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Cecil Miller Dec 2015
No jingle bells ring around here
Since you've gone away.
White snow blankets ev'rything in sight,
But I don't wanna play.
I don't feel the merriment, the mirth, nor cheer,
It's not like Christmas at all
When you're not here.

It's not like Christmas at all,
When you're not here.
I don't feel like celebrating
When you're not near.
When you were in my life
I never did know drear.
It's not like Christmas at all
When you're not here.

A wreath adorns the cold front door,
Your somewhere on the outside,
Frolicking in the wonderland,
Your world is unfurled and wide.
You will never have to know
A life spent all alone.
You will always find somebody
You can call your own.

It's not like Christmas at all,
When you're not here.
I don't feel like celebrating
Without you, Dear.
I keep hoping by some chance
That in my door you'll reappear,
It's not like Christmas at all
Without you here.

The ornaments, tensile, and lights,
Hang on the evergreen.
The Yule log burns, and warms the harth;
The carollers, outside, they sing.
I can't face the new year
By myself, all on my own.
Things haven't been the same
Sinse you've been gone.

It's not like Christmas at all
When you're not here.
I don't feel like celebrating,
When you're not near.
Come back for the holidays,
Then stay all year.
It's not like Christmas at all,
When you're not here.

(Nobody's under my mistletoe -
I won't cuddle when the night is cold.)

It's not like Christmas at all
When you're not here.
I don't feel like celebrating,
When you're not near.
Come back for the holidays,
Then stay all year.
It's not like Christmas at all,
When you're not here.
I wrote this when I was about 23 years old. (Early 1990's 20 years ago) It was the first in a long series of Christmas inspired lyrics I've written. I reworked it just a little over the years, but it is mostly faithful to the first draft. On June 4th 2016, I added some words for backing harmony about mistletoe. O removed the revious reference that was in the second verse and restored it to an earlier rendition and extended the somg by addion of an additional choral refrain.
Cecil Miller Dec 2015
Seeds for birds, and seeds for me. 
Seeds that grow for me a tree.
Nature grows, and flows, is free;
As the way I share my seeds.
More from my poetic banterings
Cecil Miller Dec 2015
Yonder burns the vigil,  that beacon that guides me ever closer to the hearth where I once lain the burden of my  innocence with another on that faux bare skin rug. If only I could reclaim it, but only to surrender it again.
I was bantering some poetric quips with a buddy last night. I really dig when that happens. Poetry is its own beautiful language.
Cecil Miller Nov 2015
See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.

All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

Citizens of the nation,
Before humanitarians,
First comes clicks of locking doors.
Equality does not endure.

A man of any land should be my brother.
The whole earth, to us, our mother.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

See the burden being carried
High upon laden backs,
Tautly stretched, with shoulders bending.
Each fear the other will attack.

The words have been the same,
But for intent that's not their own.
For too long, have we been believed.
Equality is just for some -

Is just for some.

Freedom is only for the free.
The lines that keep the captives buckling,
The doors that keep them let them go.
They have no where to escape.

Always there is tyranny
For the landless refugee.
He is no man as worthy as you.
Equality is just for some -

Is just for some.

All the lessons that teach us to love
The home of brave and free
Are based on notions that could not be true,
If all are not the same as you.

And, are they not the same as we,
Who are decorating for our holidays.
Living in our plentitude,
Singing songs of charity and caring -

Charity and Caring?

Gifts are given and received.
Do we remember the lessons taught
About the kind of men we are,
When another is in need?

Do they not rate the same concern
As the presents and the tree,
As we pray in  Holy Spirit,
Singing songs of charity and caring -

Charity and caring?

See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.

All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?
This may not make a lot of people happy, but what I have been seeing a lot of on social media is beyond me. We have been better humans that we have been, before.
I don't think I've ever wished a poem I write make the top of the heap as much as this one. I think it is the most important piece I've ever written.
Cecil Miller Nov 2015
Wherefore art the shadows chased
Far into the recesses of the past?
The world is sans perception
With them wilted into retreatment.
Thither - they that matter.
All else exist for their splendor.
I long to see them frolic, once again,
As did that wild lorneful and youthful creature,
When I was he.
I hope you like it. 11-10-2015
Cecil Miller Nov 2015
Across the bed, she has lain,
Not breathing not in vain.
My mood is as stoic as her skin's hue.

It started early with how the day
Cut ***** windows with sunlit rays,
Was as southern as a slice of honeydew.

She was leaning by the gate,
Like Christina Applegate,
As willing as a pauper without a clue.

I never asked her name,
To me, they were all the same.
(Somehow, I think this one might stick with me.)

There is an absence in her eyes
I have loved since her demise.
She will stay this way in my memory.

I pour the powder on her pale,
****** belly, then toot, inhale.
Through my nose, I feed my mind.

Sticky dryness of my mouth;
It's time to leave the south,
Go somewhere no one can find.

I can still hear the sound
Of the drive by shooting down
On the street from around the block.

The room is a vestibule
To the starlit harlot's tomb.
When I'm done, I leave her on the cot.

As I move through the door,
And leave behind the *****.
I muse, briefly, how I stay in the clear.

To all the good Catholic boys,
May you bang up lots of toys.
Have a ****** belly Christmas this year.
I was hanging out with friends a few seasons ago and one dude remarked that a girl, our friend, baring her mid-drift, had a ****** belly. We, being of a twisted sort, parleyed that into joking about doing coke off of a dead ******'s belly in New Orleans on Christmas morning. Please, take this as satire. Don't give me no heavy lip. I am out of meds, anyway.
Cecil Miller Nov 2015
There's a sorrow for every season,
When you're a target for love's treason.
The bittersweet and twist that's raw,
There is no love without the fall.
Love is gory; tears at the heart,
Never pauses at the start.
You may vow to skip the pain.
One day, you'd die to love again.

In the springtime, love is young.
In the summer, burns in the sun.
In the autumn, hearts may ache.
In the winter, hearts will break.
Once a hopeful, spry young man
Has been haggard by love's hand,
He may vow to skip the pain.
One day, he'd die to love again.
I came up with the phrase "a sorrow for every season" yesterday. I wrote the rest of it just now. It took about half an hour.  I hope you like it. Nov. 4, 2015
Cecil Miller Oct 2015
We three wished upon a star.
One is fairest, one had the car.
One is the bind that is the love.
We three stare at clouds above.

Slowly, softy, changing shape;
Like we; folding, holding, loosening chape,
Warmth of breath upon taut strength.
We roll, and stick, and cling.

For each other, we sustain.
Pleasures ache, quakes refrain.
Touch brings shivers, slivers wide,
Ever growing, rolling tide.

Upon the Earth, beneath the sky.
We three embrace, nuzzle, sigh.
We recede from the crest.
Reluctantly, we rise and vest.
I wanted to write something a little ******, but also a bit on the alternative side, a little bit of the underground.
Cecil Miller Oct 2015
She's got a face for radio,
She wears it best from head to toe.
She's a special kind of homely girl;
Her gift is being in a state of pity, so...

She is eager to shed her burdons,
But never tells the true
Meaning of actions
That always leave her due.

Love would never fix her woes,
She's a woman of motive
Crying on the shoulders of the higher-rated.
Tears are the flames of the voltive,

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her, anyway.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.

No one can ever show her kindness
Without her expecting more.
If you have a dollar of quarters,
She'd not take less than four.

I have seen the hearts of hopeful
Shredded at her feet.
And then the ugliness that thrives her
Gathers the replete.

She's sated til her next desire.
She never rest for long.
There will always be some lonely sap,
That she Will sap upon.

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.

The only thing she has is blame
To mead out to another sucker's name,
As soon as she has all she can get,
She leaves them, she leaves like all the rest,

Don't they think her heart is good!
They treat her like they think they should.
They don't know that to ease her pain
Is too surrender their gain, and go insane.

She never will come differently
Some things do not change.
Her talons grip them where they live,
Time and time, again.

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.

She will make them steal
From the future of their children.
She is a guiltless wonder.
She really never lets them in.

All for nothing is the way she lives.
She is gone with the fairer treat.
Every lonely victom she leaves
The bitter without the sweet.

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three, times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.
I have always thought "a face for radio" was an enjoyable turn of phrase. I knew I would one day use it im a title. I do enjoy the company of a stand-up kind of woman. This piece is not about most woman, but the occasional shady woman with a hustle I have come across from time to time. I am not a player hater as long as it does not affect my life(As a gay man, I've got plenty of game.) but, I am no respector of the dishonest.
Cecil Miller Sep 2015
A wailing ghost has found you.
Foolishy, you hoped to be free.
But that is how it plays with you.
A cat and mouse game, you see.

However did you get as far
In the frosty, wintry night
Without knowing your ache would return?
How could you think you'd be alright?

The haint is on your back,
And chillishly shrilling in your ear.
Maybe you did not bury your deeds deep enough.
Perhaps that is why you fear.

The awesome hatred is poured into your cup.
A spectral accusation never is one in vain
If it closely resembles the truth.
The guilty perish, for crimes that are never named.
The beginning of fall, and the forward momentum toward my favorite holiday, have begun.
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