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Best Poems Written by Robert Rittel

Below are the all-time best Robert Rittel poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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7 Ravens

7 Ravens

In a terrible time of famine, war, pest and inquisition,
a master Wicca giving homeless boys a apprentice permission.
They had to maintain a household in an isolated place,
working very hard to earn some recognition to face.
Collecting woods, herbs and edibles to survive
building a garden, harvesting some fields to strive.
When the moon was new the master summonsed the boys,
teaching them the art of magic, using dark power like toys.
The very same power was keeping those young men imprisoned,
some tried to run away, but got lost and ended up same place wrested.
He turned them into ravens, spying on innocent prey,
and gave them that illusion of freedom that they can fly.
The deeds of darkness had its toll and innocent hearts rebel,
they could not take the viciousness by mental means able.
The Wicca promised them the virtue of ultimate power,
focusing only onto the abuse by tragic endower.
The ravens tried to work together against the masters will,
but could not fit his evil visions to conquer the needed bill.
In disguise of 7 Ravens they had to visited villages,
creating distractions for the dark master to take advantages.
One Raven got injured during some chaotic rage,
a maiden of gentle touch, nursed the captured creature in a cage.
Not knowing that a boy is in this disguise of a bird,
and the young man was in awe of all he heard. 
She was talking about a charming prince she dreamed to meet,
giving her the stillness for the loving longing as a deed.
The raven recovered and the boy’s heart was enchanted,
flying back to the brothers and the master will granted.
He told his fellows about the beauty he is feeling,
and knew it is the way to conquer all fears and controlled stealing.
They decided to fly to those villages to find some maidens of charm,
exchanging bodies to create loving features with no harm.
Soon they hearts where all full of joy and virtues abilities,
much against the masters witching capabilities.
His own manipulation fell against him by circumstance,
leaving nothing left to do, giving those young men the advance.
They swore an ode, never to use the art of dark power,
living a life with the meaning of celebrated love in any hour.
Still hearing from time to time the voice of a Crow,
sounding like the croaking noise of…. nevermore, nevermore.

Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe

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Poetic Therapy

As we are all part of the same verse,
languages to belong by diverse.
When the pen is mightier then the sword,
rhymed words are the crown of all commerce.
Legislation and constitutions in applicable intellect,
loving words by peacemakers detect.
Therapeutic words are the guru’s mother tongue,
liberating the spirits to where they belong.
Admired by masters of philosophy in dept,
liberating the cosmic mental effect.
Love letters become the innocent testament,
marriage contract sealing the happy ever after trend.
Societies in refined approach spoke in rhyme,
mental attitude with a thought through to define.
Mechanic quick thinking is the wheel in wheel respective,
giving no room for pliable introspective. 
Selected words of grace as guided meditation,
open the vaults of poor collected separation.
Books of  poesy towards the child’s education,
replaced by syllabus sheets towards nullification. 
The human mind without words has no image,
the system in disguise establishing the damage.
While rhymes in poetic sense by the day,
keeps all confusion at bay.

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The Manor House

By invitation from a trusted friend, 
a medium intervention took place and I went.
The building set in the thick forest by a shimmering lake,
some broken sheds looking sad and strange to take.
Weeded and worn the manor house thatch,
a frail welcome and the oil lamp in my face, opens the latch.
Guided into a stony room, a roaring fire giving light to others,
all wearing coats to darkness trance of matter.
Musky sandalwood and smoke heavy on the eye,
cold winds slapping windows nearby.
Tattered curtains reveal a stone cast from the wall,
a female priestess turns into a fragile light, while some stones just fall. 
The purple silver dress enriching her timeless gestation,
taken centre stage and a bow of appreciation. 
‘Weary dreary, the lot of You’,
the soft velvet voice seeking attention, of what to do.
“I roaming with a hungry heart,
and I invite you to my noble sphere”.
‘And all I see are empty cloaks everywhere’.
You charlatans and prosperous healer, 
you happy clapper and commercial dealer.
‘When will you lot start to provide genuine visions,
which are not based on commissions’.
‘This labor by slow prudence not to fail,
 needs the wind of compassion to sail.’
‘Some work of noble note is still to be done’,
Deep moans round with many voices,
some shriek from there own detected choices.
‘We need to be one equal temper with heroic hearts,
to strive, to seek, to find the virtue of healing art’.
The doctrine is simple, ancient and true,
Life’s trial that you only love what is worth your love,
has little consequence by the miracle above.
The fire crashes to a flicker and darkness takes the hand,
The faint voice of the priestess so clear, “Wake and understand”.
Feeling lost in the solemn and strange,
wondering about the elements it takes to change.

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My Mistress Muse

My mistress muse

With the simple daily routine there mingles some fire,
a sensuous voluptuous sort of a desire.
A temptress of untouchable allure is in my mind, 
a voluptuous sensuous sort of kind.
She teases me with smiling allure and gives me that look,
I feel mostly very gobbledygook. 
I should find some comparable understanding,
but she is in a pleasing way very commanding.
Compelling my imagination very much,
with this promising dreaming touch.
Never losing her gesture and pose,
especially when the moon is in full repose.
My cogitation about her is an endless amaze,
she seem to take this as loving appraise.
Often she seduces me just before sleep,
taken those frantic motion deep into my dream to reap.
the voice of my muse is very critical,
take whatever she says biblical.
Sometimes I cannot take my troubled mind, here or there,
finding the only refuge with her, I swear.
Inured sometimes by this delicate beautiful fantasy,
that I wonder about my insanity.
Some hours more deeply then other hours before,
other times, I have to socialize to see her no more.
The shrink told me it’s a schizophrenic marriage,
and the psychic said it is a divine message.
But I give my intuition some gratitude,
then it gives my writing far more altitude.
Yes, I miss the healing touch of a female caressing,
it comes with more, then just that blessing.
O loving muse existence, you loosing eye lure,
the love in the dream maker maze is another wondering shore.

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The Mirror of Truth

Once upon a time in a perfect world therein,
exist a golden mirror showing only the truth divine.
Where remembrance in perfect light revealing 
the simple fact,
the image of the love that sustains the living act.
A lady of noble consent got hold of this mirror 
by happenstance,
not quite aware of its consequence.
Believing that the deeds over the many years,
gave liberation and solution, paid with joyful tears.
With her favorite dress and perfect hair in place,
she needed to see the facts, face to face.
But the golden mirror only wept in laughter,
and the lady did not understood thereafter.
She bought a new dress and added more rouge,
expecting the reflection to applaud in huge.
The image reflection showed nothing but the veil of soul,
not compromising by any faults in whole.
Her heart of the lady was burning now, by blind desire,
tearing of her dress in distress and denial.
Standing naked with the reflection in gold as such,
the veil of the self revealed its glowing touch.
The ancient metaphor of reflected light as gem of source,
is the spirit in constant birth with no doubt on its course.
Reflections in intimate salvation are the visions of truth,
spectrum in spheres of undeniable 
eternal youth.

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They Followed a Star

They followed a star

As time and place has its solution for all,
those wise men knew, that a messiah will come to call.
Recognizing those celestial lights with their eyes,
that history and culture will change its destinies by surprise.
Traveling with the light so bright no doubt,
knowing the new born king is the paramount.
Speaking of love to the depth in eternal height,
when the soul can reach all when feeling out of sight.
For the ends of being and the ideal of grace,
showing compassion and forgiveness of every day’s.
The comet prophesying the revelation by tragic and fortune,
then other kings did already fear its spiritual procession. 
Gold, frankincense and myrrh as protection brought,
then the magi knew the trouble in forethought.
They saw the child with mother Mary and worshiped him,
sensing the cosmic conclusion in the stable like a hymn.
The heavens declare the hands of God and the sky proclaims his work,
no speech or language or any voice are heard, but his word.
The answers are in the vortex of my son as gift of compassion,
for all shall know the true lovers revolution.

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It's Always Thursday

Between Sundays and the week to come,
it’s Thursday wondering where the days have gone.
The flow of tick tocking the passing through,
when the rushing of the important is to pursue.
Days just disappear to wondering grieve,
while nights to sleep are to short to believe.
Moon tides smile growing full of restless sleep,
when that exhaustion only ask for that deep.
The tragedy about time that just perish,
when we cannot get hold of the now to cherish.
Taking life by the day that forever last,
so that we can celebrate it with a blast.
No more promises for tomorrow as hope,
and yesterdays regret a habit interlope.
Thursdays from Latin is Jovis related to Jupiter,
called the remover of all obstacles for the better.
Then as we know everything can happen,
on Thursdays even when you don’t know Latin.

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Load Shedding In South Africa

When ignorance and mediocrity is on display,
fancy title and salaries become proof thereby.
The incompetence to deliver is the destruction,
implementation without visions is a foolish attraction.
What makes it very clear, when too many idiots pulling the plug,
the ship will sink, regardless the excuses by this pathetic flog. 
Leadership has to proof itself by sincere integrity,
or democratic politics become anarchistic misery.
The chances are that everybody stops paying the electric bill,
and those self elected wasters running for the hill. 
The parliament exchanges all day long so many honors like a sugar wand,
pushing responsibilities further and further to dumbfounded stand.
Legislated arrogance creates a memory tread,
when relativities bouncing of the empty head.
When politicians and its sheep’s hunt the savage dream,
prophecies of failure are the current in the stream.

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The Magic Mushroom

Fungi, fungus, funguses thousand fold,
eukaryotic life kingdom of yeast and mold.

Ancient legends and myths from many times,
beginnings and ends through mulching slimes.

Egyptians sensed the connection in fungi to gods,
only Pharaohs allowed to have them as foods.

Consuming the fungi to become immortal static,
Mushroom stones in Mesoamerica enigmatic.

The Rig Veda describes the juice of Soma,
considered as precious liquid of stardust and earth aroma.

Indispensable in all worships and ritual,
similar to Greek deities of cognate ambrosia.

Consumed in Shamanic sessions to contact spirits of the dead,
fortifying long hunting trips an dreams thread.

Penicillin antibiotics against bacterial infection,
surviving the war with needed invention.

Psilocybin and psilocin magic shrooms,
DMT, acid blotters magic truffles booms.

Alice in wonderland and the philosopher’s stone,
introspective hallucination and psychosis throne. 

Natures secret language by mildews organisms,
earths everlasting fungi dew compost prism.

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The Unknown Known

Life is a fair trade wherein all adjust itself in time,
for all one takes the price comes in currencies not known as dime.
The warden of the prison is in a worse position then the prisoner himself, 
while the prisoners mind is free; the mind of the warden is in prison itself.
Happiness is found with does of compassion,
in misery are the ones who expect from others the ration.
What science cannot declare, art can suggest by imagination,
what poetry can speak aloud and fails to explain is frustration.
Those who appeal with intellect attract the human brain,
the one who penetrates the spirit is a prophet with a souls so sane.
The body of love creates plural reciprocities,
from the heart of love come beneficence; 
but from the soul of love is born renunciation virtuosity.
The path of freedom leads to the goal of capacity,
while only the path of discipline creates liberty.
The fear of the unknown is the greatest,
fragments of feelings and not the souls natives.
The world as intricate dream has its divine complexity,
to be reawaken by many more kisses as destiny.
Annihilation and its traces go forward to receive,
the answer to every question is the belief.
The only thing that is made throughout life,
is one’s own nature as subtle inheritance strive.
Echoes from many lives by season conscience,
truth that find itself in the loving heart performance.