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B. B. Riefner

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Member Since: Jan, 2010

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· The Goatfooted Children-Excerpt 1 or Who's That Stranger in the Mirror

· The Goatfooted Children: Preface

· Three Stories: Satan-A Dog's Story, Truth in Nakedness & A Child Too Near

· Mind Travels

· Fox On Ice Skates Excerpt 2

· A Fox On Ice Skates- Excerpt 1

· The Last Horseman Excerpt 2

· The Last Horseman

Short Stories
· Alien Encounter During Evensong: Part One

· Alien Encounter During Evensong: Part Two

· A Brush With Reality in the Key of B-Flat Minor

· The Ultimate Hit Contract Conclusion-Part V: It's Hidden Between the Lines

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part IV: And It's Not In The Index

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part III: It's In The Fine Print

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part II: The Devil Is Not In the Details

· The Ultimate Hit Contract - Part I: Initial Contact

· Nightmare By Enlightenment

· Swiss Francs From Heaven

· My Four Horsemen

· Clashing With Love: Initial Encounter

· Mind Travels Ten-Two Poems

· Mind Travels Eight

· Mind Travels Seven

· Mind Travels Five - Three Poems

· Mind Travels Four

· Mind Travels Three

· Not One Single Regret

· Lord of the Manor

         More poetry...
· Danse Macabre Literary Journal Posts Riefner Novel Excerpt

· Going Round the Benz published by Danse Macabre

· Mind Travels and Three Stories: for Kindle Readers

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Books by B. B. Riefner
  Mind Travels Two- Three Poems
by B. B. Riefner
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Rated "PG" by the Author.

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Recent poems by B. B. Riefner
•  My Four Horsemen
•  Clashing With Love: Initial Encounter
•  Mind Travels Ten-Two Poems
•  Mind Travels Eight
•  Mind Travels Seven
           >> View all 12

The past, present and future, not tenses and certainly not perfect. Wisdom seldom comes with age. It arrives at the end of a fist, a kiss, or a dream.


      The Saint's View


The blooming cactus

Stands remote

In our courtyard,

As a black cat

Springs upon a rat

And Saint Joseph's

Plastic eyes

Show no signs

Of passion.



Across the courtyard

Where rats rule

Among strewn trash

Where sunlight

Never dries anything

And all is rot or rotting,

Comes a voice

Singing its triumphs.

Shouting its joys

At being granted

Another day.






Touching it, the monument=s age

Remains a historical secret.

As much a riddle as its purpose,

Or what the naked marble man

Was once about.


Both had their special day, I guess.

A celebration of the greatness

No one now remembers.


Often, mostly in early mornings,

Flowers and fruits lay about them.

The flowers were all stolen

By penniless penitents.

Later, beggars sneak in to eat the fruits.

Only deep snows can cover this haughty residue.

Only fog or darkness, can silence its denouncements.


And . . . .Oh yes . . .

There is a legend.

Some drunken sot claims he saw

The naked one descend

Come alive.

Take a blind child's hand

As they played and sang

For pennies tossed

Onto his nakedness, she laughed.

I hear the drunkard has since become

A man of God.

Claiming it was because of this.


The monument remains

A crack now circles its feet.





The Wish Man


It's been so long since I let go

Filled my pack and emptied my head

Wanting something so, I broke out in song

Knowing I would not run back

Would not have another familiar bed.


I want to see faces that ain't white

Stand beside a road which is not a concrete path.

I want to believe . . . Live without fright.

Help carry another=s load

Forget that I am elite.


I long to hold the sun and moon

In between my hands

And give a kiss to each.


Give up my gold for a simple verse

Forget my plans for the bite of a peach.


I want to taste a real orange once more

I want the world I had before . . . .  No more.

A world where I have time to waste

A world where I am never sure.

Where my step is only the next stride,

I'll take toward whatever is in store.


I want to give more than I get.

Surrender my identity, forget what I thought .

For truth has to live.

It's cold or it's hot.

But that's all part of infinity.

The gifts the gods have brought.


Someone reach out

And throw me into the sunlight!

Into the afternoons . . . .

Into the nights . . . .

Into your heads!




B. B. Riefner

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Reviewed by Lois Christensen
Very much entertained by these writes. Keep up the good work too.
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