Make Peace, or Art?

 

Somewhere in a manger

In a land quite far away,

Human aspirations

Truth, Peace and love;

eeked it’s message through the fray,

Far away from commercial racket,

Far away from haste and greed,

A messenger cried beneath the burlap,

He had more warmth than he could need,

The twinkle in the sky,

Beamed bright- the light held in his heart,

His plea was for the masses

each day of my birth

Make peace….

Or art?

A Diamond from Coal

The air is crisp;

The calendar

Ticks down,

Last year may resolve

With a gentle smile, or a frown?

The lungs fill deep with another day,

A trillion thoughts, lessons learned,

For my children to gather up,

With youthful eyes of green and blue

Bruised still, from years of an empty cup,

As sure as the warmth in their every breath,

As sure as in winter,

the whole world stills,

As sure as every birth

Is graced by death,

A New year creeps, or a cup that fills?

I flip from the 31st , not too eagerly, to the first.

There’s still that tale

Bubbling up inside,

if not told, will make a writer BURST,

The novelist unrealized, feels taunted,

Like a weary child,

fearful an adult will turn off the light,

Let the slate be cleared at Midnight

Let the words flow free with might,

Let all that is worth sharing

Partner with the dancer that is my soul,

Dig deep for courage revisit the “failed novel”

With the newness of a soft brown foal

After all, these things take time;

Think of the time it takes

to morph a diamond from coal?

The Feast is your People

The wine prevailed as the drink of choice

But oddly enough,

There was no real voice,

The topic lingers…near the surface

Like plankton needs light,

Underneath the words

Devoid; neither passion nor fight

Like Cinderella dashed;

So were hopes of something new

7:30 arrives, again we bid adieu,

Like cats the family scattered

Wishing, another year, that they knew

What it is I’m thankful for, what it is I do?

They may never know what makes a meal

It’s the gravy…I mean the people, that’s most rich

All that matters; there’s so much more…

Beyond the cranberries, deeper,

Than just ridding the holiday itch

Yesterday

serious, as a shirt pressed crisp,

white as white

face the mirror, reluctant but open eyed

imperfect, soured by habit;

see as if feeling weren’t there

magnifying yesterday, up close to  see the pain

I quiet my thoughts, judgment spills through me like a sieve

the sun was forecast to follow the rain;

I seek to learn, to know, to be, to practice;

 even that which is unnatural

diffuse the jagged sparks of old; 

 see the crust form around the pool of pain

tenderly surround your inner plight, the truth as if your heart set that goal, the good

the path which invites you, the link from eye to heart

prevails through only art

just as it should

 

 

the burdens of change what’ true fine art

my outward body pleads with inward soul

<suddenly it's less heavy to lift each foot, and life the endless stroll becomes an adventure

I wear my wrinkles pridefully

as the masochist that used to thirst for blood, is busily collecting the wrinkles of time, no longer wishing to cover up the scars

 

 

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Christmas Wish list…..from mom

 

A looking glass to capture my beauty

A hubba-hubba hiney to enhance my booty,

A knit pair of socks that comes in three’s

A Mexican maid ta’ keep me off my knees

A knowing smile from my loving brood,

Some pheromone gel to enhance my mood

Six calling suitors, without solicitous needs

Two family members relinquishing me of all their deeds

A fragile snow globe holding my 2 enemies captive

42 years child support, current and retroactive

When I close my eyes on Christmas Eve

Please Santa-TICKETS

The French Antilles-a winter’s reprieve?

 

The Sweater

The Sweater;

It’s fraying, it’s balled,

The shaver’s a waste

It covers more flesh,

than a nun’s practiced chaste.

Its’ cowl blankets curves

….. truly worth seeing,

It’s hand on my skin

Tickles the core of my being,

I know it ain’t pretty,

The hangers snicker so,

If a sweater could talk

It would say “I must go…”

It’s weave and it’s knit, snugly dense, not sheer

It knows sweater stuff,

Like a German’s knows beer

Just….pull it on just once, just- one winter more

I’t’ll forgive you for leaving it in a heap on the floor,

the collar’s rubbed thin from the brush of my chin,

It’s the weave has hues of red, maroon

port, and fine wine color of Zin,

it’s caught many a crumb

and witnessed secrets galore

thing is, I’ve a blue one, just the same

at my feet on floor?

Coping Skills

For some they shop,
For others they mop,
For some they swill
For others tears spill
For the uphill climb of modern life
Prepare young souls,
for goodness AND strife
Feelings gulped down like the salty sea
Aren’t guided by the moon
If not set free
Don’t choke them down
like nasty gristle
Call them out
Like a captain with a whistle
listen like a friend to your questions
to your fear
Like the lion and the mouse
wriggle free
from prejudices torturous spear

Just Listen

Just Listen

It is the space that’s there but not quite seen

For some, the statue amidst the travertine

It’s a queasy pang from doing wrong

But alerts you to the importance of the Wood Thrush’s song

It may be the way the sun burns through

A rain filled sky, like someone knew

Each time I sat quiet to meditate

Even the homeless woman

delivered a message of beauty

free of hate.