Diggety Duggety
Emiline Richardson
Studied the Etruscans
Classically
Votive bronze objects, all
Archaeological:
What I dug up on her
Posthumously
Pandering For Votes
Tom’s Opinion
July 17, 2021
Our country is filled with protesters, and activist’.
Many, filled with hate, are motivated by feelings of entitlement.
Their hunger is never quenched,
and a helping hand has become a way of life.
They quench their thirst from a pool
fed by the success of others.
Politicians give away tax dollars
through some program under the guise of helping the poor,
but it’s all about pandering for votes.
They know, you seldom bite the hand that feeds you.
Socialist believe everything should be doled out by big brother.
But I agree with Ian Steward Richardson who said it best,
“There are only two places socialism works-
one is in a beehive, and the other is in an ant hill.”
1 Timothy 5:8
“But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.”
King James Version (KJV)
In Golden Silence
by Terry Richardson
I've seen you quite often,
Very seldom from afar.
I know your light is shinning,
High amongst the brightest of stars.
Silence is golden
and leaves no trace
of anything behind...
Not a single thought
to survive the night,
nor moment of reverie
to dwell upon or wish.
Not a stray beam
of loosened heartlight,
nor a single knowing glance
to softly bring within.
Not a gentle smile
to warm the way,
nor a passion fevered touch
to draw the breath deep.
Silence is golden
so the vibrant tones
of play and gentle music
may not be.
Not a simple whisper,
nor single heartbeat speak.
No spell of magic woven
nor brightness of spirit flowing.
In Golden Silence...
I weep.
In My Mind
by Terry Richardson
Let me take you back to a time,
When all the world was sublime.
Imagine you find yourself In My Mind,
Don't know what you think you will find.
In My Mind a time capsule unto the past,
Which seems to have become so vast.
Living in the shadow of my dreams,
Now what to me so dreary seems.
For that bright hope to last,
One must hold the future fast.
But now that time is gone and past,
Sweet memories forgotten at the last.
Your Spirit Within
by Terry Richardson
I am all those tears that feel
Abiding in sorrow's deepest well
The flame consuming all your dreams
A million voices from those dying screams
Listen to the echoes from long ago
See how those tears were falling so
It's an unknown song flowing from within
What's to come has already been
As time goes on and has passed
Missing someone does last
Tears flowing from each eye
For not a single day goes by
Your Spirit Within weeps again and again
Echos of a song it did contain
As my sad heart must ever grief
From love that cannot find relief
So I still weep, still wish you were here
Echos of a song will never disappear
I know Your Spirit Within must be near
To hope, a thing so very dear
Life is like a Rose
by Terry Richardson
Life is like a Rose...
So Delicate and Fragile...
Yet so Strong and Enduring...
The Heart opens like a Rose...
On a Summery Dawn Morning...
Blossoming unto its Fullness...
When its in Love...
Withering Away when Heartbreak...
Falls upon It...
Mending its Branches...
As Winters Harsh Cold...
Puts a soothing Salve Over It...
Budding again Each New Spring...
To Renew and Start Again...
In Vain
by Terry Richardson
In vain this man does reap,
Through his sins he will weep.
From the tears of yesterday,
Which dim the pride of today.
In the hour of his disgrace,
Began a cry to embrace.
He seeks the Lord for pardon,
There in the secret garden.
Shall forgiveness mend the past,
And heal our hearts at last.
There is One who knows I’ve done wrong,
I pray He makes me strong.
His compassion works in wondrous perfection,
As He gives us the utmost affection.
To those who are hurting,
That have a need of converting.
With praise for Your compassionate ways,
Forgiving our sins and iniquities throughout our days.
We've faced many struggles in our short years of life,
Some were a great decision, some were a pain or strife.
As I get down on my knees,
In prayer I am hoping God will be pleased.
Past sins may still hound a few,
And yet so thankful God has found you.
Thy love is such I can not repay,
The heavens reward you abundance, I pray.
The Author
by Terry Richardson
The line between the real and unreal, is never sharply drawn.
And I'm still trying to decide, just which side you're on.
Dreams can come, and dreams can go, and sometimes dreams come true.
The trick is in telling which dreams are which, a knack that I once knew.
So I sit amid my thoughts, and I write down what I dream.
Letting my imagination run free, exploring variations on a theme.
Someday, someone will read these lines, and get a peek inside my mind.
I hope they'll see the magic there, and share the wonders that they find.
Not An Artist
by Terry Richardson
I dedicate this poem to poetrysoup... * I’m not an artist as you can see, I’m not, though I try my darnedest, I try, I do, why can not I be, Regardless, I’m not an artist. I write poems that follow all the rules, The rhyme and meter are well defined, Those that praise me are often considered fools, Or people whose tastes are not that fine. Of stories, my subjects are so crude, Most fiends seem to be the hosts, These tall tales are too rude, But, the number of words matters most. I’m not an artist, that much is true, If you read, don’t forget to vote, I will try to write and interest you, Any ideas, just drop me a note.
Known as 'The Big Bopper'
He preceded the Big Mac, but not the Whopper
His real name was J.P. Richardson
His songs a barrel of monkeys, full of fun
We all know J.P. liked 'Chantilly Lace'
Just wild for her ponytailed pretty face --
When he called her on the phone
All he did was moan and groan --
Seems 'Miss Lace' put 'The Bopper' in his place...
Then in Clear Lake Iowa, 1959, on February 3
An airplane crash took the Bopper's life tragically
That was the day America's music died
~ Immortalized in Don McClean's 'American Pie'
September 04 2019
Clerimerick Couplets (Hybrid Form) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
A LIFE QUICKLY OVER
A life so quickly over as soon as it was born,
You were so devastated when it came on that morn.
You shed your tears of sorrow, and yet by faith you knew
It has a perfect body now up there in the blue.
Now trust your God completely for Him to now provide
The comfort He has promised and to be there by your side.
You may not know the reason He chose this child to take,
But all things work together for good and for your sake.
I know you’ll meet this child in heaven some glad day,
And all the grief and sorrow God then will take away.
So take this message with you as the coming days you face:
My prayers and tears are with you, and may God give you grace.
Dedicated to the Richardson family (Ron Meldrum’s daughter & son-in-law) in the passing of their newborn baby.
A STUDENT AND A TEACHER
He became a member of my class not long ago,
But he could have been our teacher, for so much he did know.
He was such a blessing sitting there each week,
Being true and faithful, humble, loving, meek.
I didn’t get to know him very long, I know,
Yet that time was precious, and quickly it did go.
Whether it was humor, or his serious side,
He was always honest, never filled with pride.
What he taught our people in our minds will stay:
Always trust in Jesus, never cease to pray.
Now he’s called to heaven, peacefully he rests,
And those left behind him all say we’ve been blessed.
A student, yet a teacher, wanting so to learn,
And reaching out to others, helping them discern.
Listening to his pastor, his class teacher, too,
Helping them with knowledge from his faith so true.
We will miss him dearly, yet we know where he stays:
Ever with his Savior, so now we humbly pray,
Make us more like him, Lord, longing so to be
A student and a teacher in Your family.
Written in memory of Wilbur Richardson.
The bright light, plentiful mirrors
seemed more numerous here.
Miriam wondered whether music lessons
were part of her remuneration.
She thought of people,
the very first time she had played a duet-
a little running melody.. her own
part, a page of minims.
She heard nothing but her hard
loud minims to the end.
Someone said she had a nice firm touch
The piano should always remember the blue remark-
the piano had been unrecognizable,
she had learnt her pieces by heart
..alternately the notes, almost soundlessly.
At musicale evenings,
as winter had sung afresh the effects
she could not discover
the secret of the notes.
Suzanne Delaney
Found Poem
from Pointed Roofs
by Dorothy Miller Richardson
It's not the rain
that makes my eyes wet.
It hasn't rained in forty days.
Nights are long and quiet.
The silence cuts to bone.
It wasn't rain that quenched the fire.
It hasn't rained in forty nights.
The well is dry... so am I.
Nights I sit in silence
while it rains.
r ~ 4/19/14
copyright 2014. Rick Richardson
The Arctic Fire Bugs
Ice nights are the playpen
For the kids born to this land
Skating rinks and bowling shoes
Never touched a hand
Or foot that kicked at blocks of ice
As thick as you are tall
They scoff at jackets toss their hats
While through the drifts they crawl
Gather wood and getting high by tearing limbs from trees
Boozing up to get a buzz in temperatures that freeze
Building up a bonfire that will signal all their friends
Friday night is party night till sirens scream the end
Now it comes the fun part when they run from chasing cops
Scatter all directions and ignoring calls for “stop”--
Game they play that irritates and costs the city bucks--
What else is there to do unless they steal the fire trucks?
Note: In Alaska outback, bonfire is the key meeting place for teens--this poem is based on my teen son and his mode of fun in Valdez, Alaska--350+ miles from the next city--a town at the end of a long road (the Richardson Highway) with only one town tat the edge of the Bering Sea (often called North Sea).
Fire and Ice Contest
November 27, 2012
Victoria Anderson-Throop
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