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.

Pearl-esque

At some point, it all becomes too condensed
to hold in one point, place or person.

I believe this to be the equivalent to the
internal pressure of a proton, that
binding force, around 100 decillion Pascal or
the compression at the center
of a neutron star.

These pearls glistening
in my lower quadrant of vision,
the milky way so to say,
are warm, as heat is conducted over
centuries. The pearls being given
to my grandmother by my grandfather
because of her name

He would take
a grain of sand
and a jewel was made.

He would wink at me every time
she tried to open the clam.




Painting by Charles Joshua Chaplin [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Reconciliation: Numerical Solutions

What could be done
with off and on, yes or no
and one and none

became endless...

In two
given the same gift,

neither desired nor deserved
and each put it away
for as long as possible.

By laws of conservation
and arts of distraction
feats of nature and the
zen of (un)
doing

the present hovered over them

one never looked up,
the other
empty

inside, the same
blue blood rushes upstream
unseen in the light of day.

One would begin to spin
and find equilibrium in this direction,
while none could take it in
without wobbling
off kilter

bi-polarity divided into each other,
choice by reckoning

Balance with Being

excepting no gifts
without a creator.


Photo credit By Brian W. Schaller (Own work) Acadia National Park [FAL], via Wikimedia Commons.

Deaf, dumb and mute (me)

If you ask me Today
I'd undoubtedly admit
I was built this way,
it is my arch-i-texture
rehearsed.
If you ask the same Tonight-
I might not answer,
despite having something nice to say.

Either way, those questions get slightly worse
all the time
So I'd rather not ask, it is not my task,
I consider this a gift,
I try to listen louder
than anyone can Here.





Painting by Fernand Khnopff, Silence (1890), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bells & Whistles

Ah, a gift for thee
        a token of my love
           a bit of magic by mans making
Look and see
         the face
              the hands
                    the delicate machinery
Of the precious dial that
          is alive
            it beats
                its face reads with guile
Please, carry it with you
              always keep it
                  close at heart, handy
                      it wants to feel your pulse too
A handcuff? No!
                a shackle-perhaps
                    for some its a ticker, a fuse
                         Coded lines that sign in analog tho
watch its powers,
                 you'll see, this little clicking gift, a tricky token
                            from me, will count unto eternity
                                 all the ways and each of the hours
of my love
making time
trying to be
when it was
is all
we needed
(and a piece of time for thee).



Image By Seriykotik (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

A Rabbit in the Hands

Take this

I relinquish my contents

to you

Trust what's inside

these cupped hands

touching Venus

where it is read

the light rapes.

A rabbit in the hand 

is worth more than a litter in a hat.

Image By anilkuzhikala (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.