Christmas Yet To Come

(for Charles and Joan)

Christmas Past our childhood paints

In hue of silver, red, or green

That grownup wisdom promptly taints.

We struggle to recall the scene

In haunted hours--'til we succumb

To dreams of Christmas Yet To Come

Christmas Present bids us glee

But often fails us, insofar 

As spirits are but nebulae--

Much like the conjured air guitar

On which our anxious fingers strum

A tune of Christmas Yet To Come

As we our ledgers deftly mark

(With many cyphers) do we dare

Begrudge a sovereign to our clerk?

Pray, let us not be so unfair

Lest nightmares leave us cold and numb

In fear of Christmas Yet To Come

These Christmas apparitions sing

A hymn of one who will redeem

Our souls, and revelation bring.

Upon that holy day t'would seem

Our halting carol will become

A tale of Christmas Yet To Come

Volunteers

You always did prefer the colour green

And deemed a splotch of yellow quite obscene.

A volunteer that, in its moxie, grew

Pops up its head – “pick me!” – and so you do.

Your children grew like weeds, and then were pruned;

To water, sun, and seasons more attuned

These seedlings, in recovering, became.

They grow and show their colours with no shame.

You never flagged, in seasons long ago

But, by and by, your digging had to slow.

To discipline a garden, one must kneel;

Past volunteers, now, you can only wheel.

Of Iron and Irony

She stared and scowled; we recognized and smiled

To see the girl she was, the woman who

Today, we understand as one and two:

A loving mum; a jealous, red-haired child

They loved her in their way, for good and ill

Confuting illness with incompetence

Consult with her? Unfathomable! Hence

The condescending chapter of their will

 

Her boys were refuge, purpose, love sublime

Each year she celebrates her saints, anointed

And, every year, she ends up disappointed;

Expects the worst - and gets it, every time

She dares the world to drive her off her head

And on it, only sees anaemic red

Q to KJ

how did you get so big?

the seed that sprung you
fell in a hard place
wet with tears and bile

in spite of spite, you grew
up, above, out of the box

you expressed a powerful Gene

you were the littlest of us
adored and scared and scarred
fawned over and fought over

now you're big
in gesture, heart, and voice

you sing in the rain

AjO

AjO: With us, or no?
"Yea", say I. Such a long goodbye!

Relations

A block, a chip
An obelisk
A rigid, frigid legacy

A kite, a string
A windy spring
A nurtured spirit, soaring free

The heart, the start
The safety net
The daring, young trapeze artiste

The crown, the frown
The little prince
The dilettante, the egoiste

Her love, her shove
Her constancy
Her pride, her joy, her man of men

His bet, his regret
His push all-in
His sheep, into the lion’s den

Your do’s, your don’ts
Your honour code
Your formula for life unbound

Our dumb mistakes
Our double-takes
Our debt to you who laid the ground

You Idiom!

You idiom! You aged whine!
Left to… whither? On the vine
A grape, knee-high, like a grass-
Hopper (such a cool rider), crass-
Ly, Marvin, you have leapt us.
In the lochness you have kept us.

You idiom! You nether reg-
Unfairly keep us under siege
Till, as soil, we crumb, bullied;
So Lantern-Green your thumb! Bull! We’d
Be better served an ace (or by it);
Deal us out! Abort! Retry it!

You idiom! You utter nut-
Tin! Soldier, one should pick your butt-
On off, switch—flip you!—hit or mis-
Interpret you… but we’re remiss!
Where’s our beef? Our molly? Cod-
Dulled, our edge—and shot, our wad.

A.I.

We think for ourselves, though we think others’ thoughts.
We are held to account, though a count we cannot
Of our biases take, nor our prejudice measure,
Nor fathom our minds’ work when we are at leisure.

Responsible ones (who can only respond
As the ripples react to the stone in the pond);
In charge (as a negative ion is thus);
Controlling ourselves (though our selves make a fuss).

Yet, possessing free will, what possible choice
Do we have but to raise (pre-recorded) our voice?
What choice but from rooftops this maxim to shout:
“Don’t take it so hard! Garbage In, Garbage Out!”

RE: "empty"

My heart, not my head.
A wet fog envelops me;
I grasp at shadows.

The Moon In June

Late one evening (I can't say which)
Something made me get up
And get outside.

Crickets. Traffic. A breath of wind
And, still glistening wet,
The rising moon.

The blood, the breath no longer mine
Not me; a person, only
Stood for all men.

The orb ascended, resembling more
A piece of Earth than Heaven.
My weeping ceased.

All In My Mind

Muses and furies
Diamonds in the rough trade winds
Cherubs and harpies
Tellers of fortunes squandered

Seraphim and succubi
Raven-headed Florence Nightingales
Nymphs and maniacs
Women of the night, mare profundum

You are all in my mind

Unreadiness

Every few minutes, a train comes by.
Some people get off, some get on.
One soul, laden with baggage
Watches, going nowhere.

He waits, as he has for years,
For "his" train to arrive.
He frets that he forgot to pack
His dress shoes, his belt.

He checks his schedule (faded, torn).
He looks at his watch (unwound).
"Are we there yet?" asks his inner child
(Hungry, impatient).

Thank God I came prepared, he thinks,
And knew what to expect.
He sets his collar against the rain,
His mind against reality, and waits.

I Feel, Too

Too big and too small
Too smart and too dumb
Too selfish, too giving
To keep living.

Too wealthy, too poor
Too handsome, too plain
Too normal, too strange
To change.

Too soulful, too vapid
Too lonely, too crowded
Too strong and too weak
To seek.

Mother's Day 2006

Mother Stands For Comfort
She Holds Up Our Clouds
Keeps Our Feet on the Ground

Mother Stands Far Away
Under Cloudless Prairie Skies
Till Our Feet Take Us Back:

Keep Her Safe

-- Sean & KJ, with a nod to Kate Bush

What game are we playing?

May I read the rules?
Are there dice, or a spinner?
Some scorekeeping tools?

Reread the objective--
To do as we will?
I can't see me winning;
I haven't the skill.

This game is confusing
And lonely as hell!
Let's just play the old game--
We know it so well.

Having a bad time, wishing you were here

The simple misery of your company
Your siren's song, in its angry beauty
Our rush to empty ourselves in each other
To hide and be seen, to shout and be ignored

The blurring of my hopes and fears
Your desperate grin, so fixed and taut
The whirlwind waltz on bleeding feet
Stops; we cross our heart, and hope to die

Auto Eroticism

I put piston, transmission fluid,
and hot air into this gal.

Now, she sucks
as if I'm the lemon!

My body pleases me--your body, too.
Abundant, not excessive, pulchritude;
Adornments, imperfections: your tattoo,
The dimple in your ass (not to be rude).
My body wants to be with yours--and yet
My mind prefers to be alone, or in
The company of other minds. Beset
By this dilemma, lonesome, I turn in.
In dreams, I speak to you; I am your friend.
You stimulate my mind, as we pursue
A goal or an idea as an end.
Awakening, I seek the end of you.
We need to stop--or start. We need to blend
Our visions--and our passions, to renew.

Self-Preservation

Freeze me in a block of tears
I must not act; I must not speak
Thaw me when the summer nears
Ask me, then, for what I seek.

1 Across: Stick

I unburden myself,
Today, of all the
'baggage' that i
Struggled so to pack.

Once again
Vowing 'never again!'
Even as i
Realize: i'm lying
!