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 Dec 2018
L B
Before he returned from the fields
she must get there!
Harnessed Ole' Jerry to the buckboard
by herself
flung wildflowers mixed with iris, roses
tied with string
up on the rough-hewn seat

She was sweating, ill
and pregnant yet again
But some things always mattered more
than dinner at his hour, on the table
Sometimes in her frantic mind
she found the strength to curse him

Wiped her brow with sleeve
No bother for a hat
No time to tuck the loose hair to her bun

Hiked her skirt and hoisted sorrow
beside the wilted posies
Grabbing reins and slapping
Jerry's quarters with them soundly
she rumbled madly
out and up the hill

toward the cemetery
once a week
Her promises--
of always –  in his fear
she kept
An image from the homestead in Hatfield, Massachusetts, related by my Auntie Edna's telling of my father's mother,
Celina Arnel Rodier.  Never met her.
 Dec 2018
Sarita Aditya Verma
Crow’s nest in the tree
Precariously nestled
Breeze rocks chicks to sleep
 Dec 2018
Barbara R Maxwell
Street scene
People out running to and fro
Cold breathes in the air
Its holiday time
The season is upon us

Street scene

Markets full of people
Bright colors and tinsel
Lots of good energy
People selling their wares

Street scene

Stores decorated
Streets full of holiday lights
People smiling brightly with cheer

Street scene

Trees decorated with their best
Children running and playing
Parents shopping

It’s that time of year

Street scene
 Dec 2018
Jen
Thick forest, blankets
The open air.
Pines and maples
Smell naturally fresh.
All worries, float away.
Eyes open to a new day.
 Dec 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
The frost curls round grass
I can smell its coldness
Tips of ribbon ice on green
A woman’s shadow wave.

Up above a velvet field
Glistening citrus glows
The sky a streak of blue
Mornings’ Winter snow.

Love Mary ***
 Dec 2018
Abby M
Hoarse are the birds in this garden
Coarse are the feathers they wear
Strange are the songs that they’re singing
Songs that tell strangers “beware”

Deep in the shadows lies Beauty
Long overgrown by thick vines
Lying in silence she’s staring
At naught but the passing of time.

Footsteps are scarce in this garden
Scattered with leaves as it is
Darkness has snatched it from Beauty
Her once cherished garden is his

Crying in silence lies Beauty
Watching her poor garden rot
If it lies only in darkness
Her toil will soon be forgot

Soft sang the birds in this garden
Bright were the feathers they wore
Sweet were the songs they were singing
But now there is Beauty no more
 Dec 2018
GraciexJones
Sitting on the beach on the coldest of days,
Winter chills which skims across my face and hands,
Watching the waves rising up and down,
Beating against the shore,
Roaring against the wind,
The smell of open sea rises across the land,

Birds are fleeting above my head,
Glimpse of the sun is peeking through the clouds,
My partner is drawing characters in the sand,
I run my hands over the seashells and tiny rocks,
I explore a combination of sharp edges and wet stone,

A misty gloom appears along the coast,
The sound of seagull’s squarking and dogs barking echo’s in the distance,

My partner lights a cigarette and sits across me smiling,
We hear the pitter-patter of a greyhound dog walking towards us,
The greyhound greets us with a curious gesture,
We welcome the dog with open arms and stroke their furry face to say hello
The grey-hound pondering between us,
Excitingly moving around,
We hear the sound of people talking in the background,
The grey-hound wonders off to accompany their owner,

A shift of temperature occurs in the atmosphere,
I feel the cold cracking my lips,
My partner begins to roll a spliff,
I contemplate about the warmth,
I propose we hit the Carrot Café along our way,
My partner agrees as he smokes his doobie
We get up and set upon our next journey.
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