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the curling smoke
from warming fires
rise into the slate
gray sky of the
Beqaa Valley

sheaves of
rising prayers
expire in twisted plumes
dissipating into the
gloom of an ever
looming winter
overcast

refugees from
the Arab Spring's
uncivil wars
gather for warmth
around waning embers,
smoldering in the underbelly
of the lowliest bottom of rusted
steel drums, tended
with scavenged debris
some thought better
suited to fortify the
faltering hovels of
last resort

the fires
join us in
communal rings
straining the
tenuous links of
brotherhood, the
politics of men
assiduously tear
asunder

we count ourselves
among the fortunate,
blessed exiles recused
from the acrimony
of desecrated cities,
welcoming the
residencies of
bewailing lullabies
of colic infants, the
searing hunger of
stunted children and the
incomprehensible babble
the elderly eloquently
speak in tongues
of a desperate
exasperation

our nagging impotence
swaddle us in ambivalent
inabilities to master circumstances
profanely denigrating our humanity

privation is
our daily bread
the bitter manna
feasting on the
animosity the banquet
of rancor generously
prepares for
peace starved
pilgrims

in these
refugee camps
the cold cuts deeper
hunger pangs
grow sharper

our blighted dignity,
vanished livelihoods,
and the presence of
recently interred
loved ones trudge
through our mean
encampment as
fully enfranchised
citizens in our
distressed
kingdom

what was lost can
never be recovered
our homeland leveled
yet doors still stand open
silently pleading all
to cross a new
threshold

the full restoration
of our hope,
the reconstitution
of our flagging
humanity, the
spark of the
holy spirit
willfully uniting us
in the salvation
of reconciliation
is nigh

we are
the divine children
stoking the embers
tending the fire
that light pathways
through the cold
darkness of a
broken world

Oh come
Emmanuel,
dwell among us
Oh come
Emmanuel
ransom once
again the
poor captives
of Israel….

Selah

Music Selection:
L'Accorche-Choeur, Ensemble vocal Fribourg
Veni Veni Emmanuel

Everywhere
Christmas
2013
jbm
Blessed Christmastide Greetings
to all beloved HP friends
peace and prayers
to all
love, jimmy
"A penny for your thoughts"
she said, with a sultry smile
looking at me sideways
as we passed away the miles

The journey that had brought us here
was really quite a ride
ups and downs and storms endured
but promised so much life

I must confess my mind was blank
but stuttered out a reply
I can't remember what I said
but she smiled and stroked my thigh

We continued on our present path
moving through the night
the morning sun looked down on us
as darkness turned to light

the mountain air was bracing
refreshing feeling so divine
descending through the mountain pass
we searched each others eyes

"A penny for your thoughts" you asked
well this is what I say
I can't believe the luck I've had
since our wedding day.
Don't Drink The Kool-Aid

Don't drink the Kool-Aid
That's a phrase you'll sometimes hear
It means don't believe every word
And don't live your life in fear

Don't walk around with blinders
Try to see the other side
You can listen to what others say
But make up your own mind

You do not have to follow
When someone makes a stand
There are many different points of view
Each side must get a chance

Your opinion may just matter
To no one else but you
The experience of a persons life
Creates their point of view

So don't drink the Kool-Aid
You can't believe all that you hear
Dont trust someone blindly
And don't live your life in fear

Don't drink the Kool-Aid

Carl Joseph Roberts
December 2013
For all the younger poets who may not know this. The phrase Don't drink the Kool-Aid was started because of the November 18, 1978 massacre when 918  people who were followers of preacher Jim Jones who while at a religious compound in Guyana drank Kool-Aid or a flovored drink laced with cyanide. It is believed that for many of these followers the drinking of this poison was voluntary.  Followers believed this one man so much that they were willing to give their own children poison. Since then this phrase has gained acceptance as meaning dont follow blindly.
Grandma was wrapping gifts
Lucy, four, was "helping".
One of those times when
help slows you down.

Me, I am sacked out on the sofa
Waiting for sanity to return
and relieve me of a bad cold.

Grandma went to the kitchen
Lucy stayed wrapping.
In a few, she comes over to my hole
where I am residing and says,
"Grandpa, I brought you a present."

I looked up and there she stands.
Wrapping paper taped around her arm.
She said, "Go ahead and open it Grandpa."
"Open it?  Your arm?"
being a little slow.
"Yes Grandpa open your present."

She stands there with this
expectant expression beaming.
A moment later the fog cleared
Grandpa open the wrapped arm
and with great "surprise" exclaimed!
"This is the best Christmas present ever."
"I love it!"
  I kissed her arm and Lucy's face
as a smile spread across her face.
"This is the best Christmas present
ever Lucy.  Thank you!"


And she was off to the next adventure.
Never know what she will come up with.
Every day is an adventure.
winter covers the earth
in a requited slumber
dropping a bleak veil
of prolonged eventides

a sparse season's
dire landscape
professes a chill
of privation, across

frost crusted furrors
crowning cold fallow fields
resting from offerings
of a past season's yield

reaping passages
to the royal realms
the mystic visions of
this twilight nexus

germinating seeds
burrowed deeply in
recurring reveries
of future harvests

our dreamscapes
of abundance, sustained
in the deepest memory of
the advent of new seasons

Music Selection:
Paul Winter Consort: Icarus

Oakland
12/21/13
jbm
 Dec 2013 John F McCullagh
Tilly
By paper-lantern light

flames colour a snow crystals dance, beautifully enchanting, to

the distant sound of singing; Joyous songs of celebration, lulling all in revelry. Each note heard

in silent reverence, beneath the skeletal canopy of majestic oak spread. Where from amongst the

damp branches,wise old saucer eyes calls "Ubi? Ubi?", heralding a cacophony of wide-eyed

whispers. This afternoon, sweet twilight guides our paths as we search on ever onward journeys

unknown; Our arms collecting firewood, to fill the empty hearths of others. Unaware of the cold

hands, we are, when there's such warmth in our hearts. We toil within the stillness,  

snow falling softly,and covering the crisp ground.         From deep beneath
        
         the dazzling pure white,                                     tiny hibernating animists   

blink wide from the                            warmth of hidden

 woodland beds.                        Gently,         
   sweep the                   12 droplets
                             of ice from                 all our eyes, Sol,                   
                             as we cough        darkness                                
                     from our      lungs,                       
                       watching the sparkles     of no                                              
                      matter,  floating                  
in the  paper-
            lantern light            
       to scatter across    
this   Solstice   sky,
illuminating our fates,
as cold  snowflake hearts
twinkle like falling stars, unseen,
turning, embracing the return of the Light
a seasonal  repost....
no snow in the UK yet, but hoping for a ***** frost on the Solstice :)

Peace & Love this Yuletide
and to all,
returning light...
L  ***
 Dec 2013 John F McCullagh
martin
the elephant in the room....  
...you need to lose weight


unrealistically optimistic
focuses on goals
ignores pitfalls
stumbles
astonished
fails


we could argue
we could fight
but not tonight
josephine


Now how about
some Leonard Cohen
from memory
happy christmas
It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening
I hear that you're building your little house
Deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now
I hope you're keeping some kind of record
Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
The night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?
Oh the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train
But still you came back without Lily Marlene
And you treated my woman
To a flake of your life
And when she came back
She was nobody's wife
I see you there with a rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake
She sends her regards
What can I tell you
My brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you
I guess I forgive you
I'm glad that you stood in my way
If you ever come by here
For Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping
And his woman is free
And thanks for the trouble you took
From her eyes
I thought it was there for good
So I never tried
And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
The night that you planned to go clear
Sincerely L Cohen
 Dec 2013 John F McCullagh
Helen
I actually like
Black and White
Tangerine dreams
are so Yesterday

White pages, Black dreams
silent words scream

Describe the word Blue
without it coming to play...

It's something born,
denied its first breath
It's skin from cold water
It's the first blush of Death.
It's the cloudless sky
that mocks the tears
in my heart.
It's the only colour
in my Rainbow
when the tears depart.
It's the colour of ice
that floats in my drink
which resides at my elbow
drowning my ability to think.
It's the colour of flame
that blazed beyond heat.
It's the reason I'm blind.
It's the colour of my feet
that walked through the snow
following your glow
to lose the path
with no retreat.
It's the colour of my mind


I repeat

I like Black and White
the colours of Nothing
Ink blots on paper,
a pinch of Blue,
and the murky Grey
becomes something
I once knew.
time does not heal,
and love does not conquer all  
though many of you would feel
cozy and comforted by such knotted notions  
time’s honored contract with chemistry
gives us but rust, and dust  
words roll off our tongues
into the air, for unsuspecting ears  
perhaps to allay our deepest fears  
that we end as ***** of dung  
effluvia from noble maggots
the last gasped gasses  
from creatures without  
the fear of failure
or the ken of death
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