Once I believed in Santa
And the north pole was real.
The lights on the Christmas  tree
Could change the way I'd feel.
The standard kind of carols
Still make me reminisce
When everyone got friendly
And cheeks were happily kissed.

Sure, as I got to be older
Most of my gifts were clothes
But there were still lovely things
For eyes, and ears and nose;
The smell of turkey baking
And pecan and pumpkin pie.
Christmas music on the radio
Those Christmases gone by.

And later we went caroling
Some friends of me and mine.
We sang in lovely harmony
We all sounded very fine.
Back at home with egg nog
We often played  Monopoly.
We laughed and told jokes
A happy Yuletide family.

As time went on we changed
And some old traditions fell.
We threw out the silver tree
And tinsel went away as well.
We started to add to our growing
Collection of handmade things.
The colorful lights still twinkled
But the angel no longer had wings.

Times have gotten busier
So tempting to avoid the trip
But it’s only this once a year
So we don’t let this visit slip.
We keep these memories going
And talk about them each year
When the family comes back
For the holidays from far and near.

She tells me
Lumpia is her taste of home.
Traditions she had with her aunt when she was small
Hands *****,
Dark hair messy,
But she smiled as she hovered over the hot oil.

Halika dito, Come here.
Gutom ka ba? Are you hungry?

She tells me
Her mother
Would have her scrub her nails,
Before sending her to set the first few servings
In the oil to fry.

She tells me
That warm phillipian-lumpia memories
Have their own special place
In her heart,
In her mind.
On her tongue.
Warm times standing speckled with youth.

She speaks soft sweet days to me
As she hands me the tongs to place the first servings in the pan.

HANDMADE CHRISTMAS

Do you remember back when
Christmas was making things
Out of stiff colored paper
Like chains of slim paper rings
That were so long we took them
And wrapped the a few times
Around the tree as pretty trim?

We made angels and snowflakes
From something called shirt boards;
Cutouts covered with aluminum foil.
They didn’t need extension cords.
And Mom showed us how to starch
String we dyed. We wrapped it
Around some inflated balloons.
When each dried, we popped it.

We made reindeers and Santas
Our of wooden clothespins
With pipe cleaner antlers or
Cotton beards for Santa’s chin.
Mom dyed an old sheet green
For under the Christmas tree.
Prettier than the store-bought kind
It has always seemed to me.

In school we made Gifts too
Things knitted or made of clay
To give to Mom wrapped up
With great pride on Christmas Day.
And that wrapping paper was
Was all Christmas color tissue.
It was inexpensive to buy, so
Using a lot was not an issue.

Some gifts were appreciated
Some maybe not as much
But in every case, we were
For the most part very touched.
You knew for sure just by looking
What care and love went into
The handmade presents that were
Made totally and especially for you.

Brent Kincaid
12/12/2015

I was not aware of what "is in store,"
When is an art not unlike a tool?
If it can be used for nothing what then?
Is it a toy for plain simple fools?

"This is my logic, hear me now!"
I yell at empty skies so pale,
Let there be an answer for once,
This rhetorical question growing stale,
I ask "Why am I here? To make an impact?"
What then is this to ask when no one
Answers back? My plan for the next day:
To eat peanut butter sandwiches like new,
To hear the sound of my own mind from the blue,

Own mind: OF COURSE!!!

Forget it, I've thrown my hand...it's clear now you all
Think I'm the devil, till the end my reputation marred,
This will be the way of it, to be left looking so hysterical,
All I'm asking for the last time is this simple question:

**Where did I go so wrong trying to do the right thing...?
Is loneliness the end result of not wanting to fit in by
Drinking, smoking and/or popular religious cults etc. etc.?

When I die, I ask of you to not burn me.
I ask you find me a plot of land to lay my head
For I have found love in the light of the sun.

When I die, I ask my funeral be an outdoors affair.
Sit me in my open casket and think of me fondly.
Do not cry, for you will disgrace me.

When I die, I ask the doors and windows of my home be opened for my soul to sore,
For I'm sure i was happy there, and there my spirit shall dwell

When I die, cover all the mirrors of my abode with fabrics,
So that my soul will find its way to the skies instead of being trapped behind glass.

I ask you all be merry and rejoice
For I know not where I shall be,
But my nomadic soul will be forever happy
When I no longer plagued by my hatred and insanity

When I die, i ask you still love me.

my mother insists
she was never a witch
but she gave me a bag of amethyst,
sunstones,
citrine