The Old Walnut Tree

The blackened burl of charred remains -
stands the gnarl of great walnut tree.
Stretching his arms into the blue -
as though his very life to plead.

Covered with scars his shadow falls
upon the  body of me.
Here I lay with broken dolls
of all our childhood dreams.

And so I thought a lifetime ago,
whispering, whittling, wond’ring why…
Should a tree of such earthen beauty
Ever reach the sky?

Tis not mine, Dear Walnut,
not mine to see.
But only to share my time
with thee..

So I have weathered this storm
to touch your olden scars,
To feel initials so weatherly worn,
before I chase the stars.

For once a boy envisioned thee,
taking refuge in your leaves.
Carving names of lovers seen
I thoroughly believe -

That soon my legs and arms will climb
upon your mountainous breadth
and we will remember all the times
o’er the years you and I have wept.

.
.
..
....
.......
..........
...............
.........................
© 2014 John Allen Richter
.........................

Lady, Dear Lady

Childhood memories are some of my fondest.  My greatest of those are before school when I spent entire days with my mother.  Going to school changed that dramatically.  And of course growing up and following other ventures certainly put those days in the past.  But there are many great memories left from my early days with mom.  One of them was named “Lady.”  She was probably part beagle and part collie, an odd assortment.  But she was the most loving dog I may have ever known.  She was owned by the Ballestreri’s one block over on 16th street.  But she was really a neighborhood dog because she was free to roam the neighborhood every day.  And that’s what she did.  My most vivid memories of her are seeing her play in the 4 to 5 acre overgrown field behind our row of houses.  She loved chasing birds and rabbits.  And everyday she would make her way to our back porch and scratch the aluminum screen door.  Mom and I would always give her bits of bologna and milk – and Lady was always so appreciative. It’s like her eyes were alive with love and friendship – and though it’s impossible – I seem to remember her face always smiling.  But then I got older and into my own things, going to school, working, and chasing girls constantly.  I would see Lady less and less.  Not because she wasn’t there.  But because I wasn’t.  Then one day while I was in high school, and busier than I’d probably ever been, I saw her in the back field chasing a rabbit.  She was a little slower, and much less agile, but inside those eyes was still the Lady I knew.  I gave her some meat and milk, patted her head, and off she went.  I never saw her again.  I changed her owner’s name in the poem below because Ballestreri is frightfully hard to rhyme.

Lady, Dear Lady

Her name was Lady,
owned by O’grady.
She roamed the neighborhood each day.

For a bit of bologna
or cheese and macaroni
She’d stop and smile as if to say:

I really like you friend
and I will to the end,
even after we’ve gone our own way.

And I would pat her little head as soft as I could,
then she’d return to roam the neighborhood,
until one day I never saw her again.
Lady, dear Lady, I’ll love you to the end.
I’ll save some bologna for that day when
We’ll roam the stars together…..

.
.
..
….
…….
……….
……………
…………………….
© 2014 John Allen Richter
…………………….


Woman Desire

Tenderness consoles thee,
Soft caress controls thee,
And I am master of your world.

Your desire is naught -
forever you have sought -
your soul be deftly ruled.

And now my hand commands thee,
my heart most aptly demands thee,
your needs never more fooled.

So now come to me, dear woman,
place your lips upon mine.
Name it love if you prefer.
Momentarily I shall defer -
and take your flesh with wine.
In any case, you shall always be -
my lovely concubine…

.
.
..
....
.......
..........
...............
.........................
© 2014 John Allen Richter
.........................

 


Finding Love

Tis never hour for which to gaze
into the sorcerer’s labyrinth.
Though smoke doth pour of open bays
beware his midnight’s fab’ric.
For deep inside he learns the way
to conquer all weakened souls.
And all of those who’ve gone alone -
left bloodless during day.

Yet to learn the trick of love’s desire,
of beauty lass so enchanting -
you may chance the halls of his quicken mire,
to earn his right of granting.
And if you survive the lass be yours,
but with this curse, of every verse -
of yours to her supplanting.

For never shall her womanly wiles
be known by you for rote,
only you’ll find those carnal smiles
first daily then yearly doled.

So if true love is on your mind,
and sweet destiny your eager search,
to hell with those of wizard kind
and find your lover in church!

.
.
..
....
.......
..........
...............
.........................
© 2014 John Allen Richter
.........................

Child Games

Sordid tales do rise from below,
of those who’ve gone before.
We carry their lives to and fro
and file it under lore.

But whenst look most carefully,
divining good from bad,
it seems to me most woefully
we carry the worst they had.

Children’s games do tell the tale,
of such dire travesty.
Of their death and destruction trail,
and long gone tragedy.

With pockets full of posies they sing,
and of bridges falling down,
it’s a wonderment that they never bring
a new plague to every town

So I listen quietly and watch a while,
’til one moves away from the pack.
and when my demons do come alive -
I’ll give him forty whacks….

.
.
..
....
.......
..........
...............
.........................
© 2014 John Allen Richter
.........................

Silence Please

If wolf were calling from the wood
and your heart laid in the meadow,
and the farmers dogs bayed the squirrel -
would you break the fray to ask the brood
to kindly stop the ungodly bellow?
Such terrific ruckus we hurl a’whirl!

Can a man enjoy a simple noon?
Without the buzzing in his ear?
Of a car speeding or a weed-whacker weeding?
Of a hen-pecking neighbor or a baby teething?
An un-muffled motorbike or anchor man reading?
A garbage truck wheezing or damned cats breeding?
A distant siren blaring or whining children pleading?

“When does it stop,” asked the man with bleeding ears.
“I just want to lay in the meadow.”
“Bad timing,” said the passerby -
“we’re just setting up for Woodstock.”

Another artist loses an ear….
Van Gough joins a friend this year.
Year after year after ear after ear…
God, God, can you shut them up!

.
.
..
....
.......
..........
...............
.........................
© 2014 John Allen Richter
.........................

A Dorothy Parker kind’a Sexy

If ever I should fall in love,
t’would be a gal of your vortices -
the only hope I’d pray to find
is one without rigor mortises…

Dorothy, Dottie, Dot my gal
Why did you choose to leave?
Did you hear me call your name
from my heart upon my sleeve?

You sang so loud – the world didn’t hear
the same beauty I find unseen -
Oh darling – if only we were near -
I’d have given you that limosine…

You acted so tough and witty without -
but I’m certain that deep within
was a girl so tender but sexy enough
to stuff it up to her chin…!

Dottie, Dottie, Dottie my pet,
life’s a tumbling homestead.
Of mine and this my only regret,
that you are now inconveniently dead!

.
.
..
....
.......
..........
...............
.........................
© 2014 John Allen Richter
.........................

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 240 other followers