Christmas Presence

 

 

I am here 

Warm blooded

In the icy dawn.

Pink blush to periwinkle blues

Paint the sky

Behind eyelashes,

Barren branches,

Heavy hearts hung high

Not just I 

sigh, exhale

thinking only of 

Others

whose day holds heavy fruit,

Hugs, in deep loss and great gains

ripe and rotten. I

Inhale the sharpness of

Those warm with love and

Those hollow in hopelessness.

Those that have just arrived,

Those that have long left,

Those that remain

In this familiar temperance

I feel

Here. And there

Goes, swift as the hours,

enduring as years

Ends and Begins

all Over and

Again.

 

 

 

Artwork by Hans Makart 1840-1884), 'Abundantia the gifts of the earth' in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Thick Skein

Have it together?---Hah! What poet does?

Fight this way, blistered paws

                                        limping along by prosthetic ego
battered by submissions...

I could go all day,

with myself

                     uncooperative, self-ish sot

              & yet I say I simply need more

time (alone) to not distract myself; (space) place to dwell, to go to

deeper than time (allows)-and vow to get itthe first Time
...All...withdrawn
Well...further from form-to gather to-gether

                                                              the 

                      scattered                   thoughts

I strew all about, coins and alms, the book of changes,

I knew no doubt

                         and yet could never finish (the plate, the bread,
butter, indulgence, opulence and chance)

                                                        what I never began officially,
a la carte (blanche)

Poetically, I prose with white 
which shows where will weakens voice

I'd have to pick up the line 

                                       later where I left it 

                                 loose and 

                                                      too long,

unraveling

at the slightest pull.

How it is all made 

Full 
                           of nothing (itself) is something to undo
(& make it knew) reuse and refuse to cycle

So it is sown into the soul
                                     bereft I be
seeking sustenance in vowels,
lighter than care and ever aware 
This is All...  

Painting By Samuel Lovett Waldo, The Independent Beggar (1783-1861) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Rhymes with Bucket

As an echo gargles the ells
Is that All
                 I've got
given it  _  All-
-pulled back, squint in-
        -tensed up-
Un-wound,
I begin to see specifically
out of line
drops
in
the bucket...
...
..
.
By the way: (I lost sight of mine
I, me-I, me, mine
and All those
hollow no's)

Enough is Enough
to go around
for each of us plus
it's All superfluous.

Half-full, half-baked,
half-witi-schism-
wrung wry
and completely empty I be,
sufficiently still sere here
unilaterally.


Image By FOTO:Fortepan — ID 92566:  Adományozó/Donor : Unknown. [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.