I open
an innocuous box
to find a starry sky,
music for the spheres,
time travel.
I open
an innocuous box
to find sparkling stars
that make me smile
remembering.
.
.
.
and since the box contained the 25th Anniversary edition of The Interstellar Suite in Surround Sound (among many other lovely things), I should probably include a link to a 25 year old event that inspired a scene in Grace Awakening, shouldn’t I? (Thanks Arlene for that awesome sparkly sky paper!)
In darkness
her wishes are simple:
No steps in the hall
no hovering hand
no panting breath
no pain.
In darkness
she wishes in vain.
Boy games
Aim young,
Convince the girls to give it up
believing that you love them
Dump, Laugh, put another notch
on your belt.
Leave broken hearts
and bad kharma behind you.
Girls can be devious,
don’t be surprised
when the downtrodden
rise, and eliminate the cause
of your pleasure.
Live by the sword
Die by the sword
after all.
She’s
dishing out the gossip,
spreading the news,
telling tales
He’s
wagging tails,
reading the clues
washing dishes, cutting his losses
As I listen to the fire crackling on the TV, it occurs to me to share this poem from last year… 🙂
Oh beautious fire
Seeking to break
from the TV screen
and to devour
the drapes forever
out of reach.
I feel your pseudo-warmth
and hear your rich
crackling call.
Festive fire
Turned and fed
by the flannel
garbed arm,
you will not harm,
shoot cinders far,
force risk by axe
splitting logs, or
lugging them inside.
My floors are clean
but lack the lingering
scent of cold pine.
Yet still, you remind me
of fires from Christmases past
and fires yet to be.
You are quite festive enough
for me.
I heard you sent it
and it makes me smile
to know my mail box
will receive a gift
from the past.
When it arrives
I will float back in time,
swim in memories for a while,
then break the surface
to be thankful
for now.
I only have to say
Here’s a problem,
can you solve it?
And next time I turn around
You have illuminated
my world.
.
You tell me
you’re afraid
of the inevitable destination
of this journey,
and I can’t help you.
I’ve never been there,
and I don’t know what to say
to ease your fear.
Time to hang the Christmas lights.
From the shed
lights on pine swag are excavated.
From the basement
cup rings are hunted.
From the kitchen
bulb to plug converter located.
Bore the the rings above the door
Arrange the swag in elegant balance
Screw the converter into the light socket
Ready for festive glow, plug cord into socket .
Nothing,
Sigh.
No Christmas lights tonight.
Yesterday
this was everything.
Novelty exploded
and now we’re only
dust.
.
.
.
(Oh, those poor children. When you’re 14, everything is hyperbolic)
Shawn L. Bird 