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

 

 

Not Just Now, Dear…

There was once a lady in
my childhood library –
with posture quite great
but her arms very hairy..
She would “shush” and “shoo”
when we made too much noise –
And always question “Who?”
or “Which one of you boys?”
“could make such a ruckus
amidst such fine poise?”
“While others are reading
the news or Tolstoy?”

“Me,” said I, always quite brave,
to lady with glasses and rickety cane…
For boys don’t simply “shush” or “shoo” on command,
While there are Indians or Cowboys to chase across land,
or pirate ships a’sea and sailing for loot –
or barrels of monkeys causing such hoot!
or a desperate search for a big white whale –
or little Tom Sawyer telling such tales!
or Gulliver tied by tiny little men –
or Cyclops chasing Ulysses again…
Why did dear Miss fail to see –
the wondrous things of great mystery?

Odd was that little boy in me so very long ago –
who wanted to fight dragons and slice off their toes…
But now grown I can look back at we –  and find
the virtue of silence that dear Miss did see.

For I don’t mind the rare picnic when ants come to play –
or the Mayor’s prized parade when it rains all day.
I don’t mind the canoe when you flip it over,
nor even when you win at the game of red rover…

But I must stop here, lover, and just tell you this
and I don’t mean to harm or cause you to hiss…
It’s fitting perhaps that it’s when our hearts are near –
and when our love has grown to be just this dear…

But I find it quite odd, and in deed quite complex –
that you should find it so necessary to talk during sex.
It’s the one time of day when my mind is turned off –
and my body turned on by your delectable stuff!

Please understand that in the fray,
it’s not really you I see –
for when you speak during the lay –
I see ol’ Miss shushing thee…

So what ever dragons you’re chasing my pet,
I’ll asks you to do it very quietly.
for if dear Miss ends up in our bed –
it’ll ruin my childhood library….

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© 2015 John Allen Richter
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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!

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© 2014 John Allen Richter
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