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Best Poems Written by Mark Riedel

Below are the all-time best Mark Riedel poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

Please Don'T Let Me Do This !

There might be
                    no returning
                                    once I've kissed another
     
     Don't make me create
                   a decision like this,

because temptation is all around

                   women tapping my arm
                                    in the crowd,

                   of horned legs
                                    lit cigs,
                                    hips, tits, and ass
                   and where are You?

                   doing the same?  (I know)

                    Seems unnatural
                                   but nearly habitual -
      
                                   A sort of Peacock  -  Rooster ritual
     Don't tell me
                                   to hold them
                                                              around by the waist

     (thinking of you all the while leaves such a bad taste)

     I my beer soaked untrue
                                      mouth,

     evaporation temptation
                                with red hot moves

                                      down south,

     Please re - consider

     and I'll meet you for coffee
                                         instead,

     Please call me
          and reassure my caffineated

           screwed up head 
                                                (don't let me do this)...

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

How Many Mornings

will I awaken
               tears?
     struggling, uncomfortably
                          adjusting to fears:

               change - stagnation breeding boredom
               acceptance - realization that it's over
                Self - knowledge that I must face
                truth - she's found another lover....

        discheveled droopy drawers
               howling down on all fours,

         drinking
  under table,
         walking
  though unable,      I

vanish
                                  in the wind.

Symbols of the ways
  that I have wrongly sinned,

Against my inner portrait
  Image with no mirror,

A painted picture of the soul:
  UNDESIRABLY SUPERIOR

         to the one you primp
                      and pose for,
         for vanity's sake:
                                      take yr daily dose
                                      of annihilistic rape!

Yr outer - woven
                 cloven hoofs
                                     are worn and swollen

Better take yr beauty sleep
  before Time has it stolen...

So wash yr guilty 
   wants with lie,
and scrub yr yellowish heel,

rinse yr drydrunk unconscious

and tip-toe at the wheel,

weave in
             out the traffic
and push the pedals hard,

to erase the dividing lines from memory

without a spoken word...

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

I, the Firefighter

Kinshala
 
    I am scared
not of you, but  my extra sensory
perception on my internal
dialogue 
          of what to do...
afraid of non condusive traits
   that form a line
            inside my cranium
            and around my spine....
I'm burning up...a celebrated
convoluted can of beans and brine,
 
I want so much
  to feel yr embrace and
grasp yr touch         to give you muchos besos
(like giving poor muchos pesos,)
 
don't laugh, but touch me with yr eyes
   I want to give you all of me
     (especially what you cannot see)
            without any unwelcome surprise...
 
So Kinshala
    of whom I am burning for
if yr house is smoking down
    I'll be there to turn the door
handle and be true
to quench the fire
   and save you
 
from uncertain realities and strife
  for I'd guard you with my life...

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

Lady Godiva

there once was a Lady from France
who never would put on any pants

she would ride all around
the square of the town

and watch all the stupid men dance !!!

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

Song of Peter Pan

My waterfall of spiral light
hearing the pitter pat
of endless night
of rolling blue Danube thoroughfare junction
flowing to the right
of sequines' songbird function,
Eye, the crescent moon
ebbing and bulging in yr sight,
can only wonder
how you capture
the Sun's fiery light...


crying and can't pinpoint Y
I think joy has overcome
my reason to question why
I've given up reading
all those escapist books,
for everything in mynd
has been growing cold,
the beer on my breath
is stale and old
fuzzy froth
my beard, the hot
chicky broth...

Why do some choose
separate doors
to sleep behind
and row away without oars?

I prefer to play like children with kites and wind, 
to never grow up -
to be a mountain,
a bard
and a friend
to a juxtaposition
of old animal lore;
they speak to me when
the adults have given 
me a bore,

Why must things be "just so"? and more:

the shiny silver
the crystal,
the green liquor bottles,
the trial of gastritis inside romance novels,

and why Eye continue
crying as I write this
soul a - spying,
whimpering from the loss
of someone I could not
own, control, or boss,

I finally respect myself
again
because now I can be
my own friend,

and You, my newbell and
tinker
whom I hve fallen for
hook, line, and sinker
a young fairy
older than her daze
exploring space, but following
a personal sort of maze,

I give you this ring
of thee I sing
unafraid but in proportion
to yr fairy wing,
I glow with persperation
aside said proposition:
Give us this day
hour daily bread
In hills of Valhala where
waters' cold in head
to start with ice dams
fish hatcheries
and the like,
of trout flopping with
orangegreen and streaking pike,

of a Neverland
straight on till morning
my starlight
in white,
I'll pull down the silver
streaking moon tonight
and give you the
collection of dust
which you'll keep
in a box of starlightening trust
of these good intentions
I send
to You, morningafter 
fairy - within you
I'll sleep...

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

Soul Dinner Party

I'm mainly confused
  from words that you used
to tell me of yr problems present,
  I'm torn to this way
  then back to that way,
like the end of a pendulum's crescent,
 
I feel yr torment
  which leaves my heart bent
and gives me one wish to sustain,
  for I feel it is constant
  to be what is meant
without blockage or early refrain,
  all that eye know
  is my heart's saying "Go"
  but my feet, hands, and lips
       saying "slow down",
and I should trust my own head
over things that I've read
  And just to be happy for love found...
 
but my doubts creep in again
(the most unwelcome of friends)
  whom I've come to know all to well,
I just want best for you
  my Kinshala Blue
Even if it means visiting Hell,
but (you know) I'll come back
on an aggressive attack
  'Cause I am so strong
  and so true
So ignore what I've just said,
and rest yr sweet head
my Angel, my Kinshala Blue
 
And now for a diff 'rent - ish style
which I can only compile
  cause you cause my soul to ferment,
I just want you to see
that I'm here               (if you want me)
  so it is 
     no matter how said,
whether in Russian, or French
whether Latin, or Spanglish
 
from Kinshala 
        I want to be fed....
 
(with) spoon silver or wooden
  or a spork  (if a good one)
 
   you can use  ( I don't care which)
be it hot or ceviche
  Be Cyranno or Nietzche
Kinshala   You've carved yr own niche
 
  in my heartland of love - trust
You can bake me in yr pastry crust
  with Yr simple palette insatiable,
     you can stir fry my soul
     and serve me up in a bowl
(while)  Inhaling my essence
     comme felatio...
 
then for the fourth course
You could derive from my source
  all the sweetness required
        (and then some)
You could roll me
         and toss me
Pour over,
         and sauce me
While never dropping a crumb

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

Abraxas (From Hesse's Demian)

Imagine my eyes
 as they

might be 
and let sound smolder...

render an image
 if you will, 
a falcon bursting through 

an Egg 
which had surrounded 

He who is millenia older

than we could possibly configure...

royalty of earthen fire !!

borne not of water, 

but of flame

re - borne 

from Mother's eternal ashes...

and made again the same...

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

A Wink

if a wink were all

it would take for clouds to cry

tears commodity

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

Time Traveler

mourning death
                       in between breaths

       pretending 
                      her entity
                               did never gather
       around my path
 
       my sentinal road
                     of following mist
                     of cancerous cloves,
  
        and
                      treasure troves
                      of pre - drunken groves

        on the first night we kissed...

 ----------------------------------

        Viewing 12 Monkeys
                     thinking of you
of
        an alternate ending
        before all the blue,

        Inside a new dimension
                     of cubist psychotic delusion,

         Inside this fight for flight
   
         away from earthly alcohol infusion...

         Creating Art without
                   prior knowledge
                                   or purpose,

          hand moving paint
                   without self - restraint,

          messages within dreams
                   wherein I've written full scripts

           Improvise the present
                    by working in alternate shifts:

                     "I want to be a whole person again

                      I want to stay in this time, with you"    

                                                                  - James

Details | Mark Riedel Poem

A Spot

And what doth bring me
          here to this spot

timely turns,
                      east west dyslexic learns
me to be ...
                      where is the space now?
  Here before
                       a different time
                       out of place
                       out of mynd
                                        and in tending to
          my flock in kind
                      internally subjegating
                      unresulting rhyme

                      ballistical banter bereaved
                      its' decanter !!
                                       "unearthing truth is only 
                                         interperative archaeology"
                      merely controlled science
                      in alliance to powers that
                      are to be believed in its
                      ruling theology....

And here in this spot I sit 
          a microchip
                                        in the cog
          an earmite
                                        in a farm of hogs
          a dustspeck, to be
                                       boiled in emphatic blaspheme
          a bar code
                                        with no face
          a Dunkin donut
                                        with out the cream,

           the parametics won't notice
           nor the National Guard
           not the Supreme Judicial tortoise
           or the puppets playing cards,

            but  5. O.  is tight
                                      & they'll sniff you outright,

            'specially if you've violated
                                      evidence for the Jury,

             for 4 deflated desserts
                                      are nothing but flirts
             always withholding
                                      the cherry...