Monthly Archives: September 2015

The Measure of Margaret Alice

There within the words –
those soothing little words –
chirping all about –
flittering here and there –
finding me – my longing soul –
awash in their symphony –
gasping at their touch –
softly caressing my every drop.
And to wit – that such words fallen before –
in years gone by for mere dreams to recapture,
but often forgotten –
gone to receding waves or silent moon –
Moon so stoic and grey and pitted –
mocking us with all of those before us –
who once stood and watched her as we do now –
marveled her brilliance amongst
……….. the sparkling stars –
shining down upon such great love as
Cleopatra and Marc Antony –
or Ulysses and Penelope….
Gone now – to grave and dust –
brings sadness that such emotions
thrived within beating hearts…
As ours beat now.
But gone in the coldness of death.

Your love is no less precious a thing –
dear lover,
no less breath taking –
no less earth shaking…
no less heart staking…
than what it takes to make me live forever.
For if death promises to take you away from me –
Then I should pray, and hope, and desire only –
…… to live eternally by your side –
defying even God’s will for your endless love…
That is the measure of sweet Margaret Alice…

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Goose Prose And Morning Glory

Morning Fog resting gently on the green…
bouncing softly up and down
spitter spatter swiss cheese holes –
Some are clear – can see all the way
some are white – blocking God’s creation –
like an unfinished puzzle.
Above I hear my friends say goodbye…
I stretch my neck and squint through the mist –
See the geese flapping their wings so hard…
Like southward grey ghosts – reminiscent.
“On we go, Mr. John…  On we go!”
“Join us if you can…..”

A moment passes, and a straggler is heard…
“Honk honk honk honk honk!”
Loudly barking pleas for the others to slow down.
This will not be a good year my friends…


Heavenly War

Tendrils weave through this web of darkness –
choking shadows hiding away behind our eyes.
Cut through them Mighty sword –
those tendrils of blindness –
Erase what we’ve seen to bring the light.
Let us see the angels that never die –
and cousin demons of God’s creative might…
Heavenly wars and bloodshed mourn –
Lest ye not mistake love for scorn…
For good and evil do battle my friend –
But no bloodshed will ever end –
And the sword is merely a symbol of love –
while death be only the lack thereof….
1:50 PM 9/22/2015

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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Marowlean…

Who’s to say what happiness is?
For lives filled with what crappiness is?
Smoking crack and shooting heroin –
killing themselves just like Marilyn…
Or Norma Jean, to Elton….

Poor Norma Jean, candle in the wind…
snorting things and drinking gin….
taking pills in Hollywood Hills –
Life just wasn’t good enough….
What chance do we poor schmucks have?

Your candle isn’t blowing hard enough Marilyn –
Your voice is silent of angelic carolling Marowleeeean…
And so they’re still dying Herald Queeeeeen.
Even Einstein couldn’t stop that.
Did you blow him too?

Did Jack kill you?  Was it Bobby?
Edgar or Lyndon?
Or was it Jackie –
who lived with your birthday song after Camelot…
Weeping on his grave…
For her family?
In a blood stained pink dress…

No……
It was you,
selfish bitch.

Who does weep upon your grave?
Of all those who visit –
those who just want to say they did….?
Or does your beauty last in your coffin?
Your coffin coffin coffin…
Beauty beauty coffin…
Death death death….
That is all you are.

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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If I Were Lizzie Borden’s Neighbor

If I were Lizzie Borden’s neighbor…
I think it would  have been hard.
So I surely would have courted her..
Possibly even scored with her…
but never never tortured her…
Because she would have chopped me into little pieces..

And it would have rested upon the why’s and when’s –
(that I should have been her neighbor -)
for if I had encountered the bloody den –
axe in the fire while Lizzie says “More!”…
Then it might have been like a one night stand thing..

But before the grisly act –
which Liz so merrily savored –
I would have made her a porn star…
and a whole lot of money –
being Lizzie Borden’s neighbor…

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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