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Raven Feb 2020
It smells so sweet
Just like a treat
Of cinnamon and vanilla
Gingerbread and camilla
Oranges and pine
Walnuts and lime
And don't forget the thyme
There's a bit of mint
Inside a pint
Rosemary, sage and lavender
Combined in a suspender
And just a breeze
Of anise
Some cloves and nutmeg
And last but not least
Of course, chocolate!
Raven Feb 2020
I guess I could say merry Christmas
It's this time of the year again
Where we wish each other some happiness
And hope there'll be snow instead of rain

Our homes will be decorated in light
With candles and greens making us smile
There will be a Christmas tree shining skin bright
So you want to sit down and gaze for a while

It smells of cinnamon, oranges and pinecone
Of baked treats, vanilla and punch
A time when nobody wants to be alone
And a shared smile can do so much

When everything is warm and comfortable
Soft music starts 5o play in the background
You know this moment is incomparable
Everyone joined together from all around
Isabella Howard Jan 2020
You wanted to be remembered by snow
And rainbow lights.

But you died way before Christmas
Late one summer night.

Humming cicadas and broken screen doors
Your only passing rites.

And before I knew it I found myself at your funeral.

Maybe it was the suddenness of it all

Or the alcohol

But when it was finally my turn to speak
In my mind your death had sprung a leak.

And I almost felt ashamed

Ashamed that I had forgotten the look on your face

That I had forgotten the last words that fell from your lips.

That I didn't kiss those same lips after you said goodbye.

Forever.

But you didn't live the way you died.
You would never want to be remembered by the slaughter.

When I think of your face
All I see is snow

And lights

And laughter
breaking the shelter above my mind
defies what I worry on
from a sudden huge thunders
to counting some christmas numbers
as easy as descending a ladder
no wonder
may globe understand you!
Antino Art Jan 2020
The law of attraction says that you attract what you think.

So, there's a chance you're attracted to me
because I think about you often.

Except the law of attraction fails
when walking into a sliding glass door.

Ever done that?
It's like stubbing your toe, only it's your face.
And though it's your face that takes the hit,
it really just hurts your spirit.

Nothing about it looks attractive.

Like the other day, a hawk — a widely respected bird of prey —
flew straight into my office window
with a humiliating thud
because it thought the reflection it saw
was more sky.

Hawks are supposed to see everything!

So the law of attraction
causes blindness.

It promotes crash landings.
Or at the least, awkward tripping
over words
or the lines we drew in sidewalk chalk.
It's just a friendly game of four square, right?
I’ll wait to step into your circle
only to stumble and fall for you
with a humiliating thud.

sorry, did you hear something?

It sounded faintly like a dream just shattered,
but I think you said this is your fiance.

so
nice
to
meet
you

I hope your wedding has an open bar.

I mean, I hope your wedding sets the bar
for
your
marriage
to reach limitless heights.

And don’t mind the mess. I’ll just sweep it up like nothing happened and catch up with you love birds later (never) - watch out for the glass.

This law sounds a lot like gravity, and it too
is flawed because people fall
for people that don't fall back.
And then you get the odd man out
walking into closed doors and wanting to curse on impact,
but I will hold my tongue.
Because cursing will attract curses.
Instead, I'll bring gifts — I know,
a stuffed teddy bird —
and I'll leave one at the foot
of every sliding glass door
that doesn't open.

I realize that sounds creepy.

So I’ll just leave them by the window
(my window)
where I can watch the moon I shot for
behind the clouds.
Until another blind hawk goes down.
Then it's a less attractive view.

It's hard to get sleep in an empty bed,
to wake up in front of a fake tree in late January
and open the gifts I never got to give.

The law of attraction:
it’s an ugly Christmas sweater.

If I can't attract who I think,
then I'll repel the cold that I feel
until I'm convinced that this empty feeling
is freedom - the kind that precedes flight.

I believe in defying the gravity of my emotions.

Therefore, I don't believe in laws.
They just break.
I once believed in marriage
until it broke
and I want my daughter
to believe it was no one’s fault

This is a lawless country — think feudal Japan —
where lovers are fighters and who is to tell the masterless heart what to do.
It's a teenager
who never made it past high school
because it keeps skipping class.

Fear not: I am a grown up.
I am too old to be falling
for the pseudoscience of false hope
even if our chemistry doesn't lie.
Except our math doesn't add up.
And my history is an essay on wartime aviation
crumpled and thrown out of an open window
because I used the word 'alone' too many times
to describe what it feels like to fly solo

Alone means nothing on paper
It should be torn in half:
All and One no longer together

Anything that isn't one
must be in pieces,
and being with some One
is not the end all, be all

God was a lonely man for Christ sake

I’ll think of other words:
Alone, all one, no.
One.

Thinking attracts no one.

I'll make up a new law:
don't think. Move

Just not near anything made of glass.
It’s bad for the birds.
I got nothing but love for the birds.
Cinnamon
winters the rolls.
If my past childhood memories serve me correctly.
Better than playing in the wettest Christmas snow
leaves a sweet kiss behind.
My lips follows, with an expected sigh.
To again taste one of many...
the many tasty treasures left behind
by the Elusive divine.
In that very moment;
where the sweet cinnamon lubricates
my feisty lips.
All is ******* history.
Isn't it?
And so I ravaged the now decimated sweet treasure
with many sinful bites.
Smoked a cigarette afterwards.
There was a no smoking sign.
Indeed, **** and cinnamon don't mix.
On the tiny red plate, where the cinnamon rolls once lived.
a few crumbs in its wake still exists.
Confusion is typical of this kind of ish.
When you lick the mooing cows hidden dish.

Written and Copyrighted (C) 2014
by Claude Robert Hill, IV.
Consciousness pouring out of me disguised as words. I am craving cinnamon rolls.
bess Jan 2020
It was slow at first.

“We’ll still be a
family,”
is what they told us.

And for the first
few years
we were.

Our Christmases
we’re spent together.
We watched the same movies,
followed the same traditions.

And then one Christmas,
my stocking was empty.
For years my dad had given
me the same chocolate.

It wasn’t much,
but it was reliable.

I knew, despite
the broken family tree,
and years of fighting,
and countless holes
in our living room walls,
that every Christmas morning
i’d find the same bit of chocolate
that was always there.

Did he forget?
Did he not have time?
Or was I watching everything
knew, slip through
my finger tips?

And the next year
came along.
And there was no chocolate.

We still watched the movies,
and sang the songs.
but I saw the cracks
beginning to form.

At first, it was the chocolate.
And then it was the movies,
and then it was everything.

“We’re still
a family,” they said.

But I knew the truth.
I knew we weren’t.
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2020
This Christmas Doesn't feel like Christmas
Until my eyes decorate your cheeks &
My teeth hang from your bottom lip like
Missile toe.
 

Although the weather changes & Santa
is checking his list.
I am patiently waiting for the warm fuzzy
feeling I get when I am with you.


With my arms stretched around you like Garland
There's no place I'd rather be.
My cheek pressed against yours like a bulb.
My smile stamped in white circling round
Full & bubbly, bright red.


Long as I am hanging around you,
Christmas feels like Christmas
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