Two Poems by Charles P. Ries

BLESS ME FATHER FOR I HAVE SINNED

I was restless with the weight of
ideas that flooded me and awaited
their release in the red rain of my
journal.

I stacked five stones on a farmer’s
fence post to create a monument to
my existence that only cows and
plow jockeys would see.

I flung myself off a quarry ledge
high above a deep blue pool and
imagined it was a concrete street,
wishing for the end.

I drove my Ford pick up over a gila
monster that peeled its pancaked
corpse off Texas asphalt and chased
after me spitting curses in Spanish.

I dropped acid and thought a thin
curtain separated me from a world
that glittered with diamonds, and
angels, and joy, and that my manual
Smith Corona type writer was an
oracle who revealed ancient truths
with the touches of my finger tips.

For all this Father, I ask you forgive me.

__________________________________
ODD

They can’t hear it.
They don’t listen to leaves
in the moon light. The mystical
whisper of branches rubbing.

Funny what happens to a life
when trees start talking to you.
When you hear the voices of your
garden.

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