Anew
you are printed,
packaged
addressed,
journeying to a distant place
unfolding before distant eyes
to be judged
and found worthy
or not.
In time,
you may find
a measure of fame
or fortune between
the pages of some book
but for now
you are just
another manuscript
off in the mail.
.
.
(Sending off a short story to a local ‘prestigious’ writing contest. The story was short listed a couple of months ago in a contest worth twice the prize money, so who knows? These things are so subjective.)
In time
oft heard
silent memories
mingle in the mist
In time
oft mentioned
mysteries dance
upon your tongue.
In time
oft discovered
dreams twist destinies
toward truth.
In time
oft wished
entwined desires
develop into twin
devastations.
Between then and now
Between here and there
Between faith and doubt
Between love and hate
Between us and them
Between you and me
Between life and death
We hover
Is that rain or is it snow?
The weather out there doesn’t know.
But it’s coming quickly through the air,
so I won’t be going anywhere.
This morning unfurling itself
I have awoken surly.
The low clouds match my mood
The sky is surly, too.
.
Inside the house,
the Christmas mess mocks
in its surly aftermath.
.
The snow plow
dragging itself through the city
scrapes with surly determination.
.
My surly swirl of grumpiness
has me in good company,
it seems.
The mantle piece is gathering dust,
as are other ledges,too
The strings are dusty on the harp
the soundboard’s dusty, true.
The floors could use a washing.
Windows want a spotless view,
But what I lack in house keeping
I make up in love for you.
.
.
(Someone is vacuuming and washing floors before we leave for Christmas dinner, causing stress to poodles. Hint: it isn’t me).
The
house
is empty
except for memories
It’s really too much effort
setting up that Christmas tree.
The young folks all use email
so there weren’t many cards received
The avenue is packed with snow
that’s falling unrelieved
They won’t risk driving anywhere
on that they are agreed.
Celebrations are in the past
as memories are retrieved
That’s the magic of the season,
and the truth of
Christmas Eve.
.
.
.
Merry Christmas to those who are alone, working, or happily avoiding celebrations.
PS. The shape was supposed to be a Christmas tree, but I’m thinking it looks more like an elf silhouette. What’s your take?
‘Marry in haste
repent in leisure,’
they say;
we repent
in long embraces,
loving looks,
and thankfulness.
We repent,
wrapped leisurely
together in sleep.
We repent
in steadfastness,
temperance,
and patience.
Winter solstice,
mist cloaked,
evokes kisses.
image copyright CRAIG PULSIFER PHOTOGRAPHY craigpulsifer.com Used with permission.
Image courtesy of Craig Pulsifer. Used with permission.
Please visit www.craigpulsifer.com to see his amazing photography.
(My dad lives in the building, the roof of which you see at the bottom of the frame) 😉
When she reached
and found
That was all
there was.
When she stretched
and discovered
That was all
she was
When she trusted
and loved
That was all
you were
