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Poetry is something I started a couple years ago.  It came to me as a challenge from a friend and I accepted the challenge and created a funny poem called Suicide.  From there I found poetry both relaxing and entertaining.  The quality of my poetry is left up to the readers.

I also found it fun and interesting to interpret artwork though poetry.  With permission, I have included several of these on this page.  I prefer the combination of art and poetry.
Little Man's Prayer

Dear Lord,
I try not to be worried.
Though Mommy's here
My Daddy's buried.

He fought for freedom
And I know that's good.
She says he did
What he thought he should.

My mommy says
Now I'm her little man.
But, I'm just a kid
And that's all I am.

Mommy says
 You never listen.
And you took the man
Her heart is miss'in.

So here's the thing,
If you think you can.
Please send my Mommy
Another man.
By Michael E Riffel

Twilight casts my morning rise
With dim reflection of lightened skies.

Moisten eyes, not from weep,
But early rise from awaken sleep.

A struggle to find the illusive switch
Confirmed by a shocked pupil twitch.

Staring intently at the scene in the mirror
With mind unraveling my daily fear.

I turn to shower the thought away
The gentle torrents let me pray.

Clothed and ready I leave my haven
Thankful, for now, of what I've been given.

Every morning I walked this path
Mind oblivious to the daily wrath

Through the trees heavenly grassed,
With only my senses being harassed.

My destination looms afar.
As I approach the waiting car.

I glare back from whence I came.
And query, tomorrow, will it be the same?

I fear longevity of daily strife.
But, for now, I refer to this as life.
Art by Sandra Scheetz Wise
by Michael E. Riffel

The universe stands
Before our eyes
Yet we can't see
Beyond our skies
So, set your table
For another day
Cause what we know
May go away.
Consumed by us.
"It's time to pray."
Photograph by Lana Gramlich
I Hit a Woman

I've never hit a woman
Except for my wife.
We were so very young
And it's all part of life.
It seems I was naked
Stretched out on the bed,
Out like a light
As though I was dead.
When out of nowhere,
Sleek as a mouse
She edged so close
To my part of the house.
Rubber band in hand
And nary a call
One out- stretched release
Aimed dead at my ball.
I rang to my feet
My hands were a flailing,
I connected, I know it
As she stood there a wailing.
With my pain still reeling
I hugged her so gently
I said I was sorry
As she looked at me sadly
And said, "I am too,
Cause' I just can't stop laughing."
Art  and poetry by Michael E. Riffel
Art by Claudette McDermott
(Click here to view web site)
The Mirror
By Michael E. Riffel

Put in the room
With nowhere to go.
A click of the tumblers
In a small keyhole.

The room was filled
With musky sweet air.
Stood in the corner
A dirty old mirror.

 High on the wall
A stained glass window,
From which I could hear
A faint crescendo.

The light swirled freely
And bounced off the mirror
Which filled the room
With colorful cheer.

I listened intently
For sounds from the door
And only heard footsteps
Tapping the floor.

I hadn't done anything
I wasn't a spy
So why was I here?
I started to cry.

In front of the mirror
I could see my tears
Yet why was I crying
What were my fears?

What is a mirror,
But a door to your soul.
Staring intently
With no other goal.

So, staring intently
With the eyes of a lamb
I realize now
That I am who I am

At that instant
Of my revelation
The door opened wide
Without hesitation.

There stood a man
With voice gentle and kind
 "Did you examine the mirror?"
"Front, side, and behind?"

Behind the mirror
And under a pall
Were a few simple words
I will forever recall.

"Beyond your reflection
Only you can bequeath
Gloom and doom,
Or prosperity and peace"
Spinning & Weaving
of Yarns and Tales

Art by Maia Cummins
Spinning & Weaving of Yarns and Tales
By Michael E. Riffel

As I stepped through the door,
From behind came a wail,
"Oh Grandpa, Oh Grandpa,
Please tell me a tale."

Oh Grandpa please,
Tell me a tale.
About Uncle John
Hoisting his sail.

Or Aunty Maia
Stuck in the jail,
 And Uncle Tommy
Who wouldn't post her bail.

Please, Oh Please
Spin me a yarn.
One of those long ones,
Like Timmy on the farm.

But honey it's late.
You're going to bed.
"It's Ok, Dad."
That's all they said.

She ran to her room,
Pulled back the sheet,
Jumped into bed,
And pretended to sleep.

I quietly whispered
Wow! What a snore.
Turned and stepped once
Toward the bedroom door.

Just kidding grandpa
I'm not really asleep.
Now tell me a tale.
I won't make a peep.

I paused for a bit,
Weaving in my head,
A tale just right
For a little girl in bed.

So I started the tale
About Missy Myrtle
Who liked to sit
On the back of her turtle.

A sophisticated madam
With so many pearls
Forever getting tangled
In her long brown curls.

She had a beautiful sister.
That's right, Missy Maude.
She shaved her head
And now she is bald.

A giggle and squeal
As she envisioned the sight.
I reached over and dimmed
The night stand light.

The third of the Ladies
That dear Missy June
Would wrap herself in yarn
And just sit in her room.

When calling Missy June
They would yell, "Miss Prude."
Who would come prancing out
 Entirely nude.

I looked at her eyes
Closed to the world.
Those soft little cheeks
And blond little curls.

Who knows at that moment
What was dancing in her head.
Maybe balls of yarn
Of blue, green and red.

Or maybe two ladies
Attached at their head,
Trying to get comfortable
In their own little bed.

As I turned to leave,
I switched off the light
And whispered to my Angel
"Sweet dreams and good night."
Art by Maia Cummins

By Michael E. Riffel

I stood alone
Upon the throne
As the temptress of Hell

I was at peace
In the fiery fleece
Of Satan's sweltering cell. 

But, I turned my back
And missed the attack
Of the opponent's demented thrill.

A shiv from behind
We were two of a kind
For she was depraved as well.

And without a glance,
And given the chance,
I'd be amused to hear you yell.

So, don't gaze straight ahead.
 Keep turning your head
For those that are out to kill.
The Ride

Tentacles grabbing
At every nerve
Making me question
My personal verve.

Guts tighten wildly
Sensing that fall,
While standing in line
Anticipating it all.

I'm anxiously counting
Heads in the stack
Hoping we get
A seat in the back.

One hand on the head
Of my girl and boy
Pondering my decision
To ride this toy.

They seem okay
Smiling with delight,
With no visible sense
Of their Daddy's fright.

Oh my God,
The lines getting shorter.
Count again to verify
The diminishing order.

It's looking good
A small victory at trial,
With that final count,
I manage a smile.

A seat in the back,
It does appear.
Counting paid off
As the front grows near.

Standing in position
Next to the gate
A long arm extends,
"Sir, please wait."

With beads on my brow
And face turning red,
He exclaims, quite loudly
"Please, go to the front instead."

His hand pointing forward
What could I say?
The kids ran ahead
Yelling, Hooray! Hooray!

I sat in the seat
With a whimpering plea
As the bar plummeted down
Across all our knees.

I looked to the right
Seeing my wife in the crowd.
With that big sheepish grin
I knew she was proud.

Her arm in the air
A raise of her thumb
I knew she was thinking,
Boy is he dumb.

Then a clitter and clatter
My heart skipped a beat
I pushed myself abruptly
Down in my seat.

The car pointed to heaven
And I started to stare
At nothing in front
But solid blue air.

As we ascended
Higher and higher,
The anticipation of fall
Lit my anxiety on fire.

Then all at once
The bottom fell out
All I could hear
Were screams and shouts.

No sound from me.
No air in my lungs.
The car continued
To effortlessly plunge.

Just as I began
To regain my nerve,
The car leaned sharply
As it took the first curve.

Oh Good Lord,
What the heck!
I thought my head
Would snap off my neck.

With no time to think
Or even frown
I found myself
Completely up-side-down.

At that point
I had given in
With knuckles white
And knees at my chin.

The rest of the ride
Was no big deal
With the numbness inside
There was nothing to feel

The car rolled gently
To a full and complete stop.
The bar rose smoothly
Out the kids hopped.

We escaped unharmed.
With knees feeling weak,
I walked straight ahead
Unable to speak.

Only seconds later
My peace would shatter
As I heard familiar voices
Over the wild fair clatter.

Confronted with the cutest
Of childish grins,
"Oh Daddy, please
Can we do it again?"

There in front of me,
With the widest of smiles,
Stood my wife saying calmly,
"I don't mind waiting awhile."

Bolts of lightning
Darting from my eyes
Piercing her brain
And darkening the skies

It became clear
Who was having the fun.
It was my wife,
My daughter, and my son.
"Holding it Together"
Art by Sandra Scheetz Wise
Holding It Together
By Michael E. Riffel

As our diminutive world evolves
In this universal realm,
We stand proudly pompous
At the cosmic helm.

With Arrogance abound,
We stand boldly together.
As though we can change
What has been forever.
My Last Dream
By Michael E. Riffel

I saw a Halo today,
Above my head.
I heard a voice,
But, didn't hear what it said.

As I look at the darkness,
I see strange things.
A little girl,
With angel like wings.

Why is this angel
Looking at me?
Is this my future
Or, is it a dream?

I open my eyes
Just to reaffirm,
I'm still with the living.
I needed to confirm.

Yet, there in my face
Stare two little eyes
Whispering, "Daddy wake up,
I have a surprise."

It's breakfast in bed.
It's your special day.
Mommy says tomorrow
You're going away.

I saw a Halo today,
Above my head.
My angel beside me
In my Hospital bed.
Pesky Rabbits

There was a pesky Rabbit eating my flowers.
I waited with my shotgun for hours and hours
Then one day when it came out to play,
I shot that rabbit and threw it away.
Now more rabbits come to play.
I'm shooting rabbits every day.

I bury them 'neath the plants
 And it really makes them grow.
Now my garden is seen by all
 And even won best of show.

Let the Source guide me
 To my place in eternity.
Give me the space to discover
 My personal epiphany.
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Copyright 2007  Michael E. Riffel
This site and all contents thereof.
Wood Creations, Fine Art, &  Literature  By Michael E. Riffel
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