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 Dec 2016 K Mae
Marshal Gebbie
Sarah and Solomon married at Foxglove in verdant Taranaki…a magical time for everybody at that beautiful, beautiful occasion.

Dear old Grandpa Verne Bell passed from this mortal coil and went on to the next with his typical strong eyed fortitude and open curiosity.

Major earthquake shatters the top of the South island and is felt with trepidation from one end of the country to the other.

Trump hauls votes from the impossible and manufactures an improbable US Presidency…. Much to the embarrassment, alarm and discomfort of the majority of the thinking American population.

Oceans continue to rise and atmospheric temperatures climb…..and nobody really cares enough to try to do anything much about it.

Russia and China flex their military muscle and snub their sabre rattling noses at the West.

Interest rates and the price of gas started to escalate upward again.

Friends and relatives have been rocked by ill health, hardship and misfortune.

Key calls “Enough” and passes the Prime Ministerial gauntlet to a (thankfully), very capable Bill English.

Janet and Marshal both reach out and find new jobs, fresh horizons & new avenues to explore.

Syria slides into chaos and anarchy with absolutely no regard for it’s ordinary, civilian population languishing in the dreadful ruins of East Aleppo.

The Hectors dolphin numbers dwindle to 87 living animals, surviving  globally.



But….We, friends, live in a peaceful oasis…forgotten at the very end of the earth.

We live in a land of plenty and opportunity, a land of rare green beauty where individuality is prized and freedom valued.



May we pause for a moment this Christmas…and appreciate just how ****** fortunate we all actually are?



MERRY CHRISTMAS FRIENDS

M.
Hamilton, New Zealand
20 December 2016
There was a handmade cake on my table
and a letter with immature hand:

I start with this
but know that
whenever and wherever I bake a cake
you'll be in my mind.


It tasted not that sweet
I remember
and she was never to make another
in my corners of bitter December.

I have no other Christmas memory.

There couldn't be.
In remembrance of a girl who could not be a woman, but was almost, as God withdrew the angel too soon.
Interwoven with my Christmas memory.
Theres always a excuse not to fail.
Lack of spine is what it all comes down.to.
Many build a callus on there *** waiting for something to land in there lap.

Is it fear or comfort that makes one lazy?

I never knew anything easy two broken feet a few broken ribs a busted knuckle or two the scars of effort i wore them with pride.

People are a nice thought far to often gone astray.
There words lend fools comfort.
And keep the bitter moving without regret.

I was alone with my thoughts and what a place i truly embraced being.
Crazy is just a word to keep others away.

Maybe its why i wore it like a badge.
For its the mad ones that intrest me the most.

There is always a reason not to try.
And never a excuse that doesnt reek of ******* and a normal existance.


Saftey is for signs on the walls and guns in bored fools hands.

Avoid that word at all time's and you will be fine.
As you bask in the solace of your own truths and simple plessures.

Theres never a excuse.
 Dec 2016 K Mae
spysgrandson
he replaced the washer,
the refrigerator too

he liked new appliances; they
reminded him of her

especially when he opened the freezer and found
not a pint of her Haagen-Dazs Vanilla

the new washer contained old ghosts as well
for he blasphemed her by washing on hot

a prohibition when she was still here, for fear
of shirts shrinking, she always claimed

he wondered what words of hers would haunt him
when he gutted the wall for a new oven

maybe it would just be the longing for the smell
of cookies baking  (chocolate chip)

the ones she prepared for the grandsons, the day
she took a "quick nap" and never woke up
 Dec 2016 K Mae
CharlesC
Chaos
 Dec 2016 K Mae
CharlesC
A forbidding word rises to our surface
life as turbulent shatters the calm
and the calm may now in back glance
appear as imprisoning..
Surprise and reversals traverse the land
and resistance finds futility..
Seemingly our choices are already made..
We are called to ride the storm
to shape as each might..in each unique way
each momentary outline of
our own creation..underway...*
~CC
"In many ways the last election represents this adolescent breaking through of hidden unspoken forces through a locked and repressive exterior form. The gridlock was not just in Congress, but in the whole bankrupt almost oligarchical political process that had served its time, and the way all of us have been sustaining the lock though our self-referencing communities of mutual agreement. The representative who has ridden the wave of those forces to the presidency may exhibit many of the characteristics of an adolescent himself, but the forces and necessary conversations his emergence represents are no less real and are something any mature mind should consider. His emergence points toward a chaotic turbulence followed by a new order, an order we need to be extremely vigilant in helping to shape no matter whether we have called our selves liberal or conservative or something in between. One thing is certain, those who elected him will be just as disappointed and sometimes horrified as those who now oppose him, while those who voted against him will be surprised and sometimes a little disorientated by the dismantling of previous imprisoning norms they are glad to see gone."
~~David Whyte
 Dec 2016 K Mae
K Balachandran
She lifted me, a feather glided down
from somewhere,lying on the sand,orphaned,
for eons that coiled like a serpent,to escape cold.
She made me feel as the warm part of her wing,
beating in unison,jubilantly on an onward  journey,
to luminous eternity...your abode,in timeless bliss,
that appears in my every single dream...so near!
 Dec 2016 K Mae
Ken
The laughter of leaves
whisper testament
over cool caverns,
ancient moss
the absurdity of clocks
dashed upon rocks
while they dance,
backlit with sunglow,
at the true speed
of life
daring us to defy
the timeless tapestry
in which all are woven
Do stones large and small
not rustle
like leaves
in the eye of the mountain?
and is the leaf not as solid
as stone, to the aphid?
And what lives between
two lover-friends?
It is no brief candle
measured with ticks
on numbered dials
It moves not with the flash
of a single spark
Nor with the slow glow
of dawn
In gentle illumination
it is a soft gentle kiss
drifting on mist,
and it moves
at the speed of love,
with the rhythm of life

Copyright © 2016 K. Rush
 Dec 2016 K Mae
r
Oh, those poor
peasants
without a ***
to **** in
who celebrate their
thin-skinned twittering
king ascending
in his gilded elevator
of gold stolen
from the empty plates
of those
who do pay taxes
with real axes
to grind
it boggles my mind
just what in
the hell
could they have been
thinking
I mean, Sweet
Jesus, we'll all be
refugees
in the end.


Where e're we go, we celebrate
The land that makes us refugees,
From fear of priests with empty plates
From guilt and weeping effigies.


--Shane MacClowan, "Thousands Are Sailing"
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