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 Dec 2018
Francie Lynch
You've heard this tale
A thousand times,
Take one more spin,
This version's mine.
And this telling tale
Is its first time.
My theme is fitting,
The message sublime,
For the Season of giving,
And gifting one's time.

For my first Christmas
I was three,
But the warmth on that night
Never cooled,
And indeed,
It was
A cold Christmas Eve.

We stuck branches of pine
In a bucket of sand,
That's the snapshot I've got
Of our Christrmas tree then.
Here's the memory that Eve
Of a lad of three,
Yet this story is true,
It's a family heirloom.

We weren't many then,
There was Mammy and Daddy
And six children, soon seven.
Daddy was an Operator
Of cranes and loaders
Dirt packers and graders.
He was working North,
Far North,
Manning a dozer,
Distant from family
Near the Quebec border.
That's where he was
Days before,
When his pant-leg caught fire,
When the diesel was spilled.

We were only three months
In our chosen homeland,
It was 1958,
And fresh from Ireland.

No way to get to him,
Nor him to get home,
No car,  no friends yet,
Little money, no phone.
Yet somebody knew
We were out on our own.

And the snow started falling,
It was Christmas Eve,
I stood at the window,
Saw the snow fill the trees.
I was still and staring,
At what I don't know,
But I remember quite vividly
All that I saw.

Like a scene from a movie
Starring Barry or Bing,
A fire-engine red no-top
Stopped and parked with high beams,
Highlighting the snow,
On that Christmas Eve.

A big man in a red suit
Slid off of the trunk,
Literally carrying a sack,
And calling, **! **!
The family joined me
At the window to see
The big man's helpers
Carry a big Christmas Tree.

When they entered the house
Kevin, Sean, Gerald and I,
Cowered and crouched
Behind the second-hand couch.
We must have resembled
Three monkeys plus me;
I hadn't a clue,
I was dumb-founded and three.

In through the front door
They clattered and sang,
Unloading their boxes
Of food, clothes and toys,
*****, bats and dolls
For two girls and four boys;
And I'm sure there was something
For the coming bundle of joy.

I don't remember their departure,
Or where he went,
But they called Merry Christmas
And left all else unsaid.

Mammy understood
Some good persons had called,
Who'd heard of our plight
And couldn't be calmed
Til they knew for certain
We'd some peace in our storm.

So, that's my first Christmas,
Since then this my creed:
The gift of giving
Isn't under the Tree.
Repost and a Merry Christmas to all my friends at HP.
 May 2018
Be the change you want to see
Try not to judge, let others be
The rain will stop, the storm shall pass
Pleasure is pleasing and love can last

Set up for sorrow, it's hard to see
Open your eyes, switch off your tv
Put down the remote and venture outside
Get out in to nature where healing resides

Turn off your phone, log off the net
You'll be surprised with the solace you get
Write a poem, cook a nice meal
Declare your love, see how it feels

Put away the plastic, stop doing your hair
Go back to basics, even though it's rare
Laugh at your troubles, hug it out
Why are you frowning, what's that all about
A sign of the times, the information age
Escape from the trap, break out of your cage

Tell me now, how do you feel
Please keep it up, do we have a deal
Memories last but gadgets do not
Live your life fully, run from the rot
 Aug 2017
Robert Szankowski
A kiss to dissolve
the mobs among us,
a kiss to let go of
the humdrum world.

To cover our shivers with a blanket,
gold and shimmering,
made of touch and taste, warm
as the night sky with the moon
sighing cherry wine into our oceans.

The roar in the ripples roll
with the beat of each breath,
into veins, into hearts,
into the fingers which massage
the islands of our imaginations.

Oh what a kiss! How sweet the air!

The cup of our mouths brim
towards elation, they burn
with each graze tempting morning.

Let us not waste this kiss.

Let us hold together the stars,
to close and tighten them
into a mason jar like fireflies
made of heaven and desire.

So that when day awakes
into night, our love
shall be released
where it was found,
where it is free,
where it begins again.
 Jul 2017
South by Southwest
A gray hippo lived in the zoo
It was so stressful it turned him blue
The Giraffes laughed at his skin so blue
That only made him bluer times two

Now the Lion was wise but a little slow
That's why he wound up as the star of the show
He and Hippo were playing a game of solitaire
While the Lion played fleas were biting him everywhere
Hippo ate chocolate cake
That the tourist threw over the gate
Wise old Lion said ,
"You better watch your weight
Your getting a little thick in the hip ."

"Humph !" , said Hippo ,
"Why do you think they call us
Hip-po-***-a-mus ."
 Jul 2017
cheryl love
The aroma of fresh coffee brewing
the taste of rich chocolate on your tongue
freshly baked bread straight from the oven
newly picked rosemary to last all day long
talcum powder sprinkled on a beautiful baby
the splash of the sea on your skin
the salty smell of fresh fish at the market
tobacco ripe fetched from the tin.
rewards to keep, treasures to share
it is fascinating to breathe all these riches
and we thank goodness that we have them there.
 May 2017
Mike Hauser
There's a castle in Duluth
Made out of sugar cubes

And the moat that flows out front
Is filled with soda pop

Fruit that grows on trees
Is the finest in jelly beans

In the nearby spring fed lake
People swim in grape Kool-Aid

The streets where those people live
Are cobblestoned with M&M's

In their houses made of brick
From different flavors of licorice

With picket fences in the lawns
Constructed out of candy corn

When cotton candy clouds
Move in from the South  

The crowds open their mouths
As the skittles come raining down

The days are always sweet
In the Kingdom of Kandy

Where the King and Queen rule fair the days
With scepters made of candy canes

In their castle of sugar cubes
This Kandy Kingdom of sweet tooth's
 Jun 2016
Got two poems up for plating
Lines in layers, piled in waiting
Even if they've been outdated-
That never stopped me baking.

A chocolate-centered senryu
A haiku pastry, maybe two
I'll throw in a little freestyle verse
To feed some hungry youth.
Sitting in a posh cafè;
sipping on a white hot chocolate;
Fudge cake in my stomach: I got inspired.
 Jun 2016
Pauline Morris
A square that was a little twisted
Didn't want to lay on his side like everyone insisted
Instead he wanted to stand on his pointy end
Look and see just what become of him
Because he did not want to be like all those that had come before
He'll now be a diamond, forever more
 Apr 2016
I am here
Yet most times I'm not
Likened to a fleeting zephyr
Perchance may be caught

Beyond the bend, it's hard to see
Uncertain, unpredictable, unsure
There are chances however unlikely
To chart life's trot and canter

Awaiting the moment I would voraciously savour
The fullness of my being that's rare and transitory
Because almost always,
I'm drowning in doubt and clamour
With fevered breaths drawn more quickly
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