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 Aug 2015 Marian
ryn
Adrift
 Aug 2015 Marian
ryn
.
Adrift...                    
Time has no hold over these
currents that carry me.
Coursing over this seemingly
endless journey.
Caressed and nudged
by an invisible hand...
Perhaps my grave awaits below...
Where light is swallowed
and is too afraid to show.
The desolate demeanor
of the submerged tombless land.

Adrift...                    
Blind to what lays in store...
Oblivious to...
The faint whispers of a distant shore.
The mythical horizon is but a dream,
worthy only to the steadfast
and the resilient.
Not to those who'd fray at the seams.

Adrift...                    
Ripples amass and finally cresting.
Wake up... Waves are breaking.
The sand beckons bearing open arms
to home and sanctuary.
I glance back to
the calm of the watery plain.
My feet aren't ready to be received by
the grit and grain.
I'd like to linger here...
In the water, with the shore so near.
For I've longed and travelled far...
but
I'm still not yet ready...
.
 Aug 2015 Marian
Richard Riddle
"Pettiness, and jealousy, go together.

But, there is not a place for it here on HP. We write what we wish, what we feel, how we feel; about our lives, loves, adventures; our spirituality; we write because it's a beautiful hobby for many of us, and not to begin a competition as to who can do better.
There are so many on this site whose talent I so admire since I joined the site 2 years ago. Because of this nonsense, we recently lost a great writer and friend, whom I will miss terribly. Those that participate in the pettiness, jealousy, hatred, and discontent, are in a minority. Hopefully, the other contributors, writers, poets, essayists, old and new alike, also realize this. Let us not give up our seats on this "Poet's Train!"

copyright: richard riddle-August 18, 2015
in the attic on my way to the roof
pick up the two newborn kittens

their frantic mews at this alien invasion
draw the mother who knows me well

in her owl eyes are written
though love smitten
don't cuddle them too much.


past them i move to the roof.

on the mango tree
the crow nest is empty.

was my bonding with the two chicks
for those weeks
a waste?

dusk falls with a sigh
heavy on my chest.
In the height of summer
The pond shrunk to a hyacinth heart.

The kingfishers left for crystal streams
Village belles no more washed their hidden shames
Kids broke their frolics on her kissing splashes
And men dipped not in her to whisper secrets.

She prayed to hold through all the pains.

The sky heard her and sent her rains.
Inspiration: my cover photo
Of the many girls i thought loved me
she stands out boldly.

She knew how to weave
herself into elusive

raise the bar
just when i thought i reached her

quietly recede
when i picked up speed

use my gift
to give me a lift

remind what was hers
was in my purse

convey
her generosity was a day away.

As i recall
she took my all
and left me a wreck.

She was my Miss Take.
the divine flame burns
even in cold dark rainy nights
10w
i want to roam those gentle mountains
free from the clamors of city life
nothin' but the sound of cicadas
and the feelin' of a summer breeze

i have the summer time login' for yester years
childhood memories grow sweeter each year
a poem about growing up in the mountains of appalachia
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