SELECTED
POETRY
by Charles P Ries
'A PERFECT PLACE'
I like to disappear into my head where it
doesn�t cost much to be alone. I see a horizon
in the distance lying between the vistas
of my temples - spreading from my left ear
to my right ear.
In here I astro project, read people�s thoughts
and see the future. In here I bring the dead back
to life and turn my tears to snowflakes.
And while the weather is 70 degrees and sunny
in here, it�s quite another story out there where
a suicide bomber kills for religion and we go to
war for oil. It�s all higgledy piggledy, out there.
In sleep, my mind becomes unpredictable.
The oddest things rise up and collide. Things I
could not imagine in my day mind - tea pots
chase Sister Agnes wearing a red cocktail dress round
the altar. A bluebird whispers to me in Spanish as
we walk the rings of Saturn.
It�s a vast cine plex between my ears. A world teeming
with perfect lovers and sleeping demons. A theater in
the round where I view my life against the movie screen
God attached to the backside of my eyeballs.
� Charles P. Ries
Reproduced with permission
'BE HERE'
Die
each
day.
Don�t
worry
about
infinity.
� Charles P. Ries
Reproduced with permission
'A PERFECT ORDER'
The elevator rises as another
one descends.
Bill�s son is ten and learning
basketball.
The air smells of Fall days, cool
nights and Harvest moons.
Mary�s daughter is thirteen and
pregnant.
I have fallen back in love with French
bread and tomatoes.
My friend Steve just had his
legs blown off in Iraq.
My life at middle age is finding its
balance.
In an endless galaxy
Amidst a vast sea
I sit in this small boat
And try to figure out
Which way the wind is blowing.
� Charles P. Ries
Reproduced with permission
'THIS IS YOUR DREAM'
As terrorists drag you out of our bedroom I shout from the
warmth of quilt and covers, �I should have married you!�
And, �I was wrong about everything.�
Shocked and realizing your death is imminent, you respond,
�I think your new hair cut looks swell, makes you look a lot
younger.� And, �Thanks for taking me to Mexico last summer �
you�re so dear.�
With black stockings pulled over their faces we see only their pale,
cold, blue eyes. They speak a foreign language of neo-conservatism
and politely wait for us to finish our final words before taking you
outside to shoot you on our perfectly landscaped front lawn.
When you wake, you are glad to have me spooned beside you.
Your usual annoyance at my snoring has turned to gratitude �
affection really. You kiss me awake and tell me how grateful you
are to have a liberal boyfriend like me.
Suppressed anger is often the target of nocturnal insurgencies.
� Charles P. Ries
Reproduced with permission
'GROPING FOR GOD'
I met this priest today, he reminded me of Ghandi or that Obiwan guy in Star Wars,
�What is your deepest desire son? God speaks to us through our desires.� he said.
�Desire and God, do you think they�re in bed together, Father?�
�You betcha, in bed, bare assed with the covers pulled up over their heads.�
�God knows I have plenty of desires.� I considered reflectively.
�Do you suppose when I get the evil wandering eye, that�s less God and when I help some poor lost soul down on their luck, that more God?�
�Sure son, its all God. He�s all over the place - busy as heck, can�t sit down...just like you.�
�Just the guilt free open spaces, God and me?� I pondered this theological vista for a moment.
Made me feel all warm and gooey inside. So I decided to grope my way around - see if I could find some desire in me.
Desire that burns bright;
Hotter then an erotic melt down.
Shinier then a Hog Harley 5000, and
More curvaceous then my sweet love Donna.
Desire so hot it consumes me.
Burns the foolishness right out of me.
The ants right off my pants.
Dear sweet God, let me see your face in the frying pan of my desires and in the cool, cool waters of my awakening. Amen.
� Charles P. Ries
Reproduced with permission
'IT MADE ME WONDER'
A friend of mine made a derogatory remark about
George Bush in the men�s locker room the other day.
A few days later the FBI interviewed him for 46 hours.
He who ran an ice cream company, went to church,
paid his taxes and had his hair cut every two weeks.
But he did eat too much chocolate ice cream.
A few days later I call another buddy on my
cell phone and tell him, �Someone has to DO something
about Bush and his dog trainer Carl Rove.�
After I hang up I get a little nervous, a little paranoid when
I see two guys in black suits, wearing ear pieces and sunglasses
bagging groceries at my neighborhood Pic�n Save.
Made me wonder what the world�s coming to. Makes a
man whisper, makes a man pull down the shades.
One better be careful, be wary, be polite. Eat vanilla ice
cream, fuck missionary style, avoid Heinz Catsup, don�t
have a boy named Sue and make damn sure your French fries
are All American.
� Charles P. Ries
Reproduced with permission
'HOWL REDUX'
�I�M WAITING FOR BILL! HE KNOW I COME
HERE. HE NOT HERE AT 9:00 A.M., I GOTTA GO.�
She sits across from her partner, another visitor from
the rescue mission. He�s Catatonic and sunk deep in soft fake
velvet. His index finger is rod straight and pointed toward heaven.
Perhaps signaling there is only one way or he�s number one
� in his mind.
�HE KNOW I�M HERE. I AN HERE, RIGHT?�
She shouts to the rosy cheeked, bright eyed collage
student who serves up the jive juice this morning.
She�s paid to be cheerful, not kick out the street people.
Don�t discriminate against anyone needing caffeine.
The early crowd clears out fast today. Screaming Ann
rocks back and forth; and back and forth. Stepping
outside every ten minutes for one more cigarette after
another. Clutching each transcendent joy stick between
her ten finger tips. Gulping them down like beer in August.
�HELLO, I TALK TO YOU? YOU LIKE ME?�
I�m not a morning person. I don�t talk much in the morning.
The Band slides into my sacred coffee zone softly singing�
�I see my light come shinin�
From the west unto the east
Any day now, any day now
I shall be released.�
�maybe from Ann, I think.
� Charles P. Ries
Reproduced with permission
DALAI LAMA
