Monthly Archives: October 2015

Better Headstones

Silly tenure –
Mausoleums…
Angels standing tall –
Marble faces –
outstretched wings –
eyes mere chisled balls –
Grass cut so neat –
trimmed around the stones –
Death trimmed nice –
quite complete –
garnish the moonlit shone…
And I, who ran through orchard high –
to find my angel there –
him speaking but in German tongue –
of years long gone by…
Tell me Angel, oh thee of stone –
Why do you speak to me?
On this dark dark night –
of moon shadow sight –
At quarter past hour of three…

“Oh my dear sir”
parted thousand year lips
“If only you could see
the wisdom and quests ‘neath me –
Of those lost in age from love –
of headstones weathered and worn –
of hearts beaten and torn –
names dribbled to sod –
lost to years and God –
Remnant lay in Earth –
Lost and forlorn…”

And I – a simple man –
known of Earth – but with a plan –
Through that of German tongue –
from age of Thor and thunder –
That I am but a simple man –
whose death shan’t be asunder…
And now I know –
From paupers to kings of past thrones –
The thing we really need ….
in this world of loveless creed…
are simply better headstones.

So quiet your thousand year old stone angels –
and just use granite, right?

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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Wonderland Tea

Great Mad Hatter – was he
Belle of the Ball
But really tea amidst the trees and leaves
where fairies are said to run
upon moonlight escapade…
Catch one if you can –
foresting to and fro –
On wing they go – sometimes.
mistaken as insomniac grasshoppers –
and eaten by –
no wonder why –
the ever endeaverous Mr. Owl…
Who must spit out the fairies –
for their dust makes him sneeze!

And today Mr. Hatter rules the roost –
of crumpets and tea and thee – Sweet Alice –
Who knows not what to think
of this insanity drink –
That makes you grow –
from head to toe –
larger than the Hatter’s tree –
Past the dodo’s nesting there –
grow up above – into thin air
Looking down, can you see?
That which is the Hatter’s tea?

Grand gestures – and so theatrical he
insanity befalls —-  ’til the hours are wee
Dancing and singing and shouting about –
until all have left – except we three…
The Hatter, myself, and thee.

And may I please say dear –
if it won’t chase you away dear –
How lovely you look tonight!
And might I be bold –
as allow to unfold –
that you are my best delight!

And so abandoned my heart
at the very thought
that you discover
my secret aloft –
That the Hatter, my dear
is not far or near
nor dancing there
nor shouting here
For if you ever – even once
found the Hatter kind and tame –
then please know sweet Alice –
He and I are the same…

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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A Man’s Grave

Quiet day – slumber..
Wasting away it’s own time.
For neither wind nor song of bird should rile this place –
Nor cricket scamper across its green.
Here lies majesty – an earthen treasure –
Of love and life and mind sublime –
So that only the rose shall slowly open its petals –
to receive the sun.
And there within such beauty rose –
a captured love of mindful prose –
that he of past somehow arose –
to project the love –
to protect the rose…..
Duty done, now can doze –
In quiet grave – we suppose…
As all creation stands afroze,
In awe and honor of all things being –
Edgar Allan Poe’s……

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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Roses that grew in enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe –
Fell on upturn’d faces of these roses
That gave out, in return for the love-light,
Their odorous souls in ecstatic death –
Fell on upturn’d faces of these roses
That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted
By thee, and the poetry of thy presence.

A snippet from “To Helen”
by Edgar Allan Poe
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You Are My Angel

We are angels
to and fro
all complete
head to toe

Born in image
of God’s delight
In free will
lies our might

Choices made
Lo, love born lost –
triggered hatred
as icy frost

So cast we out
of Heaven’s gate
down to Earth
and here we wait

Learn to love
His one command
failing that
forced to stand

Wings all clipped
staggering within
this glorious place
of love and sin

Which to choose?
Which to choose?
Free will at its best –
Most fail to see
hatred’s epiphany –
Love is just a test.

For hatred is innate –
sin is born within –
Love is not a choice
But a key not to sin…

And now I know
in all the worlds foils
having found your heart
hidden in Earths toils.

So I turn the key –
I turn the key –
Which your great love
gave to me….

And within I find
such peace of mind –
and the dear beauty
of knowing you’re mine…

And with your love
my wings will grow
And I shall fly to Heaven
with you in tow…..

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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Angel #34

I live the twists
the turns
the scars
the burns…
I see the smoke
the charred remains
the blackened ash
of loveless stains…
Nothing stays the same.

John, John?
Take your pills
Undo the twists
and straighten the turns
smoothe the scars
and calm the stars…
And then sleep.
Dream about the nurses station.
You must please them too.
Because life’s not about you.
It’s about them.
Again and again.
The greater ones –
those who tower above –
whose lives are better –
filled with love –
but not you –
( they tell me )
you don’t deserve –
you’re only here to serve.

How dare you speak to them
John – these humans –
who God created –
anointed free will –
but not for you…
They say to me –
How dare you seek love
you filthy mess
talk to them –
as though they care.
about you.
Your un-metered poems
with no internal rhymes…
acting as though you’re real –
with a heart beat in time…

Fallen angels don’t matter.
Except for you – I say to you –
I know you’re one too.
When did you figure it out?
Between the trips to the nurses station?
I didn’t know –
Until I met you…

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A snippet from “To Helen,” by Edgar Alllan Poe

Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes
I saw but them – they were the world to me
I saw but them – saw only them for hours –
Saw only them until the moon went down
What wild-heart histories seem to lie enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe! yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!How darling an ambition! yet how deep –
How fathomless a capacity for love!

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One Night I Sang

I sat – tables in a row –
Chairs swallowing them each –
and every one – like satellite moons
half back high and swizzle sticks
shooting from their centers –
little crystal stars filled with –
slow melting ice and two fingered gins…
and her eyes shoot through  –
through the mist –
through the smoke –
through the lust and sweat and
beer stained carpet – and all the musical
notes swirling ’round the stage
don’t stop her eyes –
can’t stop her eyes –
eyes that feel me –
feel my inner nakedness –
my tiny little being in her majestic universe –
of smoke and beer and gin…
And  I sit among the swizzles –
my little stirring friends and I –
wishing I were her guitar –
and that she would rock me –
gently strum me into such –
a beautiful song as this…..
Oh how wondrous was –
the night I sang her song!

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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A Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Through the wizardry of this internet, WordPress, and so many poetry sites abound I have discovered an absolute gem – hidden away in south Africa – cowering inside of her own ‘tiny pond’ shadow – dreaming and admiring the stars but reclusively running away from them – running for shelter – fearing her love might cause those same stars to fall from the sky….  and fearing that her addition to this world would never match the brilliance or glory of the world itself.  And she feels that if it ever could than she might destroy it with her humanness.
She is my Emily Dickinson Replacement….  My cause de’ jeur…  My chance to bring the light and love of her talent to her mind.. She is my lovely flower and I have banged incessantly on her door – relentlessly – to let her believe that the brilliance of this world is because of her and her kind – and not in spite of her.  She is such a marvelous poetic talent – and completely undervalued as Emily was.  She has thousands of dusty poems unread, unglorified, unsung…  And she wrote this poem below, Eternal Kiss, for me,  simply because I saw her tiny sparkle in her tiny pond….  I love her, and I think you will to.  Her pen-name is Margaret Alice Second…

Eternal Kiss
by Margaret Alice Second
http://www.poemhunter.com/margaret-alice-second/biography/

Nutcracker – Dancing Fairies, an eternal kiss
on my lips, Lothario or Robin Hood, frozen in
front of the messed-up-font & capital letters
converted by a machine confused like me, it
would dream forever if it had been kissed also

Maybe it was, it’s even more lost than I am &
this glory of dreams and visions changes the
fabric of reality, sleeping for a 100 years now
I can’t wake up any more, at least not yet, do
I want to wake up, a moot point – it’s going to

Happen in THIS reality but in parallel eternity
a kiss will endure for centuries yet as fast as
batting an eyelid, if you don’t look you’ll miss
it; exploding vertically to create an eternal fire-
works display, if we do not join the angels we

Shall never get to see it from outside – but I’m
going to feel AND taste colour – see melodies
and experience new being because I know of
the infinite possibility to create new dimension
as we go along, finding fishes with lanterns &

Strange deep-sea creatures, the fairies under
Puck who visited, left already – to return later
if I give them enough time and space to play

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© 2015 Margaret Alice Second
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