Category Archives: Poetry

When the Muse Lures me

Sacrificial Tree

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Here are two poems about Christmas Trees. I’ve always been torn about having cut trees. I’ve reconciled my guilt by thanking the tree for giving me the soulful pleasure of its wonderful smell and living presence in my life.

I keep my trees as long as possible, usually until my birthday in mid January. This year I haven’t yet gotten a tree. I’ve just been too dissipated physically and emotionally, plus winter came on early, hard and strong. Who knows, maybe I’ll still get inspired.

lightening christmas tree

Sacrificial Tree

Darkness descends upon afternoon’s glow
And pulls day’s light to down below.
As fickle air courts heavy chill
Feeble warmth flees up,
Conceding defeat
To weighty still.

I then illuminate the sacrificial tree
To lift the void which leadens me.
Her scintillating glitter
Enshrouds my fears
Enveloping my heart in glamorous sight.

This starry gift is infinitely old
yet ripe with richness
as time’s birth of soul.
Such sweet ritual!
Such mundane skill!
Giving root to such lofty thrill!

We need only open our hearts,
Our senses, our doubts, our souls to Her allure.
The myth of the season is born again.

Our Christmas Tree

Our Christmas tree stands before me,
evergreen through the seasons,
glowing with light
through darkness and freezing.
My soul is warmed by its
shimmering spirit,
all crystal and glimmering,
giving life to love needed.

I’m able to hope
by such burning glory
for peace where there’s strife
and love for those, lonely.
My heart aches with sadness
that you can’t be here near me
but life must go on, then
for Beauty’s Eternity.

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Jingle Ironies

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snow on weeping tree

A day can seem like forever born,
a year but a passing shadow.
Ten hours in a car to nowhere, forlorn,
stellar travel just out on the patio!

There’s a feast before us, ready to consume,
yet the largest, glitziest package may be hollow
while the tiny, cardboard box may perfume
long winter nights with dreams one can follow.

A world in a word, sealed with a kiss,
yet years mayn’t ever heal a kiss wounded.
Who’s to say what the meaning is, ’til
you see that “you’ve got to choose it!”

Jingle ironies or love’s frivolity, it’s
not with whom, but how we share life, clearly.
Be gentle by your spirit and kindle its fortitude.
Share with those who might need it so, dearly.

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The Ache

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Beveled blade of geese aches its cry
slices the embalmed gray sky,
down the quicksilver river,
along the clackity clack tree lined bank,
staccato notes across my eyes,
between me and the geese as they fly.
They leave me with my southern dreams,
wallowing, aching, desired wings.
I inhale the crisp, dense air and say farewell
to a year, a life, to so many seconds,
expired breaths along the frivolous exhalation of streams
over so many rocks, so many easy, tired days,
basking in sunny nonchalance, ripened fruit
which dribbles down my chin, or rots
in the grass, bar tending for bees, drunk
with silly, wasted sumptuous dreams,
wooden troughs, overflowing, wasted
sustenance for tufts of grass which flourish below
the overflow, on the ground, the ground
beneath my stumbling steps, raucous,
dumbfounded, smiling with idiotic content,
as I continue, walking, then jogging,
onward, geese-less, beguiled, oblivious
to the effects I have on others,
drama for God alone.

The roar of highway traffic nearby continues unabated.

Touch My Soul

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Touch my soul and it is yours.

(It is never
mine.
Fire eating
snakes nip at my nipples,
unzip my fly,
bitemy mosquito)

Take my hand.

(Filling their mouths, drinking
mother’s milk, they
queue up at my statue.)

(It is not theirs.)

Look into my eyes.

(Then
Quantum
leaps
over a hedge,
falling flat
on
my back.)

What is yours?

Kissing me is not…

…the answer.

Touch my soul and…

…it is ours.
Take your bow.