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.

E. Pifanny

I was more in

Love with the 

Place than the man.

-I thought-

Humans are complex,

Addicted ones are

Predictable.

I think-

If you are not given

More than you think you can handle-

then how would you know-

How much more

You could...

I figured,

Turning a blind eye

makes you 

Feel more than

hind (in)sight like fore-

shadowing.

I realized,

Loss enhances the value of 

What you have, irreplaceable or

simple, nameable, and not.

Holding on to 

Nothing is free

falling-

Until 

I knew-

Everything

Lands

Home again

Like a name you've never heard, but

Think you know or a place

You've never been and find 

Yourself in

Love.

Painting by William Orpen (1878-1931), 'The Eastern Gown' c. 1906 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Vanities

All fires die

down

from embers to ash

retardant and uniform.

Our face and fingertips

warmed when close

once upon those times of

burning.

This glow, you know

attracts more than

the dark and cold that surround

our rituals.

Smoke follows beauty,

we all know 

while choking

back tears

it escapes and rises above

the flames.

The words were carried,

the intentions swallowed,

the time was wasted

watching and waiting

while warm

sparks blink.

Stoking and smoldering

somewhere inside

the pit 

we all knew these bridges

suspend more than belief. 

Painting by Nikolai Astrup, c. 1909 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

How clear up here

To be free

whether winds

push or pull

To Be sure

one cannot fall...

Further

Delight lies

in the details.

The Raven and the grasshopper

see you seeing them

Alone

and altogether such...

simplicities and cycles

remain

Elemental.

Artwork by Louis Agassiz Fuertes, 'Nightjar in flight' c. 1910-1914 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Office

Like Zoo babies, born in captivity

know no wilderness

exists

Does the fly

high on the fifteenth floor

ignore

the tinted windows

as if a painting

of one dimension

not to mention

alley cats, stray dogs, the homeless

whose living room

is larger

than life-in the city

the concrete jungle is overgrown

with wildlife

wanting to escape

the vast unknowns.

Image credit by Carol M. Highsmith, 'The Transamerica Pyramid is the tallest skyscraper in the San Francisco, California, skyline and one of its most iconic" in Public domain c. 1980-2006, via Wikimedia Commons. 

Time heals

Heavy loads lighten

With deposits and discards

Along the way

The body seems to know

What to do

when cut, shattered, broken

Takes care

of itself, well

Wounds heal, eventually

Even the inside ones

May mend

If treated

Kindly, Rest,

Until ready

to move 

On each step carries

One-One

step further away

From the point

Of impact.

In tact 

You must keep 

walking from Then.

Lighter with Less.

Changed for Good.

Humbled with Life.

Graced by...

Painting by Carl Holsøe, c. 1881-1936 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Blame

Nobody makes quilts

anymore

from scraps-

gathered, smothered

with pieces of

all the left

overs...

Some people don't eat

left

overs

or sugar, or walking creatures, or 

things that taste fishy-

Some say if

you dish it

you should take it

and some say 

No, thank you,

I'm full.

There seems to always be a way

To say, 

It is not right, it is not my-

fault-

lines lie

over there-

I was listening

Under a cover...

almost like, you know-

umbrellas 

were made to shield

the light

by design.

I don't like 

the shelter.

I get rained on-

Instead

I blame myself

for what cannot be 

unheard, retracted

undone

The word(s)

They

Use

They, them, the other

Way, they say 

Faults 

Sleep, for a time...

Painting by Henry Singleton, 'Ariel on a Bat's back' c. 1819 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.