Linens scented of

last night's rendezvous,

  still wafting midst

            reticent moments,

cognac and aromatic

   candlelight burning 'neath

      surreptitious breaths,

  as we deciphered

    sultry shadow's seduction

              midst clandestine poetry

I'm stationary, sat silent in a taxi
on another plagiarised street
where the rain is the only other rhythm
compounding that heavy threat of my heart.

There's one frozen memory
of words that crept unwarranted to
the surface and floated idly there,
an oily mirror amongst the ****.

I said
I can't do this any more.

And wordless, you left me when
actually, I didn't think you could.

This taxi is empty and the rain is
only on my face and that bray
of my heart holds steady,
in spite of everything
else having
stopped.

Your image burns
eternal in my mind
Luscious lustful flame
melting through my rhyme
You illuminate my pages
and heat my quill
The passion for my muse
rages hotter, still.

031010~6.21a

You're selfless,
but within this empty world of ours
you're also helpless,

ignoring the common lines
and only standing for what's true;
going above and beyond
doing way more than you're obliged to do...

but you're swamped,
in a sea of dangerous excess,
surrounded by a spoilt society
that's egotistic and feckless -

they'll take advantage,
smile with bated teeth and even hug;
kiss, ***** you right over
name the whole obscenity Love

and the harsh truth is,
they don't ******* care

for when it's you that falls,

they won't be there.

I had a dream of things that
could sometime be -
one sharp glimpse across
shimmering waters of an other-worldly sea,

with skies of the brightest blue
and fields of emerald-infused wild grass,
a field of dreams that's so pure
amidst a world that's sardonic and sickeningly crass

come join me my friend, sleep away
from a world that burns, and a life infatuated with gloom,
run through fields of clover and lilies
and buds swollen and golden, ready to bloom,

O' frolic upon crisp-white clouds
soar with me through the sky,
just enjoy this sweet paradise for all it's worth
ignore the fact that all you see here is a lie -

be grateful that you can escape
to this place with no sin,
for once you finally awake

you'll be plunged into a world you no longer want to live in.

Go walk the streets of dust city remains
where fragments of your rubble houses linger.
Feel the bleach injected in your veins
as you press the jutting steal against your fingers.

A glittering tornado tears aged bricks away
and new pristine white walls strike you down blind.
Where wooden skeletons of homes gave way,
now empty windows flash down the street side.

When your lungs are poisoned by the disinfectant breeze
and you kneel down to cough on grimy cracked concrete,
when the toxins take you and hands start to seize
lay your worn head down and feel your city’s fading heartbeat.

What kind of people spit on the condemned
and cover up the suffering with phony plastic gems?

I trip into your path, machinations
of bright smiles and a kindness drawn
only with pleasing you.

The first time we met I dreamt myself
into your bed, sly moves of a body
you did not want to resist.

Eagerly I hover on the edge of your
life, content to steal company whenever
it is permitted.

He is rapture defined, solid substance
with self-abrasive smiles; a keenness
that cuts when I stand too near.

I wonder if he has other girls to
whom he also extends invites,
to accompany him but for awhile.

I wonder if he likes it. And I wonder
of the dwindling kindled hope that
enrages my skin - and his?

I have observed brightly lit stores...
window displays welcome
with wide open arms.
Kaleidoscope of colours,
dancing to catchy music...
adding on to the allure and charm.

Droves of shoppers have identified this
as their slice of heaven.
Flagging retail therapy
and finding their
pocket of Eden.

I have observed some laying down.
Relaxing...
unwinding...
On patches of grass.
They stare at the sky
with much adoration,
as wispy clouds float on by.

These skygazers have chosen this
to be their little slice of heaven.
With the ground on their backs,
grass between their toes
and azure as their witness...
this is their pocket of Eden.

I have observed a couple of lovebirds,
seated at a café...
immersed deeply in conversation.
In their own private universe,
their own little bubble.
Employing hugs and frequent pecks as punctuation.

There's nowhere else they'd rather be.
From their eyes I know,
they've found their unique slice of heaven.
In each other
they've found their pocket of Eden.

I have observed myself...
I thought myself to be lost
for the longest time.
Seeking a place
for the voice in my head
that only spoke in rhyme.

All is not lost when
I finally found that place.
My little slice of heaven.
For almost a year ago today
I decided on Hello Poetry
as my pocket of Eden.

When reading the obituaries in the newspaper, and see the name of a person whom I had known for a long time, with whom I went to high school , did business, worked beside, etc. I say to myself, "I just moved up a rung on the ladder." I just hope it's a very tall ladder!

copyright: richard riddle-June 17, 2015