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 Dec 2016
Elisa Maria Argiro
Zellie Eugenie, embodiment of  French elegance,
  consummate graciousness of a native Texan,
a lady ever and always, so delicate and so strong.

You are still my role model, Nana,
even far away, where you live now.

Your voice stays vibrant in my heart,
even after all these years of you living in Heaven.

It was a summer afternoon, expansive, warm,
like the residual, slight drawl of your San Antonio accent,
when I brought a little bucket of these dark, juicy berries,
picked from your own tree, into your sunny, quaint kitchen.

My parents were rarely away, so this time
when we could just be the two of us,
me staying in your ruffly, cosy guest room,
was treasured by us both, and each.

This, as it turned out, would be the day when I learned
to bake my first pie, beginning a life
devoted to fine cuisine that still stays at my core.

Your hands, feminine and capable,
skillfully gathered flour and shortening
into the shaggy, powdery ball of promise
that establishes each new pie crust.

I think you taught me then how to use tapioca,
added to the berries, to soak up some of that
deeply purple juice, as this first pie
bubbled to completion in your well-used oven.

Every time I use my mother's solid maple
rolling pin, sliding it forward on my palms,
I am one with her, and with you.

Do you get to see each other in God's home?

Or do you live in different neighborhoods?

All I know for sure is that you both reside,
forever adored, respected, emulated,
as best as I know how, inside of me...
from whence these tears pour, blurring
what I can see of what I humbly write
to bring you closer to us, way down here.

Zellie Eugenie DuBarry Downing Regan Wright,
your courage in following your heart, and withstanding,
as you must have, the criticisms of a world, of a society,
that likes to put us in categories, especially as women,
still informs my own courage under similar circumstances.

And so honour and admire any and all couples who remain together,
loving, supporting, respecting one another,
while allowing each other to grow into more of themselves.

Some of us, having put everything we have into each,
yes, each, of our marriages, have yet to reach the place
where we are on equal footing with our one true beloved.

May the dear Lord continue to watch over us,
as we bend and search and grow, and may we, too,
even much later in life, know what it is to be happily married.
©Elisa Maria  Argiro, 27th December, 2016
 Dec 2016
Phil Lindsey
Oh, to sleep the sleep of youth;
Peaceful dreams, and blissful truth
When every morning brings the sun,
Battles fought, and victories won!
Victory sweet, misfortune ****,
Yet those that bear a champion’s heart
Stand upright, tall, despite the end,
And humbly shake opponent's hand
Congratulations on fine play
To meet, compete another day
Hope the foe will others tell,
“He fought with honor, he played well.”

Oh, how the aging fight with sleep;
Nightmares, abject fears run deep
That life on earth is almost done,
Morning might not bring the sun.
Once strong, the warrior now is frail
In the final battle death prevails,
Though none but God has kept the score
The champion longs for one quest more
Long life results in necessity
To replace lost skills with strategy
We long to hear, at final bell,
“He fought with honor, he played well.”
PWL 12/25/16
Not exactly a joyful Christmas poem, but it's all I had today.
 Dec 2016
Kelly Rose
In the blush of youth
It is easy to believe
In fairy tales
That a knight in
Shining armor
Will rescue one
From all their sorrows

In the Autumn of life
One finds that love
Is not always about
Happy endings
Love must come from within
Not from without

Self-love if often
Difficult…
I miss the love that
Is right in front of me
If I do not love myself
I end up rejecting the
Gift of love

Love tries to welcome me
And sometimes…
Sometimes
Love seeps in
Coloring my world in
Many beautiful hues
And I find acceptance

A beautiful gift is before me
For the taking
If only…
If only I would embrace
This precious gift everyday

Kelly Rose
© December 22, 2016
 Dec 2016
Sally A Bayan
fill your sight, with bright, fragrant tannenbaums,
smile, and i'll try to clear the lines on your palms...
i'd speak to destiny, save you from fateful roads
allay your fears, as waves of changes affect today's world...
let me streak the Heavens with star-shaped lightnings
create festive skies, over dark, fiery spots persisting.
i would seek all you downtrodden, despondent ones
whoever, wherever you are...wave my hand more than once
to paint your dimming minds, with Christmas dust of gold,
green and red...i'd make you believe, miracles do unfold.
remember your dreams, let me lift your dying hopes,
what's best for you will come, when time is right.....just,

listen close, hear the softened clatter of my little hoof
soon, i'd be landing on your snow-covered roof
then slide down your chimney....
watch me
as i stand carefully....whisking soot
from my red suit...

your doubts and fears must perish
sad and mirthful moments, you must cherish,
weep no more, look up to the sky,
you are all children of Christmas, raise your eyes
regardless of age and color...beliefs, or faiths
some wishes are granted, some have to wait,
i got presents in my sack, other than your desires,
some pleasant tidings, to set your sagging spirit afire...
o, sad, broken and orphaned hearts, do not despair,
keep your faith alive, have patience...trust!
other days can be Christmas,
though it may not be December...........just,

listen close, hear the softened clatter of my boots
watch me, as i rise, whisking soot from my red suit
bearing gifts from the One up there...to last all seasons
just keep in mind....He's the Reason, for the Season...


Sally

Copyright December 16/16
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
.....reflecting on the reason for the season..
Merry Christmas to everyone!!!
The eyes
are the windows
of the heart,
and the soul,
through them
we see who people
really and truly are.

A shortcut,
and a gateway,
to the garden
in which we dwell -
otherwise
near impossible to reach;
for the distance
is a lifelong journey
to a destination extremely far.

By Lady R.F ©2016
 Dec 2016
L B
The Holy Family?
In a box
with the angels upstairs

Shepherds?
In search of their sheep
lost in newspaper

Somehow I sit on a bag...
     of glass Christmas *****
“Must get my vacuum!”
That dead animal, coated by dust
and buried in laundry--
has tangled itself in its own cord
and tumbled headlong to the basement

Crooked photos of daughters
watch me...
smiling (Can it be?)
from a hundred miles and years away?
Waiting for me to make
that miracle again--
What moms do at Christmas

Phone rings
    “Jing-a-ling, are ya listening?”
     It's the bill collector's recorded
     “This is inexcusable!” message
      Charities are legion
      I say, “There is a line”

Later--
seen only by the peaceful stars...
the donkey of Bethlehem
stumbles in-- laden with groceries
dumping them on the bed/couch
...and back outside for the next load
...and back to the bed again
Why bother making it?
Not as if the cat cares
He likes his blankets niched and lumpy
Not as if some modern home magazine's
planning a photo-shoot!

The mailbox, meanwhile
is preggers  with glossy catalogues
...and bills...and
“Wouldn't your whole family enjoy a sunroom?”

Dropping the bags
searching for a light
turning up the heat--
     gas bill
     sewer bill
     “Tis the season for a new Toyota!”
I try to understand the point
of a Christmas card with printed signature
Can I stuff myself in with the recycling?

Then, back outside for the single-woman drama
     “Hauling in the Tree”
Storm door catches the hem of my coat
Pine needles, leaves, snow and mud
mark the end of the trail

On my belly twisting screws
       “Son-of-a-******* tree stand!”
Knocking my daughter's picture off the wall
       “Serves 'er right fer laughin!”
**** thing's crooked and dripping
with melted snow

It's 8:30 PM

The cat is hungry and crying
I hit the bottom-- and the button
for the background of a human voice
Three naked chickens are waiting on the counter

At some point, I will take off my coat...

Right now--
I drink a beer while standing

To get a better view....
I'm sure there are more than a few parents among us poets, trying to make the holidays merry and memorable for their families despite the ongoing demands of work, loneliness, loss and the season swirling around us.  It can be pretty hectic.  Some will struggle more than others.  This poem is for them.
 Dec 2016
Emily B
One of these days
When i clear myself
Of the wreckage
Heaped by my own personal
Hurricane
I will write some words
So pretty
That you won't notice
The devastation
All around me.

We'll light a candle
For peace on earth
Goodwill
Toward men.
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