Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve

On this quiet Christmas Eve
I sit in solitude and reflection
think of so many Christmases
from most recent to distant past.

Joys and sorrows swirl before me
so many Christmas memories,
so many people, some have gone,
my mind can hardly contain them.

Extreme happiness one year,
excruciating sadness another.
Life is unpredictable, I replay all
as I wonder where go the years.

Many loved  who once shared Christmas
will not be seated at  tomorrow's table.
Their lives past tense, their books of life
closed, and only their  memories remain.

But it all started with the birth of a Baby
to Mary in Bethlehem many years ago.
Jesus is the reason this date matters at all,
why I reminisce on this quiet Christmas Eve.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry #333


This is a poem I wrote in December 2011.   I struggled unsuccessfully to write a new Christmas/holiday  poem this year, as I am not feeling very cheerful about our country or the world.   I thought the best thing I could do was to turn back time with an older time & then to reflect on its meaning myself as well.  I must once again focus on the reason for the season....and pray for my country and the world.

Christmas Music

Christmas Music

Around me I hear Christmas music
children's innocent voices singing
handbells of the choir ringing
keeping hope alive.

Around me I hear Christmas music
songs I remember from distant past
strong  memories that always last
keeping love alive.

Around me I hear Christmas music
with messages of joy and cheer
as we hold our children near
keeping faith alive.

Around me I hear Christmas music
keeping hope hope and faith alive
bringing us faith we will survive
to thrive another year.

This is written for Sumana's prompt - Music - for Midweek Motif.

Christmas This Year

Christmas This Year

Christmas this year is a little bit different
peace on earth is further out of reach
instead of moving in the direction of light
we are moving in the direction of dark

and the color of insidious red looms above us
yet so many seem so blind to the threat
and trust the words of he who tweets in the night
but I live in fear that we have lost our future

and sold our souls to the one wearing gold
their eyes wide open they do not see
I wonder if it will soon be too late
to change course and how long it will be

before we are all marching marching marching
our heels clicking clicking clicking as we
salute the one who will lead us to our .............


I chose not to end this poem.  Give it your own ending.
I wish I had a cheery poem to share.  I wish I saw the
light at the end of the tunnel.


Written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Flying High

source

Flying High

Let's fly in style in his Boeing 757
you've seen it - the one with gold letters
fasten your 24-carat-gold seat belts
watch one of the big screen televisions
enjoy the entertainment system
or better still a real cinema experience
relax in the bath with 24-carat-gold fixtures
enjoy the stylish gold sink and toilet
luxuriate in the on-board shower
and if anyone is tired rest in the guest bedroom
not quite as fancy as the  master bedroom of your host
eat in the on-board dining room
you'll have time time of your life
Air Force One will be such a come-down!

Written for Susan's prompt for Poets United:  Aviation

(Inspired by the 'humble' man who wants to make America great......again.)

Post-Truth

Post-Truth

We live in the post-truth era
never mind reality or facts
they are both passé these days
let's talk about emotion
how to play to the crowds.

All who have anxieties and fantasies
are willing to embrace
anything he says because
we don't care if its right
but only that it feels great!

We live in the post-truth era
never mind reality or facts
we don't care if it's right
but only if it feels great
God help us all...please.

This is for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Oxford dictionary has chosen "post-truth" as the word of the year.
It seems truth itself isn't as relevant any more. Please, friends, don't
be fooled.  It is so easy to succumb to 'post-truth' and consider it normal.

Social Stigma

Social Stigma

Got sick of denying who she was
she stood up to those people
who talked behind her back
made rude comments to her face
refused to let her sit at their table
didn't want her to play on their team
spit at her and called her names
and she told them, yes she told them,
yes she screamed GO TO HELL!

This is written for Susan's Poets United Midweek
Motif...her theme this week is "Social Stigma."