This is the post excerpt.
My first blog post Just trying to get my work out there i’m less a blogger, mostly an archaeologist, but trying to get my poetry out there. I hope you enjoy.
My first reading at The Brass Pelican, Surf City, NC
via Daily Prompt: Ruminate
No Psalms read like the blood of a lifeline
I was slow
at knowing
that the times
we can bat
our eyelids
are not infinite
and I remember
quite well
the way that I felt
on the day
that my brother
passed on
there was a mirage
of sound
late one evening
when the blind
eye of the moon
welled up
as I laced my boots
with sinew
and walked through
the darkness
to let the stars shine
on the blade
of my knife that cut
deep along
my lifeline
and the blood
from my palms
read like
the Psalms
of comfort that could
not find its way
through the hay
of the high
pasture
on that long night
not so
very long ago.
Standing alone
dragging on
a cigarette
for a pen
writing
sad poems
to the moon
and the smoke
makes nice Os
and lassoes
a lone star
like a wild pony
I wanted
to ride hard
and fast once
across the dark
deserted desert
of your heart.
The first thing I do when I wake up at 0500 is take my dog out to do her biz, me to have my first smoke of the day, and check the news on my phone to see what the dangerous idiot of the free world has tweeted while I slept. I know; a lousy way to start my day, but there it is.
A poem for my first blog recently published on Reuben Woolley’s excellent site: I am not a silent poet
So speak to power.
Silhouettes in the garden of the east lawn
Who cares about the affairs
of poor women
who work their fingers
to the bone
just ask them
those who have been let down
and taken up
like the hem of a gown
rich ladies wear
at the country club
taking up a collection for the nun
who cares for the orphans
when there is golf
and invitations to dances
to attend in the evening
on the east lawn
by the garden
the master in his white gloves
brushes dirt
off of his evening jacket
and a flash of a silver flask
in the moonlight
like a dagger in the back
of ambassadors
while those authorities on gas
and all of their advisors
go over lists of the uninvited
keeping tabs on who has
and who hasn’t shown up yet
smoking cigarettes
and drinking cold duck
with their fish eggs
as the dark guests
who were never invited
dance alone in the garden
with their silhouettes.
Rick Richardson
Poetry on the Edge 