Poetry by John A Rickard Page 1

Forward (Page 2)

MY SAMARITAN -- ON THE ROAD TO JERICHO The crust of bread With curl-ed edge, It’s speckled mould Highlighting grey. All you had you Fed to me on That dreaded day. Your bounty Revived me As robbed, Wounded I lay, Bound for Jericho On that long, Long ago day. Now the golden Hosts of hours You gave me I survey from A peak of life, Towering over Sunlit years. That gift from You, oh stranger, I never can repay, Except to send, Dear Samaritan, Fond greetings on Your birthday. Salu-tay! Barrabas	FOND MEMORIES Reflections In still waters Recall those First enchanted Embraces. Days when You to me I to you Vowed love Eternally. Reflections In still waters Whisper thanks For all you gave. But though my Fond heart recalls Your every vow, My head asks: ‘So where are You now?’
IKEBANA CHELSEA Gold, silver and blue, East, West myriad blooms glow. Ah! Must be That Show.	VOICES OF A MUSE Winter snores Summer kisses Autumn smiles Spring caresses All inspiring For the bard – Even sneezes?
SUMMER HOLS Little feeble Waving legs To me a mute Message say: ‘It’s summer Hols today!’ Sun-baked, Shimmering Streets in Silence lay: Kids for now Not at play. Abandoned Sad creature At my feet, It’s failing Legs tidal Water seek. Boy’s sea trip Souvenir, far From home; Grey little crab, Dries, dies – So alone.	HELLO, GOODBYE! Morning From out of my first bed I’m roughly tumbled. Prodded, squeezed, Screamed at; bundled. Commanded, I make My way, weeping, From my sanctuary In the womb, to unholy Neon-lighted room. Noon ‘Do this! Do that!’ We are so demanding, Today’s domestic gods. For now full-grown we Are commanding. Engaged in daily rituals Of domestic strife, We mould all children To our accepted view of life. Night In our last beds, some So roughly tumbled, We peevish fallen gods The final closures wait. Our erstwhile children Scold, berate us, Demanding that we go: ‘Make way for us – do hurry!’ And point us to our exit gate.
BACKCHAT IN EDEN The Serpent (God’s hitman) quivered, The Angel (His Bailiff) gasped, As Eve’s outraged bellows Shook Eden’s every blade of grass. Whispered the Angel, ‘What will HE say, Who’ll get the blame, for this woman’s infernal display?’ ‘Get the blame?’ hissed the Serpent, ‘As always – It will be me, and now man who'll pay!’ Beyond the gate is heard consort Adam’s Fearful constant pleas. ‘Quiet Eve! Quiet Eve! He’ll hear your curses. Just think how awful His awesome responses can be!’ Enraged, Eve’s clenched hand Sent Adam’s head spinning, Ringing as a doorbell’s clapper. ‘Miserable wretch, timorous creature,’ (Her cries of grief filling the heavens) ‘What more can He do to you, to me? He, who set us up for lives of deathless perfection. He, the cosmic joker knew when first He made us free, That we, naked we, would have to eat of His accursed tree!’