor underneath the sun.
For what avails it that I did not know
The deed I did? what profits me the plea
That had I known I had not wronged him so?
Lord Jesus Christ, my God, him pity Thou;
Lord, if it may be, pity also me:
In judgment pity, and in death, and now.
2.
Thou Who hast borne all burdens, bear our load,
Bear Thou our load whatever load it be;
Our guilt, our shame, our helpless misery,
Bear Thou Who only canst, O God my God.
Seek us and find us, for we cannot Thee
Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto:
We cannot do or undo; Lord, undo
Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key
Of all we are not though we might have been.
Dear Lord, if ever mercy moved Thy mind,
If so be love of us can move Thee yet,
If still the nail-prints in Thy Hands are seen,
Remember us,--yea, how shouldst Thou forget?
Remember us for good, and seek, and find.
3.
Each soul I might have succored, may have slain,
All souls shall face me at the last Appeal,
That great last moment poised for woe or weal,
That final moment for man's bliss or bane.
Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain
Which then will not avail or help or heal:
Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel,
Will more avail than strength or beauty then.
Lord, by Thy Passion,--when Thy Face was marred
In sight of earth and hell tumultuous,
And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax,
And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard,--
Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks,
For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us.
1.5k
“The good die young. They be the first ones to leave.”
And they don’t come back, no matter how much we plead
No matter all the days we spend begging on our knees
No matter all the nights we stay up sacrificing sleep
No matter all the pain we feel, regardless of how deep
You could give up everything and you still won’t see them breathe
You could even sell your soul but their tongue will never speak
You could pray for peace but It’s rest you’ll never receive
No matter what we do, it’s a change we’ll never see
Thoughts and prayers are nice but it’s hopeless and it’s bleak
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 1:10 AM UTC
I
Again the larkspur,
Heavenly blue in my garden.
They, at least, unchanged.
II
How have I hurt you?
You look at me with pale eyes,
But these are my tears.
III
Morning and evening--
Yet for us once long ago
Was no division.
IV
I hear many words.
Set an hour when I may come
Or remain silent.
V
In the ghostly dawn
I write new words for your ears--
Even now you sleep.
VI
This then is morning.
Have you no comfort for me
Cold-colored flowers?
VII
My eyes are weary
Following you everywhere.
Short, oh short, the days!
VIII
When the flower falls
The leaf is no more cherished.
Every day I fear.
IX
Even when you smile
Sorrow is behind your eyes.
Pity me, therefore.
X
Laugh--it is nothing.
To others you may seem gay,
I watch with grieved eyes.
XI
Take it, this white rose.
Stems of roses do not bleed;
Your fingers are safe.
XII
As a river-wind
Hurling clouds at a bright moon,
So am I to you.
XIII
Watching the iris,
The faint and fragile petals--
How am I worthy?
XIV
Down a red river
I drift in a broken skiff.
Are you then so brave?
XV
Night lies beside me
Chaste and cold as a sharp sword.
It and I alone.
XVI
Last night it rained.
Now, in the desolate dawn,
Crying of blue jays.
XVII
Foolish so to grieve,
Autumn has its colored leaves--
But before they turn?
XVIII
Afterwards I think:
Poppies bloom when it thunders.
Is this not enough?
XIX
Love is a game--yes?
I think it is a drowning:
Black willows and stars.
**
When the aster fades
The creeper flaunts in crimson.
Always another!
XXI
Turning from the page,
Blind with a night of labor,
I hear morning crows.
XXII
A cloud of lilies,
Or else you walk before me.
Who could see clearly?
XXIII
Sweet smell of wet flowers
Over an evening garden.
Your portrait, perhaps?
XXIV
Staying in my room,
I thought of the new Spring leaves.
That day was happy.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
De diez cabezas, nueve
embisten y una piensa.
Nunca extrañéis que un bruto
se descuerne luchando por la idea.
1.1k
i gave in today
you are my worst
but best first impression
i gave in today
you were out of sight
but never out of my mind
i gave in today
you were out the door
with all my favorite books
like taking away all that's best in me
i gave in today
i gave in
you let out a sigh
and said you loved me
loved
loved
i gave in today
i gave in
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
That class is sponsoring a thorough bred fair—creating war winning story that doesn't fit neatly onto a bumper sticker. Only a standard reply from featherless wing—bloviating an appeal to the conscientious authority. Go back: polish the Augean non-staples, rear up stallions to break geldings, eat beefsteak, drink whiskey at whistle, stop. That class only teaches a Greek hero clean-up. Meanwhile, they claim victory.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 10:29 AM UTC
Sometimes I picture myself in a red prom dress,
with converse under the tulle, and glitter
covering my eyes as I nervously glance
away from your face, inches from mine,
trying not to stare at your crooked bow-tie.
Sometimes we’re jumping over the tide’s
foam, under the moonlight, licking the salt from our lips—
my saddle shoes on the dunes, your jeans rolled
above the ankle, but my curls falling loose around my face.
Sometimes we’re moving black and white photographs,
1920’s with fringe and silver canes,
and sometimes
we’re like this. Naked on your mattress,
with the ceiling fan at a standstill, sipping
stale beer from old bottles you left lonely
on the windowsill. And sometimes I know better,
but tonight I answered your call and I came over
to your lazy bones on the sunken couch,
watching the lava lamp’s goo stick to the bottom,
yet still lighting
the entire room with a neon glow.
By now, you think I would know
that I can never count on you unless it’s cheap,
and convenient, and broken, and me. It’s only
ever me, but I can’t just haphazardly
stay in the spaces of your life that need filling.
I picture us, hugely, with a white house,
blue shutters, little kids building towers on the porch
just to knock them down.
The whole bit, picture it! But all
you ever see me as is figure
that you can reach if you squint hard enough—
a mirage that you like to believe
only you will ever hold.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
Divine your soul's degree it is the sucker
Of rotting mind flesh off the bright light core
A red flashing neon exploding door
To heaven is causally over
Looked for excitements and anger little
Rubber hammers of perception tap mind
Tendons born formed or this life conditioned
And we **** **** **** our days away as chattel
To fault-full man-made process rationaled
Buy this! Get wet for this! Dream this! Consume your
HOLE LIFE CONSUME!!! and sigh the wish for more
Stoppage is not in time just now crafted
Body movements speak louder than words blow
Chunks!!! there's a full heap of actions to go
Feb 19, 2022
Feb 19, 2022 at 1:16 AM UTC
El 4 es 4 para todos?
Son todos los sietes iguales?
Cuando el preso piensa en la luz
es la misma que te ilumina?
Has pensado de qué color
es el Abril de los enfermos?
Qué monarquía occidental
se embandera con amapolas?
831
Regardless of the portrayals by The "old masters" in their oil paintings, or Hollywood depictions; I don't think that when Adam and Eve were created, they resembled "Mr. Universe" or any of the"Victoria's Secret" models. A rather hirsute individual, carrying a club fashioned from a tree limb, toenails in need of clipping, knuckles dragging the ground. I'd hate to see what Adam looked like.
copyright: Richard Riddle-March 09. 2015
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
Words ripple through my body
A lifeless corpse begins to rot
Hatred of others did this
No one should suffer this fate
Words ripple through my body
I remember the taunts
Cheered on by mindless taunts
No one should be discriminated against
Especially when there's nothing to be ashamed of
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
YES TIME TO MYSELF,
WERE I CAN SIT ON THE SHELF OF LIFE,
WATCHING MY LIFE RUN BY,
ITS TIME I STOPPED RUNNING AFTER IT,
LET IT COME TO ME ,
CAUSE IS THAT NOT THE WAY ITS MEAN'T TO BE,
LETS FINISH WITH THE DRINK,
AN SIT AN THINK OF ALL I WILL HAVE
WHEN I STOP THE DEMONS AN DOUBTS,
LEAVE THEM BEHIND FOREVER,
I DON'T WANT OR NEED THESE Ds,
THIS TIL THE END I CAST,
THIS SPELL FOR THIS IS ME.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 6:02 AM UTC
"Sonnets From a Conversation With a Friend XXIV "
Divine your soul's degree it is the sucker
Of rotting mind flesh off the bright light core
A red flashing neon exploding door
To heaven is causally over
Looked for excitements and anger little
Rubber hammers of perception tap mind
Tendons born formed or this life conditioned
And we **** **** **** our days away as chattel
To fault-full man-made process rationaled
Buy this! Get wet for this! Dream this! Consume your
HOLE LIFE CONSUME!!! and sigh the wish for more
Stoppage is not in time just now crafted
Body movements speak louder than words blow
Chunks!!! there's a full heap of actions to go
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
XXII.
because you spent years discovering different agonies and you've decided the worst is the constant the unchanging the one that has no end and no result because you can't escape
XXIII.
because deep down you know this is self care this sleeping this hiding this crying this writing because even if it hurts it's a change
XXIV.
because you thought you were invalid for even at your worst you couldn't help but think about getting better so maybe that wasn't the worst but you know now you always just thought of change be it good or bad
XXV.
because you really honestly truly and surely don't believe you can make the right decision about getting better or worse without help
XXVI.
because you haven't gotten better yet and that would be a change but you also haven't gotten to rock bottom yet and that would be a change
XXVI.
because you have to make a decision now
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
The meek will not inherit ****
that's a common misconception.
The miracles of Jesus Christ
were all subtle deceptions.
**** if you believe in fantasy
as thick as the resurrection,
you'd probably claim the earth was flat
if that's what society expected.
Your preacher was a mega-phone
for a money hungry despot.
Centuries have come and gone
when will you people get the message?
If he's real friends, God is dead,
or he built the planet and ******* left it.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
I'm angry because the darkness came and left me
No calling card, no receipt, just a memory
Where the haze lingered and made me the joke
I can find no satisfaction in re-telling my woes!
I just feel and then I stay the witness, alone!
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
Viejo alegre, viejo alegre,
no persigas a mi novia;
no son pájaros de invierno
los amantes de las rosas.
Viejo alegre, viejo alegre,
me quitaste a mi adorada.
¡Cuál te engríes en la boda
retiñéndote las canas!
Viejo alegre, ríe, ríe,
pues volvió tu primavera;
tanto, que hoy ha amanecido
retoñando la cabeza.
347
XXIV
Our father, who art in Heaven
hallowed be thy name
Bodies and blood rush past me.
If I open my eyes and let go
of these hands
I’ll lose faith
thy kingdom come
thy will be done,
in earth as it is in Heaven.
This Kingdom breaks under my
people
my hands bleed down and
I cannot link
enough souls
enough lives
to save us all
and I only cry this
prayer to You-
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive them that trespass
against us.
In every face I see the forgiving
the forgetting and remembering
of the years they let slip
through their fingers.
They cross themselves for
the Son, the Father, the Holy Ghost
and those they love
and who loves them
And lead us not into temptation;
but deliver us from evil.
for thine is the kingdom,
the power, and the glory
for ever and ever.
Amen.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC