~

*a secret-possessor, a poetess of riddles,

informs, but my senses don't conform,

claiming that in my possess,

a gift ensconced, a soulfulness harbored,

purportedly outing me as "one gifted soul"

~

this "gift" of cobbled together phrases, on the back of
paper napkins,

words impermanent, undeserving of the firmamen
of cottoned cloth,

they shall not be mourned, when forever lost,

for like my soul, but a fleeting glimpsed visitor,

a 100 year comet, naturally self-destructing,

intended to be witnessed but once in a lifetime

~

wincing at this dear praise, yet it serves me well,

as the sweetest reminder, that we shall all yet meet,

all on that day, all in that place,

from where souls are gifted and returned,

however shopworn

or even disgraced

~

all welcomed upon our inevitable return, no proof of purchase needed,

where, living forever, in such good company is a

certain surety,

knowing this, that we are all certainly possessed with this relief,

easy then, in agreement, every each, born in fluid from the belly of belief,

each of us

"a gifted soul"

~

the mercury is falling brisk,
large flakes of snow are drifting fast,
her blanket heavy on the limb,
as ice paints frosting on the glass.
winter’s tapestry is forming,
street lamp’s light reflecting;
strands of pearl stretch out, adorning,
as fir transformed by snow,
become a white angelic host.
a fire burns brightly in the square,
hands and cheeks find warming here;
sound of bells festoons the evening,
children dance along in time;
’round a village Christmas tree,
bedecked with lights, the smell of pine,
a whistle heralding the train’s arrival,
a burst of steam floats on the breeze;
her clacking wheels grind to a halt,
and like treasure’s journey from afar,
one by one, her most precious cargo
laden down with parcels, disembark.
excited voice, in joyous welcome,
warmest hugs, wet kiss on cheek;
familiar sound of families greeting,
newborn babe grandparent meets.
here my heart on Christmas Eve,
to us though distant memory;
for snow globe wishes,
and angelic kisses,
each as magical as these,
a hopeful prayer, a song for peace,
on earth for all who still can sing
who long... who dream,
of Christmas yesteryear;
though even if a different scene,
it's ember’s spark...
it's wistful call...
this is Christmas present,
its gift love-scribed,
on ev'ry tender heart!

~

*post script.

as Christmas arrives for you and
your family, may you be present,
reflecting, not on what is missing,
but on the joys of all that is not!

Merry Christmas to each of you.
who still dream!