Daily Archives: January 26, 2015

My White Pages

Here my tiny being lays within the whiteness of
this page.  I tried using my fork to tiddle-wink
the words onto it – to tattoo them like a tiny
tear drop on a felon’s face.  Failure, again,
my face cries and the whiteness glows on it –
ghostly face white with nothing to say.  Words
tiddle-winked completely over – or – failed
to tiddle at all.  Or should it be winked?
Should I know – with no words to show – at all?
My blank face and blank mind – so much less
than those others, who speak, and write – and never
leave white glowing trails from empty words
behind them.  My glowing trails are blank spaces.
“Answer me, boy, answer me!”  I don’t and I can’t
and I won’t!  The words are gone – and I can’t
squeeze them out of a turnip.  Perhaps if I
could boggle the words across the page and –
some might melt into it, saturating it through,
leaking into pages beneath.  There’s always
pages beneath, pages hiding and waiting to
prove me blank, just waiting there, waiting
to strike when my aloneness is multiplying
numbers, like Yahtzee scores, always counting
words that aren’t ever there – not to me, but
it’s only a game, they  say, they say – But
I say it is only a long, desperate, awkward
pause that shakes my soul beyond these bones –
and they say “Spit it out boy!  Are you just
dumb? or Stupid”  —  haha – laughter laughter.
I’ll take my words, my turnip and felon tear and
climb down the hole – my away place – and hide.
Some day my page will flower like a turnip patch.
And my glowing spaces will be them – trailing
behind in dirty glowing spaces.  And the spotted
baby deer will fill his tum with my
colorful memories……  my some day page.

.
.
..
….
…….
……….
……………
……………………………………..
© 2015 John Allen Richter
………………………………………


Where Did You Go

What happened in the coldness
of that room? Could I remember
ice skating?  or was that
a painting on the wall?
Do I still have my skates,
rusty blades made me fall – down
in snow tornadoes- slow –
through the sea of puffy coats –
and knit caps with balls on them.
Rosy cheeks going past – saying
something – or other.  Something –
certainly something I think –
come and play, play – but falling.
A room with a view –
happy skaters going ’round.
But only on the wall.  Madness –
happiness – something –
certainly something –
Something – made me die
in the room with the wall
and the painting said
when you were coming –
and I waited – waited
but they skated and skated.
And so I forgot.
I forgot that I love you.
The painting knows I do.
But it’s gone.
.
.
..
….
…….
……….
……………
……………………………………..
© 2015 John Allen Richter
………………………………………


Ode to Poe’s Love

Within a moment, can solemn worry –
from a care-free life loving lore,
foresee the grieving wretch of me,
with the great loss of dear Elinore.

If madness pervades my thought,
that should she bejewel my soul –
then let this madness be brought –
accepting it over ten-fold.

As never a beauty should rise –
above my solemn sun crest.
within the mist of her eyes –
finds my soul’s lone happiness.

Elinore, my ardent love be true,
and I shall voice it to the clouds…
less your lips now cold and blue
should come forth from buried ground.

Dear, allow this waft of roses,
brought to thee by the dozen –
sooth thee through those heav’nly dozes –
My dearest, most sweetest cousin….

And ever need you may call my name,
through the lonely whippoorwill,
or if you insist, all the same –
a black raven above my sill.
.
.
..
….
…….
……….
……………
……………………………………..
© 2015 John Allen Richter
………………………………………