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Michael Hoffman  Dec 2015
Michael Hoffman Dec 2015
Santa Claus is 100% pure love
his heart does not divide
the starved and homeless man with his tin cup
from the wealthy politician in his black limousine

nor does Santa ever blame
the frightened small town girl
who paints her lips and struts unsure
down hard dark streets

Santa Claus remembers his own mother
and weeps for the lonely karma of octogenarians
diapered in wheelchairs along fluorescent hallways
abandoned by the ones they birthed

our great elf winces every time
he feels the crocodile's fearsome jaws
drag the wildebeest down
while the zebras flee

he prays relentless sailors
stop harpooning the great breaching whales
and hears the grasses scream
when bloated oilmen pound holes
in the prairie dog's kingdom

he regrets that schoolteachers lie
about what a great man Columbus was
and why the Sioux, the Apache and the Arapahoe
were incapable of evolution

he knows you don't need a bicycle helmet
to ride downtown for ice cream
knows our legal system is for sale
knows surfing is Neptune's brave ballet

Santa delights in the spiritual joy emerging
when patients see angels hovering everywhere
before doctors scream psychosis
and numb what they do not understand
with sad needles and leather restraints

his reindeer are the dreams of the spastic child
who knows he will never run
his sleigh a zero carbon emission vehicle
and his great heavy bag carries
the sweet prayers of the Jew, the Christian
the Muslim, the Buddhist, the Hindu
the Gnostic, the Wiccan and the existential humanist

on the night before Christmas
Santa dreams that all the cars and trucks disappear
and every freeway grows trees and flowers and grass
where everyone chats and meanders and strolls
and vendors sell SnoCones, apple juice and pears

because Santa Claus is just doing
the one thing he knows how to do best
on a long winter's night
to bring some light to a world
that races toward extinction
while the butterfly sleeps with the lizard
and the children still believe
In honor of Walt Whitman and Alan Ginsberg
Sheila J Sadr Feb 2015
It leaves on a midnight search and seizure
to rehab in Arapahoe, Wyoming.
It leaves with grimy charcoal high top Converse
and a distasteful orange hunter-green flannel.
              Bloodshot eyed and strung out on residual
******* hidden in the inner brims of his precious nose,
It leaves fingers torn from the doorframe and without
saying a word to her for years.

It arrives a forgotten promise
clean-sobered with a rough pair of brimstone arms
and scarlett-feathered lips.
It arrives gently holding a wooden ring
dark carved in detox and an “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
              Apologizing thumbs nip tightly down the hem of her hips,
It arrives delicious and inviting like the scent of
fresh pasta on a hot alabaster plate.

It leaves, again,
high and full-bellied satisfied with the final use
of an old habit.
It leaves without a word of those whispered childhood
embraces on young October nights.
              Leather jacket in hand and Oxford shoes out the door,
It leaves — between the scent of
                                         laundried cotton and lavender sage candles —
It leaves
carrying in its dark pockets all her untreated, distasteful addictions too.

September 22, 2014 // 7:04 AM
Inspired by the poem “Where Does Joy Come In?” by Charles H. Webb
Robert C Howard Mar 2017
With head bowed and eyelids sealed in prayer,
    an Arapahoe youth crouched atop Old Man Mountain
waiting alone in silence for a dream to come -
    a dream to reveal the course of his future days.

A rush of wind bent and shook the silvery aspens
    and the breath of his ancestors came and whispered,
“You are to be a shepherd of the mountains.
    You will gather and tend the sheep of the slopes
that your people may gain warmth and shelter
      against winter’s harshest chill and searing winds.”

Guided by the moon and morning constellations,
     the youth, now elevated to manhood
descended the mountain with joy-filled heart
     to reveal his vision to his people.
*© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
Joseph Martinez Jan 2015
Contrast of the city's hopeless depression & ******* nonsense
overload of dead ends and fear
Serenity and perfection of nature
where a man can truly be free of conditioning

How proud & humbling to climb a mountain and earn it's view
Vision of glacier paths & Arapahoe eagle feathers for battle

Smell of ***** snaking through the *** ****, seared meat and water
Pines and boulders uniquely arrange a path for me
Blisters & stones & cactus flowers

From skid row to luxury & back again
Peasants, princes & kings
worlds of people & things
1500 miles from home

They're building up the city
scouting new territory
Dreams of friendship and romance
as I die many peaceful deaths on the riverbank

cockroaches & needles
mountain rain drizzles on the pines
The wind howls might of god through the valley & sculpted peaks

Someone assures me of the presence of the Combine
An insect sees only what he needs to
A man sees whatever he wants

Something is here
The mountains play mysterious games
Tricks, illusions
One might feel trapped

100 years is not long
10 years is a lifetime

One can learn about nearly everything from looking at a river

I am filled with desire
Now I am completely empty

It is quite obviously unknowable
I am dissolved into it's substance
I am possessed with unconscious fears
I wake up unsure of my mind

The body is strong, god bless it
We are perfect beings

There are infinite realities
We make our own worlds & hells
All is safe in God's hands
Effort is required in the dance

— The End —