We don’t dance here anymore.

We balance on wobbly stools
and order PBRs with whiskey backs,
sidestepping the looks we tend to give
each other in the mirror behind the bar.

Tonight is Christmas Eve again.
Again, tonight is Christmas Eve.

Reflected in a frosted window
framed by multicolored lights,
our waitress wears a miniskirt
and candy cane-striped tights.

Her laugh rings like the silver
bell of tomorrow’s hangover.

We are not the ones racking
another game of eight-ball
or feeding the jukebox or
tossing darts at the wall.

That’s not us, the hipster couple
exchanging sardonic repartee,
clever tattoos comingling as
they trade kisses in the corner.

Could that ever have been us?

Here is where we *****
it up and tamp it down.

Here is where we wait
for our future to finish
its careful unwrapping.

Here is where we say
thank you and drown,

tangled together in
ribbons of twilight.

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.

i.

drunken in my pockets,
the day whispers to the trees that
pin to you, albatross
of a wind-swept sea loosening
feathers and heart-beats in
short, death-caught seconds.

ii.

gorgeous girl of height,
your caves are bright mysteries
your light an elephant's graveyard
of grey.

iii.

bitter note of earth,
you anchor birth
to our eye sockets, unwrap
mint and honey from the hills.

iv.

uneasy mistress,
dark daughter of sight,
sunk into all the corners of the world
you break like string,
you break and i break with you.



v.

vignette of ivy-coloured dreams,
sunny trail, you break my heart and
glue it back, sigh and sigh like a viking raider
conjured out of porcelain
and rose-water.

vi.

warrior of distant planes,
dense harbour of a lonely city,
landscape of water, unravelled
in an instant, a velvet
ribbon tied into a bow.

With one ear he harks to the drums
Of the tribal measure when it comes,
Then he feels he must talk in tongues
So he yields his nakedness to the words.

Only words when summoned
Ask for nothing in return
For a fire they beckoned
To kindle a withered burn
And brighten the dark dome again
In the midnight hour.

With one ear he harks to the drums
Of the tribal measure as it comes,
Then he knows he should speak through some tongues
So he offers his nakedness to the words
Willingly in the midnight hour.

© LazharBouazzi

She answers the prayers
of the lonely
and tenderly sews
and stitches broken hearts
and gives them a new coat of paint
and teaches them to laugh
and play and sing again

She is kind and wise
and knows more secrets
than all the mermaids
and the skulls lost at sea
and keeps a garden made
of flame and poetry
hidden in the heart
at the bottom of the ocean

She is there for the lost
and the miserable
and the dead
to guide them home
and carries the light of hope
in the emerald green of her eyes
full of elven lore

She was the first to have wings
and spread them endless and black
against the sky
to give the day
and the tired
a time to sleep
and dreams a place to bloom

She carved the moon and the stars
from the beat of her heart
and placed them high up in the night
and you can hear her voice
in the lullabies of leaves
and the song of the wind
whenever you whisper a lonely prayer
from the pieces of a broken heart

there's no such thing as a uninjured soldier

We all come back with some type of scar

Whether it's physical are mental

it's not always so obvious to see right where they are

our job is not for the faint-hearted

there were decisions that were made

some stories would never be shared

just know that history was changed

while fancy speeches are given and politeness is practice

those who are in power look to us to have an eye on the factions

those who operate in the Shadows are always aware

that there are only a few

that standing inbetween success and

failure knowing the odds and still

choosing to be there

I will be your last leaf
Until it falls on the eighth day

I will be your crescent moon
Until it falls into the
Midnoon waves

I will be your lighthouse
Until all land becomes
The sea

I will be your smile
Until every smile
Dies away

I will be your tea
Until the world
Only drinks coffee

I will be your silence
Until the world only
Speaks French
And all voices fade away.