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.

Along time ago
    it was written
in the stars
    by the moon
and the wind
    of a love that
was meant to be…
    For many years
the stars held
    the promise
and the moon
    and wind
watched from afar.
    A love
written in the stars
    fated to be
A love
   of truth, purity
hope and faith
   A love
that stands firm
   casting even the
darkest shadows aside.
   For it was written
a very long time ago
   and no matter
the journeys of these
   two hearts past
this love was fated
   always meant to be.
Now*
   *the moon moves aside
and the stars part
   as the wind sings
a calling love song
   making way
for this fated love
   that was meant
to be, all along.
~

she was too bright for that
small farm town
so bright she almost burned it down
because of this she moved to
where the sun shone most and
wilted, until she became little more
than a dandelion
you see, before she was a wild rose
that no one could tame
beautiful still, but not the flower
which everyone remembered
she was never the same--
that sunshine girl

in the icy swirl
          of deep-inhale
            I reach down inside
                      to darkest
       heated flesh-fabric
removing the clothing
of my soul,
feeling the layers
                slowly  undone
                      the flay
                        of my own fleece
                          the peeling
                    of my own pelt
            penetrating
                through tissue,
                     a journey to the
                          deep heart of me,
                         cut in one clean move
                         and yet, like a miracle
                  there is
             no pain
                   just magnet-connect
                     beyond the cusp
                            of words
                              that curl from our
                                             tongues
                                      rising up in
                      latticed affirmations
                    a cleansing in frost
a constant, aquamarine renewal
and there is no past
no future
      just this prism
           of crystal liquid jewels
      flowing in
gentle,
         cellular music
             straight into the strands        
                    of our veins
and I miss you
like you have gone
on the long winter hunt
my longing splayed out
like an animal skin on
                    four poles
its tendons stretched
beyond measure
yet holding fast
with a roof over my head,
                    I acknowledge
             my restlessness
I am my own
       hunter-forager,
         both searching and found,
                     gathering up bits  
               of velocity
stroking the ribbons
of passion
stoking the fires of my
              heart and hearth
protecting what is us
like a lioness
for we are overflowing
with both strength
         and tenderness
              our own bones
ingredients of the wild soup              
of our feral union
of our constant rebirth
our very dna
          weaving itself
like heartstrings
               in the rush      
of
       time

mon dieu
enchante'
madame
gratuits dans mon égocentrisme
seul dans mon sufferage
vous sous la tour
et je me tiens sous
éclat de votre enfant
visage tête chauve et frisson

I like how happy you have been,
I like how it isn't with me and that you
weren't as blue as the sky anymore.
I like the four by four prism you drew
in the morning dew that sits on the car.
I like that about you, the fact that you smile,
and each agile part of your lips only made you more,
and with less time passes the more you become,
so if I could sum you up; you are more than you
have ever been.

And that's a good thing,
because you have more life in your feet now
than you ever did in your own house.

I like how happy you have been
and I know how it had nothing to do with me,
but I'm happy for you regardless.

I like how happy you have been
and scene after scene, I wish I could watch a movie
of you smiling. Panoramic angles of nothing...
but you.

I have been thinking about love
and how you were my first.
I remembered the time that you
pulled alongside me as I was
walking home and offered me
your comfort and said it’s never
good to walk alone.
That’s how the monsters get lunch,
you said to me.
The echoes of joyfully twisted laughter
sings in my ears and for more
than a minute I enjoyed it.
I watched you put your steps to match
your shadows because it’s never
too good to dwell on darkness.
I knew right then, that I could tie my definition of beauty to the mere memory of you.
And so I did.
Now every separating kiss, I look for your lips
and every hand I hold I watch the bold sudden dodge of shadows.
And it is never there.
Because it only happened with you,
and with you I knew what it was like to be with something beautiful.
So I give you my heart, whatever five fifths to a part of a whole, I give you my heart.

—
Every girl I’ve ever pursued,
I would be lying if I never gave you my truth,
the truth is I am scared of myself.
They say time helps but over the years
my fears seem only to grow larger
and each day gets harder to go pass.
Now I can tell a joke, make a few smiles
but each mile I walk in my shoes,
the harder it is to stand still.
So I watch the world descend on me
like a rain pouring over a little field,
and dream of a shield to cover myself.
Just...there’s just no umbrella big enough.
So if I’ve ever pursue you,
don’t take the ruse of a happy smile
or the ruse of a joke like manner,
I am rarely ever happy,
but there is a little bit of happiness
in making you happy.
So I would be boldly lying if I didn’t tell you,
that I’m a sad and broken man.
I am not confident, and I don’t know how to pick you up,
but I do know one thing,
I’m happy that you’re smiling.
So I am being honest in saying
your smile is the deposit into my bank of happy memories.
I am not confident and chances are you’ll look through me
but if you could catch a glimpse of me,
remember- I never intended to lie to you.
Remember- I just wanted you to smile.

I can’t write like other poets,
each closest word I can think of,
is merely a cough in a dying body.
I wish I could write of reluctance,
of binding pungent chains tied to a life,
I wish I could write about pretty eyes
and the way they look like sapphires
tossed into a river.
I wish I was more of a poet than I claim to be,
I wish I could write with an aim to leave
behind a spectre of gleam and grim,
but I can’t.
All I know are broken hearts,
and writing this alone is ripping me apart,
because the roses that sat on the field,
is always sweetest when they’re the furthest.
The blue sky cuddles me inside it’s orb,
but I absorb enough light to know-
that no matter how much sunshine I receive,
you still won’t be able to see me.