John Allen Richter
John Allen Richter Poems
|41.||A Dorothy Parker Kind'A Sexy||1/11/2015|
|44.||Odd Little Man||3/23/2015|
|45.||The Old Walnut Tree||1/20/2015|
Comments about John Allen Richter
The brown tipped grass peeked through the snow -
With stems quite cold and forlorn.
The north gale came and so winds did blow
and nodded their heads in form.
As for I, a moonlit ride -
on my horse, steady and slow.
With her cold and shivering skin below -
I said 'Not much further to go.'
She low'r'd her head, and back again,
to ring her bridle bell.
As if to say 'Why dear friend,
did you put us in winter's hell? '
'Well, ol' nag, it's like this, you see…
for forty nights I've been alone.
And down the creekbed lives Miss Weatherby,
I often felt that Robert Frost -
was in my own inflamed heart -
For when all else seemed harringly lost -
my pen had no trouble to start…
And when I oft did wonder aloud
if his spirit was slinking around -
the words simply came - proper and proud
as if he were I - pound for pound.