Christmas Eve, we're all together
If only for a time
Gratitude, Gratitude
I reach for rhythm and rhyme

My family, My family
Troubled, we make it through
Christmas Eve together
Together, troubled, true

I stayed up all night
Trying to pen down something about this night.
Something about the moon, stars, all the things glowing, right.
Tore the page because I didn't find the rhyme right.

Then I thought to write about nature—
Something about trees, rivers, and the blue sky,
About some 'how' and some 'why.'
After jotting down some insensible lines,
My brain—ah!—again started to climb a different vine.

How indecisive it behaved.
What to try to write about, my heart started to crib.
And then I got this cringy thought—
To write about this nothingness.

So understated but believable,
Nonexistent but feel-able.
Ah, again I miss that poetic sense.
The thinking motor of me definitely needs a rewind.

Even when I tried to write about nothing—
No facts to decline—
I asked my fingers to stop
Until I figure out a perfect rhyme.

Just one of the people
Not a leader, not a follower
Maybe a Markson man
In but not of America

Shinkansen in the night
Lost in Translation
Philosophy
Ancient things, Wedding rings

55 and falling
Drifting toward death
Drawn to monasteries
Libraries of glass and wood

Lovely Susan Meek
Every man needs a muse
Seattle in the summer
Reno in the snow

                  El Futuro ...

Scrooge would be just about clocking off now,the **** piece.
But at least he led by example.

I have a big book on the history of art,
which I read long ago,
but now I've found in it
dried leaves and flowers I had preserved
a herbarium.
I no longer remember when I saved them.
It was a surprise to me.
The flowers have lost their color
but they are so beautiful.
Perhaps I will frame them
to give them eternity.

It was a beautiful morning
When I stepped out onto the balcony and saw a crow.
It seemed as if it had been waiting for me-
Me, who was going through an existential crisis.

I felt the urge to throw some food to the crow from the balcony.
I knew my grandmother always kept meat in the house.
I opened the fridge and tossed the crow a piece of meat.
It quickly caught the scent of raw flesh,
Grasped it in its beak, and disappeared.

O Holly and Ivy
they are both in full moan
No Christmas tree for them because
the delivery man let them down

O the disappointment  of the sales
of hangovers undeserved
Don’t leave your curtains open
for the next door neighbour perves

Our neighbour is called Blossom
so white with nausea
She polished off the Prosecco
then threw up on our rug

O the horror of our relatives
and the misery of mince pies
Not so bad when you’re eating them,
but they end up on one’s thighs