Happy holidays


I find myself looking forward to the coming holiday season with fantastic expectations demurred by the experience of experience. [ I only wrote that bit because I could. Poetic license is really cool ! ] Really, I sense a sort of gathering of the human spirit I have not before experienced, a sort of grasping for straws, but with the realization that the straws are within reach. Could it be that the monstrous acts around the world of late have succeeded in accomplishing a goal always dreamed of , but never reached in the memory of mankind; a simple united front against the powers that strive to tear societies apart in search of their own malicious goals?

I do strive to be a poet of sorts, a philosopher of a kind, if you will, and I think I am generally the eternal optimist over the long haul. [ though that bit of me MAY have been overshadowed by my anger as witnessed in some of my more recent posts ] So, what do I perceive the holidays to bring?

More atrocities and crimes against human kind, tempered with a continuing groundswell of people, determined to live lives, solidified in their inherent strength and abilities to overcome any forces intent on ruining the lives of the many in favor of the “privileged ” few , and a warm breeze of comfort and solidarity once the tempest is past. [ All right, perhaps not THESE particular holidays, but relatively quickly inasmuch as the world remains a very large place]

Patience IS a virtue, but the consensus may be that the time for patience is waning, and the time for the peace loving folk of the world to stand and be counted is drawing near.  May the holidays bring peace to the peace loving peoples and strife to those who wish to witness only division .

May God bless us all !   [Not just a few!]

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A bit of imagination


The filtered sunshine dropped around like raindrops falling to the ground while the leafy canopy high above, waved hellos to those far down below and breeze blown willowy boughs shifted the buds toward and fro, breaking the light into glowing dots that seemed to rain onto the forest floor.

I searched all through that wonderful day, wandering past leviathans of stalwart oaks, wading bubbling streams so aching feet could soak and not hinder my passing while looking for, I knew not what; though I understood recognition would come to me when perchance the object sought would reveal itself.

Evening fell like a velvety curtain over the transforming sky while the crescent moon and glittering stars took their place against the background of deep dark space and made my shivering soul feel a little bit less alone. Plodding along and taking the trek slow, reserving my energy cause  my destination clearly still was not known.

Just before dawn-break , after clambering down a rock strewn fall , by the gathering pool of clear, chilly streams a magnificent, paint horse idled by on the gravel edge, looking more out of place than even I felt. The muted snort and muffled whinny as I softly approached told me that the equine majesty did not mind my stopping or company.

After drinking full of champagne from the mountain lake, with giddy feet and light headed gait my wandering led me away from the hills till the forest I left behind. The coarse, green grass spread before me then and time stretched her arms so that I could not recall when the mounted patrol crossed over a hill and shouting stampeded straight into my path and the thought suddenly occurred to me that my lengthy journey would soon be past..

So running now, desperation eating my mind, and the sedges pulling at my legs while I tried to race away from my persuers, the time seemingly slowed for me but not them, and near I was to passing cold out when I heard from behind a victorious shout and I fell to the ground and looked around, expecting my doom. I saw the horsemen roping the steed of the stream. Unbeknownst to me a follower he was and the riders retrieved their property.

Foolishness flushed my hot, reddened face, so to escape the feeling I began to race, nay fly,across the verdant prairie, seeking now nothing but space and wind in my hair and a feyness lingered in the crisp morning air. Then the well opened beneath my shoes and forward pace turned into a deep dark place.

Falling took forever it seemed with the time now playing tricks on my sanity, and when by chance I could look up to the rim from which I had fallen, the sun faded from before my very eyes and the moon peered down into the shaft and followed me with a splintering laugh, so I turned away and saw below licking flames crawling the side of the hole, and screaming full throated I was when I woke in my bed;sweating, trembling and hot.

Weakly peering about the room, I quickly assayed my situation was quite normal with my wife and our dog sleeping deeply in the evening gloom. I grabbed up my robe, then poured a stiff drink and stepped out he door so that I could clear my mind and think of how silly it seemed to feel such a dream, and finally smiling I turned back to my house but in the corner of my weary eye; by the pond near the shadows stood a magnificent, paint horse!

My Room


My room of lifes’ floor lay covered in carpet and rugs scattered

Whole and tattered, yet soaking the warmth from the door,

Where I stand looking out to the street,

Hoping for friends, or wishing strangers to meet!

My entranceway respects all who enter my place,

Till I determine how much humaness they wear on their faces.

Walls covered in drapes and highlighted by hangings greet all the souls,

And soak up the heat radiated from warm, caring folks.

I bask in the glow of the smiles and the laughter

Left after, the people have gone back to from whereever they came.

The couches recall long, all the pleasant repose

And comfort I glean when I recline back on the pillows,

While gazing to the rafters and roof made of leather

Below where soft cobwebs catch dust rattled down by evenings thunder.

My cozy hiding nest though can get very cold

If the draughts brought in by frigid , hard feeling asses

Cannot be warmed by the candles left by the masses.

So, no matter what my overall vision,

I stand at the door guarding my comfort, my warm, glowing prison!

Memories of…………..


Because my Mother mouthed the words, my Fathers voice was heard, because my Father did not know how, my Mother raised her brow, and made me understand that a warrior cannot be heard unless the interpreter voiced the words, because my Fathers thoughts were stern, Mothers words his thoughts discerned, because he new not how to weep, my Mothers actions showed his keep, because my Father seemed so hard, my Mother seemed so weak!

Torch


What do I know of darkness? My life normally consists of shades of grey, ranging from a few very dark hues to the brightness of a summer day. What do I know of darkness? The kind of dark when the eyes cannot see, and the spark of life is dim and cold. What do I know of darkness? When feelings are moot against the sunless sky, And the babies cry for mothers blindly groping in the inky blackness, hoping for one bright ray to lead them to their child. Yea, what do I know of darkness? When the junkie pops that needle in just hoping to soar way high again, but falls onto the cold, cold earth; the smile gone, with unseeing eyes, not able even to wish to get well, and if he does revive to his personal hell, through the gloom he can only see, the next ride to insanity, so what do I know of darkness? Do I posses the right to write of something I have never seen? Dark shadows indeed, permeate all lives, but for most it seems at least some vagrant spark or beam can lighten the absolute night, and enable an alternate route, perhaps some way out.What DO I know of darkness? I believe that to know the darkness, I must see the light, Thus I can know and write, so long as I carry my torch very high and very bright.

A meaningless flight


Walking on shadows, one step at a time, shadows do not squeak, they do not squeal. If they are not seen, it is because there is no light, but always they lie just under the feet. Hearing or feeling, a useless endeavor, put down your tongue; they taste like dirt. Scary to some, pretty to others; I do not care, I tread on them. The scariest shadow cast on a wall, falls to the ground;somewhere. Walk on your shadows, it does not hurt their hue, but you cannot scrape them off the bottom of your shoe.

What a Trip


All along the hallway that stretched until the horizon cut it out of view, the portraits hung beside the doors, against walls of a pasty hue. Slowly treading along that hall while viewing the images along the way, a pattern seemed to reveal to me, a plan behind it all. A twist here and there upon a doorknob or two, revealed nothing but an inclination toward privacy. Some semblance of sense the paintings now began to make. On one side of the extended hall most figures resembled me or others in my family, no pattern could be distinguished upon the opposing wall. Twenty years walking it seemed until the opposite images made sense being the mates chosen by family in the branches of the family tree. Doors began opening beneath the hand that plied the knob, and revealed a bit at a time, of times long gone but remembered still as stories in the family blog. Further away the end of the hall came slowly  into focus, and noticeable now  one could realize the unevenness of the doors, and peeks inside revealed strangers to me that blended into the other side, the features folding themselves into members indeed of my family! Happily now, the steps came quicker, peering behind the barriers became much more fun to see. Viewing the family of memories exciting now to remember. Then curiously, espied on the floor instead of hanging near a  door ; Closely I bent down and the photo was me, the trap door opened and I fell, screaming into eternity!