Picture is: 'Paradise Sunset'
Artist is: Diane Romanello
art print from allposters.co.uk
The Real Housewives of Paradise Beach
“The chairs are from Georgio’s,
frightfully expensive but just right.
They help block anyone who might think
of coming up the path to our
We had Adzio’s do the patio, you know.”
“I know. Don’t you just hate it--
that the beach is free, and
I love the pricey chairs though.
You’ll need side tables or something
for drinks and all, won’t you?”
much bother, Dear,
and we never leave the patio--
drags sand in you know.
We’re only down for July anyway.
the sunset pretty, and all?”
“Gracious it had better be!
It was so expensive and all, you know?”
© 2008 by E.D.
Can Remember a Kind of Silence
If I think hard enough and long enough
I can remember a kind of silence,
nothing unnatural interrupted the ear:
the break of small waves on the beach of Point Lookout;
the rustle of the tobacco
leaves outside the propped up window;
the eagle’s call atop Old Rag Mountain;
woodland walks with no where particular
accompanied by noises so natural
the walk was mistaken for some silent retreat.
As the year’s went by I
did not notice
the gradual creeping of unnatural noises
seeping into my consciousness. The heart beat
pressure were rarely a concern in youth,
and I was hell bent on making the artificial noises
that surrounding me. I
had not yet learned the
prudence of moderation or the consideration of solitude.
Wars came and went and came again.
burst upon the world with the insistence of
“You’ve got mail!” Noise became more and more
artificially generated and
I learned to multi-task it,
weave those elements in and out like the music mixer
in a noisy night club. My patience
grew shorter and shorter
to match the allotted time I could give to any poem to read.
Today, I’m in a race against
all the noise about me:
Trying to get the words out in-between
noisy children in the background;
timing my time
alone to compose my poetry before
Doo wop intrudes upon my mind;
trying to meditate over the noise of the plane above.
I miss that kind of silence I hear so little of in my world today;
a kind of silence of noises natural to the harmony of
I feel frantic and nervous and the doctor prescribes pill upon pill
for my nerves and the heightening
pressure. Reading ‘War and Peace’
again is unthinkable-that summer long ago is rent and but a memory.
me and heightens the pulse of everything around me,
banging and slamming, pounding and ringing, screaming and screeching…
2008 by E.D. Ridgell
Give me a strong federation
To protect me from the state,
Arbitrate the fast, fleeting,
over lines, and
Secure me from selfish sectionalism-
Something to unify the whole
To prevent the boil and
keep an even simmer
To the melting pot-
Protect me from my neighbor's zeal
To steal upon my solitary prayer.
me a high top
From on which to look out
Over a larger property
In case of some seditious plot
the shell that holds
That spell that mesmerized my
Dearly departed, generation after generation,
revolution and its hard won liberty
That was nothing less than miraculous
In the course of history.
me back in tiny patches some of the pieces
Of that big parachute of a quilt that many comrades
Contribute to keep
it ready on
The chance of life's inevitable crashes,
The running over of river edges,
The fall of the many
Brought down by the winds of change.
Bestow on me some small illusion
That the greater community
To spare a little from the horn of plenty,
This vast expanse of land and sky
That we have not come
close to filling up
With anything like enough of a world's caste offs,
Come with hopes and dreams to replicate
The minting of fresh coin to replenish the
Coffers that in the end, like fishes and bread,
Seem never to run
out, but to multiply
On the momentum of growth, going forward,
Leaning forward, united by the dreams and hopes,
Of a people who will not settle for less than greatness!
© 2012 by E.D. Ridgell
Similes and Symbols
It was a hot day that day at The Battery.
waited so long to be screened buckle-less
before passing over to that Island
the simile of another we proudly passed.
towers were still freshly fallen
in both memory and the mind’s eye.
We needed buckling up- a reminder
of just what
There she stood torch in hand,
Mother of Exiles reminding us
“Give me your tired, your poor, your
huddled masses yearning to breath free…”
Her’s was a world wide welcome
Alike yet unlike the place beside her;
gates held ajar with a doorstop.
She had always been firmly rooted,
never tempest’tost was she.
lips she seemed to ask;
“Who is an immigrant who
does not come to us an alien-
wary, unsure and frightened?
do we welcome them?”
We enfold them into our arms;
feed and clothe them,
nurse them to health,
and, yes, we
all to the abundant degree
of our blessed largesse.
"Whatever you neglected to do
unto one of these
least of these,
you neglected to do unto Me!" ...
We invite them into our ranks,
immigrants everyone of us before.
are our lifeblood.
They are our soul.
They are our folk.
Speak not to me of minor things,
forms and registrations.
attend to their needs
and foster their cries for citizenship.
Do not seek to divide us
by fires stoked before-
screens for your war. Hear this:
“Mr Bush, tear down this wall!”
© 2008 by E.D. Ridgell
Tinker Bell's Fail!
Back to the Five and Dime
Bobby Dee Bobby Dee,
I didn't mean it. You'll always be my
Disney boy, so dear to
How came you to a potter's grave
Bobby Dee Bobby Dee?
I didn't mean it, to prick and stick
You so hard and high you'd die, pretty boy!
Lie you still on Hart Island,
Bobby Dee Bobby Dee
Far from Treasure Island, the voice of Pan
a whisper o'er the windy Sound?
© 2011 by E.D. Ridgell
of a Cottontail
I remember Cotton,
Sittin’ up tall the other side a
pickup cab’s, ring-stained
cuddlin’ a cold beer to his crotch.
He was a hotrod man
when he took to teasin’ me,
just cause he knew.
I was a special
boy to him. He told me so,
on a sweet moonlit driven
my best friend ‘nd buddy,
somebody bigger to look up to.
He nicked me his Cottontail,
he ne’er told me any lies.
He ne’er told me any lies.
He’d been runnin’ Racine raw.
It weren’t fittin’,
her bein’ married ‘nd all.
Everybody knew though
that there cock-hold,
‘nd he weren’t half of Cott.
I figured, too, Racine know’d that
ne’er told her any lies.
He ne’er told her any lies.
Cott’d got something awful
‘nd fearless too,
in those days when you drove
unfeathered ‘nd free,
‘customed as you were
He flipped o’er into a causeway ditch.
It ‘bout broke everybody’s heart.
I bored the beatin’ weight;
heavy ‘n taut in pain,
that toted a void,
the hole that couldn’t
I reckon I’ll mostly remember though,
Cotton ne’er told me any lies.
told me any lies.
Scoot on o’er here a little closer.
Do ya wanna ‘nother beer?
be such a shyaway
on a sweaty-driven moonlit-night.
We’ll fill up if ya wanna,
and sate the void again,
in a bright night;
taut, light-weighted ‘nd chased to that
upper right handed, canton-liked corner
pain, I hike to a my mind’s eye,
cause I know,
just cause I know.
You can call me Cottontail,
I won’t be tell’in ya any lies;
I won’t be tell’in ya any lies.
© 2006 by E.D. Ridgell
My owner was irreverently
liberal about more things than not
after the Age of Reason.
Shift about my foundations
and you’ll find
this is no sand
but hard granite indeed.
I am done settling;
A stately house.
I have become so forgotten,
skip me after Springwood-
it’s closer to the Park.
Today, the unfashionable
is often the mode tomorrow-
Change is inevitable
and a circle has no breaks.
It is well designed.
Society is always owed a debt.
it with the proceeds
of craftsmanship-yes, statesmanship
made, here, within this place.
She lies but a little bit
Please, pay her her due!
© 2008 by E.D. Ridgell
Let Me Pass
I often wonder at your lack of savoire faire,
Your camouflaged and fatigued élan,
assembled in the PRC,
Purchased by you on sale and off the rack.
Where is that insecurity that might spark
least a small imperfection or two
To interest me even a little to nibble on you
Even at the fear that your normalcy
might rub off?
Is it as catching as it must be uncomfortable?
By what process were you potty trained,
you should be as asexual as to feign
Even a slight degree of that excess so vital
To the savoring of the fat fruit
so laden on the tree?
Have you such an aversion to the odd snake
In the manhole or the actual snake sneaking up
Her asshole or no snake seeking any hole,
But rather branching out, a two headed oddity,
To grow rich in
the many freak shows of Eve's fall!
You might find me acerbic behind my yawn,
But it is you that would inhibit
History has proven you as malicious as
You are self righteous. You've bullied, tortured,
And maimed anything
or anyone who might not
Conform to your false, cruel, and judgmental god,
Whom you bring out on his golden leash
Whenever your crimes need justification yet again.
God forgive you, even as I can not.
I only pray I can cover
my ass in a last
Dramatic act at the taking of the last rights,
As to entertain that Good Creator that he might
Let me pass and thus avoid spending an
Eternity in Hell with you. The boredom would
Be insufferable and the whiskey
Down to cheat the clientele, all your closest friends.
© 2012 by E.D. Ridgell
The Old Buddha begins the Forty Fifth Day
You die for
interrupting the song of the canary!
We have no ear now for distant discords
or the echoing rumors common to the court.
are as to silent flights of hummingbirds.
You are but one of a host of brown-headed sparrows while
this one, yellow
canary sings with celestial purpose,
lightening Our morning’s jealous solitude,
a pretty prelude ‘fore the tedious
rituals of tending mortals.
Away! Behead him without delay, this fowl,
indigenous sparrow heckling the lovely canary.
no matter its elegant competition,
its airs cannot forestay Our boredom,
or equal these lovely songs floating on the
With the breaking of winging sounds most pure
comes this kowtowing herald of a general,
for Our liking.
Go! We begin the migration on the day rudely used!
How now, tell Us, fairs Our Boxer’s?
by E.D. Ridgell