Columbus Day Storm

Mother determined looked to the sky
Dark clouds of many gray shades passed us by
All that stood upright wavered unsteady
My mother to protect us was always ready
Walking up the hill towards the black crow colored house
We went inside to stay ready by the candle light
What blew that day was my feeling of power
Both mother and mother nature that day never cowered

The Wizard

Cut from a different pattern

The angles sent him forth

Timely did he arrive from?

A timeless and eventful birth.


A leader and king too small

His army not willing or ready

At times as it were in his life

Things were not always steady


His pen to the rescue

And colours to the repair

Mentors of his own image

Never cast into despair


Likely not to the only one

His trials did not all feel

It is only from this misery

That some know to be real


The books of the wizard

Too strong for the common eye

They gaze into the future

When we all shall realize


The wizard was too early

But not to late for the page

His hand was very steady

The colours made in rage


His heart is now steady

The love is in his hand

To create little creatures

In books' pages they stand


The wizard is in our heart

He stands true to the pen

Marches across our minds

A wizard until the end!

STEFFAN
Probably the one kid the most like me in several ways. He was tough, aggressive, domineering, forceful AND CREATIVE! He was not like me in other ways. While I was able to roam the world, vent my energies on esoteric things, he was not. Things were complicated, life was shelled in and of the many doors there were to open, and there was not one with his key.

Enough Said. In his heart he was a wizard. A wizard? Yes, he in another life and time would have been a challenge to anybody. A gift? A curse? Steffan had so much of each and he survived as well as everybody around him.

From a very young age he was a mirror of my wily ways. He was blonde as I and blue eyed as I, his face cut like mine. Yet he was sandwiched in the middle of a pack. We cannot say enough about the effect of being no 3 of boys and 4 of children. They are both magic numbers things that wizards are made of.

His hair is an absolute beauty, golden brown curly like a lion's main. His face is strong and determined. His stature is that of a king, yet he is a wizard. Steffan was caught between two worlds and was lucky enough to stay with us in ours. His knowledge of deep subtleties was beyond most people’s capabilities but close to all of us Richardson children. We could understand his wizard wit and apocalyptic jargon.

The wizard breached into our world with his pen. He carved lines upon lines into the page of wizard books the sum of which created images of deep thoughts and complicated meanings. To look too hard and long would certainly cause stress for the careless mind. We knew to watch and understand that these were strong impressions from another place and time of which only he could fully comprehend.

Steffan is a cartoonist by destiny. A wizard cartoonist. He chooses what to make and when to make it.

He bestows a book upon you if you are lucky. I have a book. It is my name. Although my book has pages from my other brothers and sister. He did it on purpose I presume, as it made me happy to have something from my brothers and sister in my book. I know he has made books for others, although it may be a secret as we somewhat understand that the books are not to be talked about too much.

It very well may be that in umteen years upon ten times another somebody like another wizard will analyze one of these books which may be found in a strange place. They will certainly make stories and blow up in huge proportions the icons in pages of pages of wizardly pen colorations that we are so fortunate to own in this time.

The following is a poem about my brother Steffan.

So You Made Kids

What have you from behind those lost nights where the crow cries
And the gears grind in your mind so tossed with concerns
Your heart jumps with thoughts of foreboding to fail your duty
To create your own destiny that goes about where ever not known
No control to steer the desires of escaping dreams and wishes
So you made kids, or did they make you as one can make the other?

Grandmaw's Wiskers

Granny's Whiskers

Dare I kiss grandma Barnes
Her whiskers prickle my face
Hard as steel and thick as yarn

Loved me she did if only to remiss
My name from the others
Laird, Steffan, Forrest, Grandma! I am Chris!

We knew she was a pioneer delivered by wagon
Traveled from California somewhere far down
End of trail for her was our future place in Oregon
As a young boy you weren't to know
That at one time Grandma was a fair maiden
No whiskers to graze your nose

Said hardly a word but made herself known
Old sayings for good nights
By the deeds she did and care of home

Coffee with milk, toast, eggs and bacon
Breakfast was early and lunch on time
Heard in the garden her rose bed a rakin

How I miss grandma Barns her whiskers and all!

MY GREAT GRADMAW BARNS
We were told she came up from California in a covered wagon, and that she had a lover who was black. There were some photographs of her when she was younger. She was attractive, but plain.

What we really knew was what we had each of us experienced. Grandma Barnes was a compassionate housekeeper and gardener. She had a green thumb. Roses would perform for her, house plants would grow like the dickens. There were little snippets of this and that green thing everywhere. Actually my mother must have acquired this knack from Grandma Barnes.

I used to go on my little bicycle from St. Helena Street, down King Road, down Monroe Hill and then up to the Government Housing units to stay with Grandma. Never really needed an invitation, she was always there and ready to take care of me. It seemed like a long journey, but it was only about 12 miles. Quite a bit for an 8 year old kid.

I would play with the other kids in the area and have breakfast, lunch and dinner with Grandma. She loved to take care of me.

She was always a quit person. When she spoke she wouldn't use too many words. She would ask questions; You hungry, thirsty etc. Of course I was always a bit of all of those things. There was nothing better than the smell of fresh bacon and coffee with milk in the morning.

As I grew older and we moved to Cedar Crest I spent less and less time at Grandma's. She was in a rest home.

One day I came home from school and my mother met me in the road coming from the bus stop. She had that look in her face. The moment she said Grandma Barnes I knew she was no longer with us.

She is still the Pioneer in my heart.

Pokey-Bear Laird

From leg to leg slowly rocking
Pokey Bear, Pokey Bear
Children a mocking

There he was and wasn't with us
In his own world of side to side motion
What was with all of the fuss

Shoes lost in the dirt
Pokey Bear and I with tears
Till dark did we search

Pokey Bear where can they be?
Leg to leg rocking, it's the elf he said
There deep in the old tree

You could trust Pokey Bear feelings
They were true and selfless
His tears had great meaning

Words to songs clung to his mind
He would immerse himself
To remember the rhymes

A pillow so soft to keep
A small head rolling side to side
Pokey Bear Pokey Bear now asleep

MY BROTHER LAIRD
He was probably the quietest of all of the boys. A thinker, a good boy, not aggressive and had a passion for music and motion. It was not so easy being Chris' brother and Daphne's shadow was long enough to extend over several of us. He was also Daphne's little brother.

He probably doesn't like to remember but he did manage to poop his pants and had to rock back and forth from leg to leg because because it was ichy. He probably pooped his pants because he was with me almost all of the time when we lived in the black house on St. Helena st. Milwaukie. We spent inordinate amounts of time out of the house, usually at the neighbors, usually at the Maroods. They were another family of many children, Timmy, Tommy, Jimmy, Johny, Vicky, Barbara, Caren, Lisa...I think that is it.

Laird had a much different face than the rest of us. He was more Dad and less Mom. He was very good at blending in where ever he went. While my presence usually created fights and hostilities - I seemed to have that face other boys my age didn't like. Laird on the other hand was cuddly and easily likable. HE WAS A TEDDY BEAR.

He also had a sharp sence of instinct for learning words to songs. He rocked his head back and forth on the pillow at night. He wasn't so much concerned that we made fun of him about this. He was full of conviction - if he liked it - to hell with everybody else. It was no problem for him to rock back and forth from leg to leg or rock his head on a pillow. Who ever was there...so what! He had a stable courage that didn't blend and change against everybody elses whims. He was POKEY BEAR.

He was a better reader than I, in fact he was a better student. If there was one boy who could compare to Daphne at an early age it was Laird. He didn't get near the attention I got...although the attention I got was not a result of any willingness on the part of my parents. You can't really call getting chased with a spoon or lectures on how to be good as the attention any kid would want. Since he stayed pretty much out of trouble he was out of mind for the most part for corrective action.

Laird had the benefit of seeing how good Daphne was and how mischivous I was. He found a place somewhere in between. He was not exactly a Teddy Bear Saint. He has a good number of his own stories.

When Mom and Dad, who were immutable city folks, tried to be country folk, Laird, Forrest, Setffan and Sean ended up living in the boon docks, Colton. This was a far cry from our urban life in comfy places like Helena St. or Ceder Creast. I never really had the country experience. I was living in a highly condenced world in the Navy that made city life look like living in the Alaska tundra.

Up until I went into the Navy, I did see my brothers from time to another, usually during summers, in Oregon City where I was working for Danielson's Thriftway. I managed to have a small apartment and they stayed with me some times. These were very challending years.

Since I left, Laird became the defacto leader. I can't say I was really a leader. I know my borthers looked up to me, mainly because I was older, but also because I had that sort of fierce independance and would get involved in things that were sort of leading edge mischeivousness. They would either follow me or I would let them tag along or actually want them to be with me. In any rate this did have some impact on them as they would at times get involved in the dumb things I used to do.

When I finally went into the Navy, I learned years later that, they felt somewhat betrayed. It was something along the idea that I always managed to be running off doing something interesting while the rest of the boys were having completely different experiences than I had.

Upon my dissapearing from the scene, Laird became the leader of the pack, but he too shortly was to go on his way as he found his first love and struggled to work his way into the world of adulthood.

Starting as he did the hard way, he worked his way from manual assembly work, being a machine operator in a backwoods shop, inventing cost saving methods to finally becoming by rights of time passage and hard work as a production "Engineer". He doesn't have a formal education in engineering, but most engineers in his field would find it impossible to usurp his broad base of knowledge in almost every area that involves production.

When Laird was in the 3rd grade he, being smart enough to have good grades in Spanish, was able to spend a school year in Costa Rica. There he learned Spanish and appreciation for other cultures. I think this, combined with his country side experience, made him a very strong person when it came to dealing with the various backgrounds of people who were to work in the production field.

It was the greatest pleasure and most memorable trip in my life, to have spend almost a month staying and traveling with Laird in Qatar, UAE, Oman, India and Russia. We were able to share a great deal and sort out some of our feelings. In a way I think this trip (of which will form another series of pages in the near future) was a bridge which connected us from the day I went into the Navy.

Today Laird is in China...WHERE....China. Setting up a company that will transfer clean room technology in a Joint Venture Agreement. Who would think that Pokey Bear would meet Panda Bear.

Without the formal education that Daphne and I had, Laird jumped from a simple machine operator to the head of R&D and VP of Manufacturing and now the head of an overseas development, Laird has really made extraordinary achievements.

This poem reflects some of the ideas and feelings I have for my brother Laird.

Stinky Pee Little

The name he was given by Dad or another
he was never the last but the first of a series
He felt with our hearts the love of fury

Never we saw the end of our string such as
SEAN he was the last of a fantastic series
that never in our lives felt so without service

He was a stinky pee little because we gave him
this name, he was never so stinky as our name gave
him fame.

Pee he did so often as not to wonder as though it were
all of us never to much to blunder.
Give us this date our daily breath that we should never
forget our brother so in need.

He is Sean our brother so dear that we should care so
much that he be our brother and friend so clear.

MY BROTHER SEAN
What does littlest mean? Late, First, End, Next to nothing? No.....We must say. Stinky Pee Little, means the best, the ultimate, the best in series, the last of a production. Sean was the last of a series, but the best. He is the cumlination of man attempts, many tries, many trials and tribulations, both in parents and in children. So how does he feel about this. We all know. We dont know and we hope to know what he knows.

For this we say: SEAN WHAT IS HERE IS NOT GONE WHAT IS REAL IS NOT DAWN, IS MORNING BUT NOT DRAWN FROM OUR SOULS BUT IS DRAWN FROM OUR MINDS AND DREAMS NOT SO NEAR SO SUBLIME THAT SEAN IS OUR SPAWN OF DREAMS SO SUBLIME.

Rebel

Fearless with spots all black in a white pond

Rebel was rambunctious jumping like a frog

He was just a puppy almost bigger than I

His licking incessant and whimpering so wry

He followed me everywhere out onto the road

A car hit him broadside my first dog was no more

We called him rebel, but obedient he was

I was the rebel, I lost my first dog

It hurt to loose what leading was lost

Onto the street and out of my thoughts

I watch both ways before crossing

Catching from the corner of my eye

Jumping spots of back in a white sky

Bike

First freedom.
It's a boy.
He's got big wide ears.
This is no Toy!

A seat for two.
Comfort for one.
Pedals so hard.
Coasting is fun.

You work so hard.
A hill just to climb.
No chance for straight.
Zig Zag takes time.

Chain always clanking.
Seat slipping down.
He turns like a rabbit.
And falls like a clown.

Load him up.
His spokes rebel.
Starts to wobble.
Warning you well.

Dont dump me.
The rocks my chrome consume.
I'll splinter your hands.
No time so soon.

We travelled together.
The steets we sailed..
Through the woods.
My bike never failed.

Chains jumped their sprocket.
Handle bars slip.
Seat always dropping.
Me loosing my grip.

Soon that joy was to pass.
Another Toy would I like.
Still riding around in my memories.
Oh, How I loved my first bike.

Not Yet Born

Life is in motion
Who carries me?
What is her name?
I feel where she lives!
Ten twists and three bumps and a boom.
I hear her breath.
Her heart feeds me.
I make her crazy.
I tell her to eat funny things!

I get her attention, I kick.
I get her attention, I stay still.

I hear voices, outside my soft walls.
My room floats around me.

Lying still yet I move.
I travel through muffled noises.

I feel her fear, her happiness.
When she is sad, I move.
That makes her happy.

It is time.
My room is getting smaller.
She wants me out.
Now I am afraid.

I'm pushed through the door.
Stange and bony cold walls hold me.
Noises overwhelm me.
This is new and scary.

My room evacuates me.
And spills down my body.
A new room occupies me.
It is cold, sharp and light.

I can only think about her.
I know her flesh.
As it is mine.

Alas.
I am in just outside my home.
In her arms.
She breathes upon my face.

I know her smell.
Everything is new.
I am forgetting.
What I knew.

About my life before I was born.
Yet somehow I know.
Someday I will remember.

Everybody is Not A Parent

Big brother Daph

When I was not yet born

MY MOTHER

She could remember every detail of everything that she ever saw or read and even more. She was a prolific reader, writer, artist and social magnet.

It was tough being her son, she was so intelligent and demanding. Just a little rubbed off onto me and it made me a superstar where ever I went.

Yet, she was a true mother with all of the grace of a nurse and the care of a sheppard. Her mind was always working on poetry full of color and hues of sentimental overtones.

Not a traditional stay home take care of me mother. She was an independant spirit with six children in tow. I know we were a burden to her creativity, but now we are a product of her craft. All six of her children carry her tallents to a degree or another.

WE ALL LOVE HER AS SHE IS THE VESSEL THAT BROUGHT US TO THIS WORLD.

Big Brother Daph

Big Brother Daph
A sister par none, she was really the one.

Nobody had her like we did. She was the best in every class we passed and could never be..

Be you Daphne's brother, was this a blessing?

They would touch you with these new and wondering words. Who? This my sister before me, that her name and deeds made for me an approach?

But, whoa, unto me and my following brothers, that I or we should not do as well, which I shall admit was always the case, she being so much above us below as was our fate.

As like a marathon, she miles ahead, we miles behind, What to do? As it was to become, TWO families, one ahead and one behind we are the boys who would always behind reside!

What I remember, was her incredible abilities, which were a foreboding phantom.

She could twirl the baton and march to a beat with a cadence yet we could ever reach.

She could read like a wizard books to no end, one after the other pages and pages with great understanding, such that we could only pretend to know, just lying in other words so slow.

Her grades were so high that our ears couldn't hear the high notes of "A" but the gurgle of "C's" which we had in no shortage as it was there to be.

Our paths did they widen, hers afar and ours so abrupt, that we should never see so much as we slept.

Yet our sister remained an Icon of hope that we too someday would learn to feel that the order of things would be gained at great zeal.

Just as we had learned our lesson so true, that Daphne was for us what we wanted to feel and that to be so true.

What it is to be challenged, so charged with force and pushing ahead with so great of force, That she was!.

That is what we learned from our Daphne, she being the eldest, that no greater test may there be of one's own demeanor, that we should be of a good a force as hers was to be.

Study, learn, follow and lead, that is what she did with so great of steadfastness. A camp counselor, a teacher a friend and poet, she met the best and made them her friends as was their tenderness following.

We only stood back and watched as we did.. But observed as we did her great deeds and efforts, this gave us a goal that we should follow with courage and determination, but at a distance with no loud yearnings.

Daphne, our sister she blazed a trail that we should see as we went our own way to see back and anchor our thoughts so as not to stray so far away from what is strong and solid that mom and dad taught to the first born, even though she be a she....a Daphne!

Everbody is Not a Parent

Mother upholds me, father abounds me, together my bounty and strength
As I lay my foot upon my life's vessel to chance upon the ends of truth.

A ship, Gray steel, her smell is ageless, she stays my mind, she cares for me as any mate and steadies herself while I am afraid.

Oh parents of mine, your words ring true, as I never manage to feel outside of you. Your words sting suddenly as I try to do as you naught say, venture as I will without your approval let me stay!

Climb I those stairs of what recompense, should you let me stay so, I'll never be the less.

Those fallen pride mass let them come me to bear, should I never say so that I shall make it so fair.

Yes, me. What have I done with my life that I should consider. We, you, my parent shall never deliver.

I am become you and you are to deliver, what your own parents have done and went so, I will maybe never, so I think and fear I shall become, for we as parents shall always be forever.

Momma my daughter and dad my son, we look into our own our staunch faces as though a timeless mirror, one seeing the other and the other always seing so more less clear.

Yes, parents are to be happening, we while we see back and to the forth, never shall we be so confident in our march, as parents can never seem to be..

Lets me my to you and to you me both are we such parents, shall we march to your step, by each named step, such as they are.

I hope my wandering but purposeful path reaches yours and you, as it is known, shall with no hesitation steadily stay close to mine, that I hope will to reach you in our length of time.

Oh parents are we, children we are become, as from birth as from close the the end shall we never belong...