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Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again
Seems I just took down the lights and the tree
Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary
This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me

So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids
The old beat up station wagon I drive
On the hunt for this years perfect tree
We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive

As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm
Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs
With only twelve days left before Christmas
My **, **, **, is already long gone

Picking the best tree out within our budget
My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud
I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that
She'd rather not say with the little elves around

Before an argument even ensues
I've lost the battle before I hit the front line
You wonder how I'm so confident of that
The same thing happened last year at this time

As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy
While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes
I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head
Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose

Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor
I notice it leans bad to one side
Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem
The gas fumes **** my kids parakeet out right

With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays
I was able to purchase the product I need
Working late into the wee morning hours
I did a good job shellacking the parakeet

I'm not sure that my kids even noticed
Or brought up the question what for
But they sure like the shinny new ornament
Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before

Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas
As subconsciously I'm being led
To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie"
And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
The expendable existence.
That uncomfortable rat on your skin.
The cut in your gums that bleeds when you chew.

The last feasible member to fit on an ascending elevator.
Warm.
Hot.
Itching.

The spinach in your teeth.
The tear in your jeans located too close to “there”
The treacherous unzipped jean fiasco.

That crumb on your face.
Where is it?
‘To the left’
Is it gone?
‘A little more’
How ‘bout now?
‘Got it.’

The untied shoe.
The untucked shirt.
The eyelash stranded on your face.

The rainy wedding day.
The gold earring under the fridge.
The luggage thats flying to London instead of Zimbabwe.

These are the unwanted little honeybees of everyday being.
cracked mirrors, guitar-snapped strings,
welts of fire and third wheel things.
Looking out
is looking in.
It's the damnedest setup ever.
Cyan*
has such a brackish mark
upon your passive visage-
it transfigures boldly, tempestuously
any average glance flung facetiously in my direction.

Dearest Rogue Element,
You invigorate all other
salient features.
Like the slip of a blunt knife,
you surge open your soul, compelling
any audacious personality to bleed through the wound of your
gaping irises.
You betroth yourself to
the Fascinating, the Creative,
and like the cascade of clearest french horn lamentation-
you stir my
emotions with a mournful compassionate caress.

And that’s the difference.
The mellow mahogany of my eyes
provides the most loving background for Light to
reflect her dancing valiance with reverent adoration.

But-
your Blue
will
forever
stride as the
arrogant foreground.
Commanding and eternally vexing, (captivating) me
with your gaudy juxtaposition
of angry intensity
and poignant serenity.
 Dec 2013 Heather Nicole
Nameless
He loves me.
The single yellow petal falls like I fell for you.

He loves me not.
Another drops to the ground like my heart did when you forgot to call.

He loves me.
The softness of the flower reminds me of your kiss that night under the stars.

He loves me not.
The inaudible sound of the section being ripped from it’s origin almost sounds like my heart did when I realized you deserved more.

He loves me.
The easiness of pulling the petal resembles how easy it was to fall in love with you.

He loves me not.
The small scar in the top corner of the delicate foliole disenchants the image like the ones on my wrist did to the way you looked at me.

He loves me.
I grab on to this last petal like I grabbed on to that last, “I love you.”

He loves me not.
This tattered, empty skeleton of something once breathtaking will never truly be able to convey the hollowness of my being when I lost you.


He loves me not.
 Dec 2013 Heather Nicole
Md HUDA
I never smoked
Since you left me to bestow me rigorous ache
I pressed one pipe amid my two lips
Then I was about to lit the pipe with a gaslight  
All on a sudden your face emerged from the pipe
I stopped! Tell me how could I burn your Beautiful face?
 Dec 2013 Heather Nicole
Adel
he is beautiful;

like the way the sky is right now
with hazy dust stars and the light in dark clouds
with the lunar eclipse and the radiance
and that pretty shadows beneath the moonlight

like the way the ocean is right now
with blue-turquoise water that illuminated by the sun
with gradient color in the horizon
and blue shades and the breeze

like the way the galaxy is right now
filled by billion stars and pastel dust
with the stunning mist and enchanting lights
out of limit with no gravity

he is beautiful,
and *just beautiful.
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