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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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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.

Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019



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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.
 

Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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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.



Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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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.

Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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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


Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019



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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. 

Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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Who is out there

Who is there….?

Restless night and disturbing dream,
makes me walk in this moonlight stream.
Wondrous mental activities nerving profound,
searching for release from this madness imaging sound.
Knocking at this bright moonlit door,
with folding hands and kneeling on stony cold floor.
I hear the sound of the owl nearby, adding to the atmosphere,
and I cry again, ‘Is there anybody out there’….?
All perplexed and still, no answer to my will,
desperately seeking my conscious fill.
A phantom host seems to be the only listener,
feeling like, a homeless space traveller.
Spreading my arms towards the sky in silent moonbeam,
sensing of being in some portal of luminous stream.
Beam me to a peace of mind, the ultimate blessing,
then the torture of my troubled mind becomes very distressing.
After a while of calming deep breath in serene still,
I felt in my heart some strangeness of fill.
‘Is this stillness answering my cry’? ,
while observing a singular tiny light, moving in that sky.
As suddenly some strange veil lifted itself by nature,
and I felt some release from my mental torture.
I sensed some echoing through the spectrum of light,
wondering if that star is the stimulation in hardly bright.
I remember a quote by a Sufi poet saying,
‘ The limitation of God, is in his name’,
putting my moonbeam frenzy gesture into a gentle frame.
‘Whoever is out there, has no name!’.





Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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Moments of grace

Moments of grace

A sense of delight in maturity one can find in some wrinkled smiles, 
souls who have been walking at the shore of riches with the sky in miles.
They carry the memories in enchanted experiences as treasure,
sensing the aesthetic beauty of delicate might forever. 
Gentle waves by the sea of thoughts merging with the sky of eternity,
attracted to the light of change creating a sense of constant maternity. 
The wondrous ecstasy without fears is this magic now,
taking the giving force with colours in heart and gratitude of bow.
Touching others with simple presence and awareness,
breaking down limitation and revealing only sacredness.
Those living soul can reach far into the light of afterglow to amaze, 
taking the invigorating senses to frequencies of a refined maze.
Soothing word and delicate whispers that tickle the receptive ear,
tantalizing images from long ago, rekindled becoming so dear.
A graceful smile acknowledged by my soul as mine to keep,
thank you graces person that you crossed my path of leap.



Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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Shades of contemplation

Some lights in the light have enlighten visibility,
like a fallen star seeming incredible.
The fly by of a wishing well,
so much about yourself it can tell.
The constant maternity towards the ultimate light,
is the absolute vulnerability to the ability of all might.
The light that throws no more shade,
like the rainbow seeming there and fades.
Impressions of memories that holds the maturity,
shades of light towards the self sanctuary. 
Asking for absolution with your hand in the cookie jar,
kills the little light what brought you so far.
Pouring in the sacred still admiration,
celestial potential need the human soul for administration.
Reflections by wisdom and gratitude,
in the now of eternal symmetry in solitude.
Some lights still shinning long after decay,
observing them by today.
Those lights with its echo in mind,
are the shinning leisure of its kind.
Joyful stardust attending its course,
creating the dreamers journey to the source.
Shades of light are the hand of negation,
distinguished to our habitation.
The light in us we need to follow,
shadows of the ego to overcome, that it takes to allow.

Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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Kama Sutra

Kama sutra

The Sanskrit ancient text on making love,
the seductive motions to reach bliss from all above.
Rhymes and verses revealing hundredfold suggestions,
the divinity of making love and no more questions.
This poetical sentiment of romance is the immortal ‘halo’, shinning bright,
natures law versus societies moral dilemma, how to get it right.
Fragile emotions and receptive speculations in consideration,
the intimacy of values creating trust and emotional liberation.
Those erotic description should never be followed blindly,
the tantra book of ecstasy need be taken kindly.
Mental foreplay as creative imagination,
playful possibilities in reservation.
Those perceptual faculties have its reasons for sure,
energizing the elements of fire to alter the physical body, much to endure.
Consider the energy of fire as troublesome and dangerous,
causing conflict and even injuries as cause.
The causal body holds the underlying will and motivation,
the inherited vital potential by heart contemplation.
A change of thought and intention creates a different attribute,
a free flow of intellectual attitude. 
The vital energy of fire is the preserver of health,
establishing resistance to disease as wealth.
Those who can control the sexual fire energy,
have the ability to manipulate the kundalini.
The popular Yoga evolution show all possibilities,
colorful blending to natures peaceful gentleness.
The wise person by the power of will,
refines healing properties to a skill.
By giving the spark of fire,
the right intentions to admire.
That the gentle act of intimacy is a sacred sphere,
in which the mental fireworks should be given the credit they deserve.
Happy endings are the in-ul-timate, of the story,
and moral dilemmas have lost all its worry.







Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2019

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