White paper boat
Her image fled among the trees
his realness to intercept,
some Christmas day, with scenes inept,
beneath dark clouds and deathward freeze.
A sergeant of Marines he was
who served and fought for many years,
commanding, hence, the volunteers,
instructing e'er the warfare laws.
The coffee, on the mountain glen,
at twilight dark of wintertime,
his Christmas warmed (recalled a chime),
the M16 A4's his friend.
A ranger, served elite brigades,
but could not tell how life was lost,
his apparition of a ghost,
that fled to slopes and pure cascades.
But he recalled a Winter morn,
received her mail; on streamlet banks,
next to the seething tracks of tanks,
he read her vows, on paper worn.
He never knew to phrase response,
and also thought she would not wait;
his quantum was devoid of fate,
proscribing stronghold, Christmas sconce.
On thawed snow-stream her worn mail goes,
white paper boat, comrade and guard,
his stare kept up, he was shot hard,
upon the snow, two qubits froze.
© 11-22-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Epic, Iambic tetrameter)
TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS
Daddy's little girl is going.
Daddy's little girl is slowly leaving...
it's what the angels are singing
Outside there are ringing laughter, however--
on a hospital bed which was cold white as the snow
lies the body of a little girl, dead.
Her little soul just had to go.
She just had to go ahead than the others.
Her once sun kissed face when she smiles
now the palest cream.
Her once twinkling eyes now shut so tight.
The glow of light and love she always bring
was lost on Christmas night,
as Santa stood in red and white
holding a present on his hands
staring at the child
his eyes wet with falling tears
for his little girl had died.
©O. E. Guillermo
12:02 am, November 27, 2014
There were things of mine in the drawers that could be thrown out,
But I kept gravitating to the things that were his.
His Public School 45 autograph book. It was red, white, and blue leatherette with
Inside was his hand, writing the names of favorite teachers,
And the dreams of the future you have when you are 13.
His father, an old world German who never shared himself,
left ink blotches of emotion under his hand.
In another drawer, the fancy leather passport wallet complete with passport and
He was 16.
I don’t remember him talking about anything else with the same twinkle in his
As he did about the 6 months he spent in Germany.
Here is a poem written to him on his 40th birthday,
by his best friend in the world.
The gift made so much better because it was so unlike this IBM Executive
to write personal poetry full of memories.
There was an untouched underwear drawer.
Cards of love and joy that I had given to him over many years.
A collection of Christmas wallets.
A yo-yo. Gift from a child with nothing else to give.
Old prescription glasses. Why do we keep those? Pocket knives, hankies.
A sweater and socks I knitted for him,
Always said they were too good to wear.
I store them still.
Every drawer I opened, every cupboard, every box stored away throughout the
whole house had something of his tucked away within.
A stray bullet or black powder ball. A toothpick holder.
A cork screw. A flint, patches, pictures of his ‘49 Olds, a comb, a watch, pocket
~ Maybe if I go clean someplace safe like the fridge.
And there was the bottle of Zeller Schwartz Katz wine
bought for the coming Christmas season of entertaining.
This is foolishness, hanging on.
In spite of saving all this stuff
the hole in me is still there. ...
But I just could not throw him away.
A royal King was born, Emmanuel --
Down by His manger men and angels fell;
But he did not within a palace dwell,
Instead he came to save our souls from hell.
The years had passed and death was coming nigh;
He bore His cross while Mary softly cried:
What pain to watch her Son so slowly die,
While wishing Him a tearful last goodbye.
A mother's tears no words could ever tell --
As one by one at Jesus' feet they fell:
What pain to watch her Son so slowly die,
While wishing Him a tearful last goodbye.
~Listen to the music that these lyrics were written to at
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
your flowers came the other day
so wild and free like me
all colors graced the lovely vase
so beautiful to see
at first i didn't read the card
so busy in my work
i simply put them on my desk
assuming them a perk
so many flowers gifts and things
appear each day on angels wings
its christmas time again you see
i never thought you'd think of me
you passed away six months ago
without you time just goes so slow
i know your in a better place
oh God to only see your face
and then a chill came over me
and all was plain for me to see
you thought ahead and had them sent
all though my love your life was spent
these flowers came from you above
and given with such life and love
you knew how much i loved them so
and in my heart they'll always grow...
Merry Christmas darling
Thank you for the flowers!
Then the leader in a flash
Sent his bullet through my
Pregnant wife’s stomach,
Sending the bullet out of her
To my little girl’s brain.
He was a killer glutton, for he turned to my
Son’s brain, scattering it,
With his axe, making the brain
Splash on my dazed countenance.
They swiftly and organisingly boundled me up
Amidst my confusion and helpless struggles,
They cut off the veins at the back of my fits,
Leaving me in a river of blood.
Death claimed my home,
His weapons were the Christmas rebels,
On a melancholic Christmas night.
My saddest Christmas ever.
THE END OF THE MATTER…..
By Charles Melody (Lightening Ink)
For all the victims in jos crisis.
Rest in peace.
When meanings have been broken,
When your cross has been uncrossed,
When the reasons that you gave me,
In the labyrinth have been lost.
When your house has been emptied,
When your bedroom is swept clean,
I will come and wake you,
From your long and endless dream.
more at http://labyrinthoflies.com
Daddy left Mommy, when I was two
She really didn't know what to do
Four little children under the age of six
Was a situation, she just could not fix
Christmas was coming, she didn't have a dime
The bills were piling up at the same time
She tried to focus on her belief,
Lost the battle and applied for relief
A county program, for the very poor
Barely kept the collectors from our door
So sad she was, by her lack of funds,
She couldn't buy presents, for her little ones
With grandma watching us, she left to go out
She never came home, we were forgot about
I was too young to remember Christmas that year,
It was years, before the whole story, I'd hear
Grandma tried hard to make it right,
She took care of us until Mom returned, one night
Branded in my memory, the day of her return
After nine long months, I would later learn
Mom never mentioned the time she was away
She loved us to the fullest every single day
Twenty-four years quickly flew by
When I think of the day it happened, I cry
God took my mother on the ninth of December
Unexpected, a loss I'll always remember
Going through her belongings, we came across.
A small newspaper article, that intensified the loss
How we found it I will never know
This plea, with a picture, from so long ago
As I read the article, blurred by my tears
I was transported back, through the years
To a little girl on grandma's knee
Looking at a shabby, Christmas Tree
Crying for her mommy, who wasn't there
While grandma patted her silky hair
Grief, it hit me, no time to hesitate
When I saw the significance of the date
December ninth, the paper, said it all
Memory upon memory, I would recall
Two events, so many years apart
Yet, I could feel the child with a broken heart
Holiday Spirit, sad to say, I had none
Decorating that year without the usual fun
Mommies little tree, on a table it sat
Her homemade ornaments, and a tree mat
Going through the motions, I have to admit
All I wanted to do, was quit
Events don't shape us, they make us learn
Even grief, has its turn
Memories of a Christmas, thirty years past
Impressions, they fade, but still last
By Karla Null~Godsgift~
Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever Contest
Sponsored by Constance LaFrance~A Rambling Poet~
Deep Space Christmas
God is busy this time of year attending to the billions
People’s needs, guiding reindeer, assisting Santa, counting souls
Helping with the naughty/nice boys and girls
Even Craigslist needs some tweaking here and there
And other things too numerous to know or mention here
God is the great Creator out there at all times
At Christmas He moves faster than the speed of light
He has to keep up with popular demands
Stars and universes don’t create themselves you know
He rides great rivers of dark matter like a magic carpet
That move along ribbons of space and time
Cosmic phenomena built on great speeds increasing every second
Millions of parsecs wide and longer than known universes
They curve through cosmic landscapes and glide to the beyond
God looks out at the great black void
And with legions of pretty angels by His side
The wondrous design begins again
Everyone knows that thousands of angels can dance on the head of a pin
It is common knowledge that each celestial creature has that gift
They carry within their deep deep pockets, (just below the wings)
Thousands of other angels dancing on their own individual pins
But did you know these same tiny angels grow?
They expand larger than most universes
With multi-color baskets by their side
God directs them to toss assorted planets
From blue baskets into the great unknown
Over there to be precise, to the right and upward
And somewhat just beyond that spot
The yellow baskets have suns and quasars with special protective shields
To shield the angels from wing singes and radiation fields
They throw thousands at a time by pure design
And since suns are too hot to handle, they throw them fast and throw a lot
Black baskets hold black holes, dark matter and a scattering of exotic things
God pulls them out real slow due to weight considerations and mysteries
Orange baskets hold more void but more about that later
We don’t want to distract you from the Creator
Back at Earth He takes his favorite creation by the hands
Men and women die all the time
He looks at each and every one of them with His bright kind eyes
At that moment they are the only thing in His universe
Don’t cry. You are not applying for a job
He holds them as his own and welcomes them home
So grab a basket from an angel and let’s get back to work
Universes don’t build themselves you know
-DECEMBER 25,2:37 AM-
SHE WAS THINNING 'WAY-
HER COLOUR GOING GRAY
WHILE SHE DROWNED IN SWEAT:
"GERALD,HAVE YOU SLEPT?"
HER VOICE SO OLD,
AND GAVE ME THE COLD.
BUT HOW COULD I SLEEP
WHILE MUM'S LIFE COULD CREEP...?
I HAD BEEN CRYING
WEEPING AND WEEPING
SILENTLY FOR HER-
MY MOTHER WAS DYING..
I CREPT FROM MY BED:
NO LIGHTS; POOR AND SAID-
I HELD HER WEAK HANDS-
COLD WITHOUT LIFE'S TAN:
I HEARD HER BREATHING-
AND MY HEART CRAVING
FOR MAMA'S GOOD HEALTH.
"BUT," I ASKED MYSELF:
"WHY MUST SHE SUFFER
NEAR A WEEPING SON?"
AND WHERE WAS FATHER?
HE WAS DEAD AND GONE.
I WEPT AS I THOUGHT.
"RETURN TO YOUR COT,
YOU NEED A NIGHT'S SLEEP."
SHE SPOKE, MY HEART LEAPED.
"I SHALL BE HERE UNTIL
DEATH IS NOT FULFILLED-
YOU SHALL NEVER DIE
ELSE I SHALL GHASTLY CRY."
SHE PRESSED ME TO HER HEART
AND GAVE ME A GENT' PAT.
"GERALD,PLEASE LET US SLEEP
AND MY SON DO NOT WEEP.
"IF I DIE, THEN GOD CALLED
CAUSING WEEPS TO COME FORTH-
BUT DO PRAY FOR MY SOUL,
TO REST IN HAVEN'S HOLD."
"BUT MUM," I CRIED."DO STOP."
"SON," SHE CONTINUED."DEATH
IS INHERENT TO LIFE.
DEATH COMES 'ROUND AS WE STRIVE."
I TOOK HER HANDS IN MINE
FEELING THEM FREEZING,KIND:
-THUS ENDED HER EARTHLY STAY,
WHILE I STILL HAD MUCH TO SAY.....
...AND EVERY LAUGHTER EVAPORATED
FROM MY FACE AS EVERY CHRISTMAS
BRINGS SAD MEMORIES
BACK TO MIND......
CONTEST NAME-"Saddest" Christmas Ever
SPONSOR-Constance La France
Copyright © 2012
(A Purpose So Clear)
Like children we fear
In secret a somber tear
Like learning to walk
Babies listen to talk
And reach for a hand
To help them stand
This too, we all must do
By HIS Hand made anew
This is something I wrote after the death of my daughter (1995). Bruno was her pride and joy and he sat in a rocking chair in her room for many years after. I've revised it somewhat. Unfortunately, my husband has also died since, so now we're down to two. Now Colette's little girl, Grace loves Barbies
Bruno sits in a rocking chair
as though she’s coming hither.
He's just a battered old Christmas bear
but I remember that winter.
Our girls didn’t know
we searched at night
as Santa’s helpers
filled with delight.
Jeannie, loved bears.
Barbies delighted Colette.
We bumped into Ken
driving Barbie’s corvette.
Suddenly looking at us with
two beady eyes, was
the biggest toy bear
we'd seen in our lives.
On Christmas day,
Jeannie gasped at that bear
Colette loved her vet
We were all there.
Now Bruno sits
and sit so do I.
I know Jeannie’s not coming.
Bruno can’t say goodbye.
Bruno will wait
and we'll not forget
Not I. Not papa.
Not our darling Colette.
We’ll see her again
wherever it be.
Now Jeannie’s adieu.
We’re lonely as three.
©June 5, 2001
THE STATIONERY BOY
His little dark street
Is at home in the silky cobweb;
His little dark street
Is only loud in the missionaries’ prayers,
It elicits a gaze in very few people,
It is but an uninvited guest to life.
The stationery boy hands out his beautiful fliers,
Like a messenger of his little dark street.
In his big clear eyes a tear is born,
Not as an accusation,
But as wonderful love,
His heart is young and full of hopes
That someday his big silent tear
Shall drop onto someone’s palm.
A new day is born in his wonderful spirit,
Perhaps somewhat cold and strange,
But a new day, still.
Oh powerful destiny, listen to your unloved son,
Wake up the sleeping star;
Wake up the sleeping sun;
Wake up the sleeping hearts of men,
So that the new day may be a friend to your unloved son.
In the inaudible shadows, he has his faithful listeners,
In death he has a faithful visitor,
His young beautiful eyes are more familiar with death than life.
When so many happy children gather around the city’s Christmas tree,
His dear young heart is loudly beating into the deaf nights,
Like a silver bell,
So that his small, dark home would be alight with a gaze.
When the wonderful northern wind brings
Happy children’s voices from afar,
Like a modest Christmas gift,
The stationery boy is building his little kingdom of happiness
In his vivid imagination,
His days and nights may be cold and dark,
But his imagination is bright and completely wonderful,
It shines in the darkness like an angel.
His silver bell is ringing beyond the heavenly dome.
If you want to show a real angel to your kid,
Hurry towards that little dark street,
And you might be lucky enough to see the stationery boy
Before he gets his silver wings.
©Walter William Safar
It was for you and me ,
That Jesus left His throne,
Bore the scourge and agony,
Shivered His flesh and bone,
It was for you and me,
He took the awry tour,
Towards the dreaded Calvary,
Summed His tortured hours,
It was for you and me,
That Jesus bore the cross,
Paid the greatest penalty,
That death supposed be ours,
It was for you and me,
He wailed the gloomiest cry,
It was for you and me,
Jesus was nailed to die,
Oh, that you and I may see,
Our wickedness beyond measure,
Jesus to set us free,
In our stead bore the torture,
His love mysterious great,
Knocks the door of all men's heart,
His mighty power recreates,
Renews our lives whole to restart,
It was for you and me,
When on the third day death sufficed,
The savior left His grave,
Victorious he arised,
He rose back to His throne,
Sitting by His Father's side,
Prepare! He's coming soon,
Today is to decide,
In eternity past, the Father asks the Son to go down.
Having equal Love for humans the "Yes" comes fast.
When Creation leads to time, the world waits for 4 BC
Marking the start of the end of Satan's long rule at last.
Did Satan laugh at the poor setting for Jesus' birth here?
A cry in a cave for animals pierces the night, changing all.
Shepherds worship; later wise kings give precious gifts.
Mary and Joseph marvel, yet Herod's rage soon gives a call.
A call to leave quickly to Egypt where they'll live as refugees.
Sparing the Christ child a merciless death of those under three.
When Herod finally dies, Jesus' parents head back to Israel.
Still not fully safe from mad rule, Nazareth is their destiny.
Here the child will grow to be a man, following His parents rule.
Surprising the Pharisees with His wisdom at 12, at 30 riling them.
Preaching with authority, healing the incurable, loving the humble.
Women weep repenting at his feet; one's healed by touching his hem.
Zacchaeus risks going into a tree and finds Jesus' salvation so free.
Nicodemus comes at night to ask and ends amazed he's met God's Son
The Woman at the Well gets far more vital water than the usual kind.
And many healed can't but tell others of the miracle God has done.
The babe in the manger now stills the storm and his disciples believe
Even seeing the dead arise, like Lazarus in the tomb for four days.
Foretelling a greater rising coming but not before immense suffering.
The sword Mary was told would pierce her heart is soon on its way.
For most religious leaders cannot tolerate Jesus' lack of respect for them.
Calling them whitewashed tombs and pointing pride out to Pharisees.
Not endearing Himself with the establishment, but following God's way.
Knowing soon He'd be betrayed, arrested, tried and tortured brutally.
Still, he calmly feeds them body bread and blood wine in a final feast.
Tells them the Spirit comes, and prays they'd be one like Father and Son.
Heads to the Garden, prays to His Father for another way if possible.
Your will be done ends and the soldiers come and with Judas kiss it's done.
The most pure, innocent Man who's ever lived is now in hostile hands.
A trial by dark without witness or any rights – and off to Pontius Pilate.
Then Herod then back to Pilate whose wife dreamed Jesus was innocent.
But the people's cries to crucify win over – Jesus caught in intrigue's net.
The child of Bethlehem now hung on a Cross between two criminals.
The Light of the World by darkness and our sins is being slowly slain.
Feeling forsaken by God, but then "Into Your hands I commit my spirit."
Reunited and soon to show the world that this Child was no ordinary one.
Risen as Jesus predicted, for how can death conquer everlasting, perfect life?
From childhood to adult not one sin, not once yielding to Satan's temptations.
Proving we can have life eternal if we confess and believe in Jesus as our Savior.
Calling His followers in risen form to await the Spirit and share Christ to the nations
The perfect gift
Is often a myth
It's clearly out of reach
You're already gone
Never to respawn
But listen to me preach
The best gift of all
Is hearing your call
And having you back with me
It's been too long
I wrote us a song
I wish you were here to see
Christmas is about love
The innocence of a dove
But also family
Grandpa that's you
We all know it's true
I fall right under your tree
You are my gift
That one wish
I'll glance up at the moon
I'll blow you a kiss
It'll never miss
Grandpa I'll see you soon
I do not know?
Merry Christmas up in heaven.
How special it must be,
to celebrate our Savior’s birth
with Him there personally.
I’ll bet there is no Santa Claus,
or stories of reindeer,
but angel’s joyfully singing
about Christ as He stands near.
I miss you most at Christmas time
and know you miss me too.
The Holidays are lonely
and I long to be with you.
But I know the time will time
when we're together again.
I Patiently await that day.
Merry Christmas until then.
The whole world loves to hear of the Babe who came to earth,
and will often pause to sigh at the wonder of his birth.
They marvel at the young Lad who sat in the temple that day,
astonishing the great teachers with the words he had to say.
They are pleased with Jesus turning water into wine,
healing all who came to him, feeding thousands at a time.
They see him walk on water, his power the waves to still,
his boldness, cleansing the temple, and it gives their hearts a thrill.
They hail him as a teacher and claim him as a prophet
but ignore the things he taught. Just what is it they all scoff at?
It is easy and safe to worship a tiny babe in a manger,
but the man hanging on a cross, to the world is but a stranger.
Is it birth or death we think of, when at Bethlehem our thoughts lie?
The real meaning of Christmas is that Jesus came to die.
Two tragedies made a man bitter and hard.
Life became intolerable after he was scarred.
On Christmas Day his granddaughter fell in his pool and drowned.
Because of that terrible accident, that poor girl is no longer around.
When he found her dead body, he was horrified by what he saw.
Just six months earlier, he also lost his daughter and son-in-law.
Now he hates Christmas more than he would a plague.
Just the mention of Christmas fills this man with rage.
This man became so bitter that his heart is now as black as coal.
Those tragedies destroyed his life, they sure did take their toll.
His granddaughter was taken far too soon, she was only five.
Ten Christmases have passed since but he still mourns because they didn't survive.
(This is a fictional poem)
Earlier I asked Mommy when Daddy would return,
And she simply smiled, "Soon, Little Bird."
But when I left the room, I could hear Mommy crying,
Then fell to her knees and prayed to the higher world.
No one will tell me why Daddy hasn't come back yet,
Won't he be back here for Christmas Eve?
I walked back down and peered around the corner,
Watching as Mommy cried and turned to leave.
Why won't they tell me anything, I'm desperate to know,
I don't know if I can open any gifts without my Daddy there.
Taking pictures to savour the memories, he was always present,
But as I drift off tonight, I wonder why he isn't here.
The next day, Mommy held a note in her hand,
"The funeral is scheduled for December twenty-first."
I went up and asked Mommy "What is that for?"
But I was not prepared for the worst.
Now, he will not talk to me anymore,
He won't be here for Christmas another year.
Now, he is on my list to Santa,
But I know something that dear
Can't come back.
I miss you Daddy.
A monastery grows from the songs of its strange crew,
Monastery painted with blue of unique Voronezh blue
And a new comer, blond icicle, bare footed, gnarled
Deaf and mute -it is said -singing “Have mercy, God!”
Stalactite and stalagmite in their cells, monks and nuns
Some of them so innocent like the sober day that runs;
Hanged from the heaven of their great expectations held
From the glass dawn to noon singing:“Have mercy, God!”
The others in their rusty autumn or white winter,
All calling the Promised Land that started to glitter
In their heart and from this light the sky seems fired
And the forest`s echo repeated: “Have mercy, God!”
In the twilight mist two monks try to cut down
The evergreen tree to bring it for kids in the town;
Children glide on sleigh and even tired go later to bed.
They learnt carols and angels sing “Have mercy, God!”
I cannot believe what I see before my eyes,
speechless as I read...
too familiar is this scene,
repeating once again, surreal as if I'm back in time...
I once was near when the unthinkable happened,
Columbine, flowering youths cut down in teen prime.
I watched in horror as two souls entered, repeated over and over
the media; what a circus, as stories began to break...
I witnessed in my own back yard, as innocent lives vanished
'Why? What is the purpose, I did not know', I wept for each and every soul. And cried aloud "How can you be?"
trying to avoid the repetitive media, over and over again...
a christian channel offered me hope, and asked one simple thing.
Fall to my knees, and ask HIM into my life, to do with what he will,
surrender to his Grace and Mercy,
My life changed that day, so many years ago Columbine Columbine....
we thought you were the last.
As many of my peers in education stood, in terror, disbelief and anger of having no control. "Why? What is the purpose?" our innocent's, so young, so sweet, so worshiped by their families, so unforgivable this one unthinkable act .
One woman weeping, I ask if she's alright...
She looked at me and said, Someone's Christmas present is underneath a tree; it won't be opened on Christmas eve.
Another walked up, and clobbered my arm..."What the hell is going on?"
It's alright, if its what they need to do. God saved me, and humbled me...oh Columbine why? I can not say, nor will I try, for only God knows the master plan.
But like with me that somber day, back in Columbine. I pray that someone far from God, was softened just enough...
to fall to their knees and ask "God Please"
enter my life tonight....
Let an awakening occur...one united universal voice ring out.
No more bloodshed, no more death. Our children our the innocents and our future in them rests...
To utter the words "I'm sorry" or "you're in my prayers' seems so hollow right now. By faith alone, I can only say...let the heavens open and radiant light shine down, on the simple all American place called Newtown..
I do not know?
I sit still in a house of tranquillity,
Thinking of times long past.
Remembrances of a child,
Of childish delights and pleasures.
Of times spent with my grandparents,
Of Feelings of love and wellbeing.
Of family and Christmas spent together.
No longer do I hear the sound of their laughter,
Nor feel the comfort of their presence .
They have abandoned this world,
And have left a hole in my heart
A void that can never be filled.
Childish joy’s no longer fill my soul,
Life has stripped away the illusions of youth,
Laying bare the true futility of life
To be and then to be no more.
The endless cycle of life and death.
Ah! Then the miracle of Christmas arrives
Renewing, filling my soul once more.,
And the visions of childhood stream back,
They race through my mind
A torrent of Images, feelings, love.
Of family and joyful times spent together,
I am again a child.
And dwell in the love of those now gone.
For the last two Christmases, I have grieved.
But in 2012 my friend gave me the best Christmas present that I've ever received.
She gave me a ride to Sneedville so that I could spend Christmas with Mom and Dad.
I was a very fortunate person but sadly, just several months later I lost what I had.
I had no idea that within a matter of months that both Mom and Dad would both be dead.
I spent the last Christmas with my parents, there would be no Christmases ahead.
If Tammy hadn't given me that ride, I wouldn't have been able to be with Mom and Dad on Christmas.
This time of the year is no longer easy for me because what happened filled my heart with darkness.
I do not know?
As christmas mounts decembers passing
we huddle in your absence.
Our eyes earthbound in aversion
of the stinging words etched upon the marble.
A solitary magpie skipping over the crystallised blades
highlights my purpose at your graveside.
Your first christmas misspent in the depths of the earths
are my thoughts as my eyes thaw the ground beneath.
I do not know?
Late at night, my eyes are burning
as I try not to cry.
I hold my breath and wonder
why you had to die.
I try so hard to fight the tears
as I lay around and dream.
Memories of younger years...
I choke instead of scream.
You battled many problems
and overcame many things...
and you were only a child,
No, an angel without wings.
You never had the most attention,
but you never seemed to complain.
But suddenly everyone’s in tears,
just whispering your name.
You won't get to live the life
you very much deserved.
No job, no kids, just shattered dreams
because you've left this earth.
You were only sixteen.
Its not right that you're gone.
Your heart quit beating,
but didn't quit loving.
Your spirit will live on.
My heavy heart is filled with regret.
I didn't say I love you, or goodbye.
And with memories I'll never forget,
you taught me how to fly.
Sometimes I wish I could turn back time,
if only for a day.
After all, God answers prayers,
but this one is thrown away.
My vision is blurred with tears,
I miss you so bad.
But I close my eyes and see you clear
and don't feel quite as sad.
Pretty soon I'll be grown up
but you'll still be sixteen.
but like you said,
God has a plan,
and in the end I'll see.
Jeramiah Jay Cook, my cousin, "buba" and friend passed away Christmas of 2004 at a party.
Rumors fly about what it really was. Alcohol, pills.. it had only been 2 months since his own
mothers death (mine had died in 96') and so he got his Christmas wish.. to spend it with his
Mom. He has been having a really hard time with with substance abuse, but it was far from
what I expected when my Aunt called Christmas morning.. Someone I had always looked up
to, and grown up with.
Life on a hitchhike
A cool drool drip slid to the corner of a slit shut
mouth. Eyes that once FLASHED reared back and humbled
into occular armpits, no explanation. Hands that once
felt warmth and high hopes slowly tremmored twitching
careless as unmatter of fact. I watch the
flesh depart, skin crawling with old breakfast
sausage patty indifference. Postage due----Royal flesh
does not win. Careful. External refuse
hidden bonds confide in mass abuse of internal
bliss like factory worker, paydayholiday Friday. Say
goodbye like used coffee grounds At last gasp I
set sockets against a blank ceiling scanning with
eyes aglee and a wave in omnidirectional fervor.
Too finite? Numb and neutral with nothing at stake
I praise a restless content over a form boring of
less than glib compose and promote a position of
erectile tissue and ooooze about time , space
swaying to and fro for this invisible temptation
dave collins, "Yes", 1/89, Wash D.C.
The phantom dressed in black, hovered by the fireplace
Year of our Lord 2030 was closing out at last
Closing with the shop with New Year’s business
My friends are here with me for festivities and champagne
The spirit intruded our conversations and celebration
Took me rudely with a skeletal hand with no excuses
Abruptly pinched my wrist and spirited me through the window
I told him I’m in my 80’s, too old to fly, too young to die
He flew me any way, to the local cemetery plot in sad disgrace
My name was etched upon the cold rock face before me
I smiled, though knowing that was wrong to do
Since firing all my employees, with no word, no reason
To send them out to freeze at Christmas season
Is the reason I am here, in this awful mess
I smiled because the name upon the tombstone was not exactly mine
They misspelled my name, which is not a crime, but
That makes them idiots without a doubt
I guess I have one more year to live, correct?
Or until the end of time before I die to make things right
Since the government makes all tombstones in the region
We know how incompetent they can be
The spirit of Christmas future will have to find another job
He might start by learning how to spell
Along with government officials, before they send me off to hell
Created on 12/15/14 for – “Christmas Past, Present or Future” Poetry Contest
Theme - "Christmas Future"
dressin' turned out fine,
gotta stop thinkin'
gonna loose my mind.
Presents neath the tree
and our boy is one big smile,
ain't gonna start cryin'
hold on for awhile.
God I miss you honey
each and every day,
Christmas time don't make no sense
since you've gone away.
Sure miss you carvin'
your laughter filled with glee,
can't get the Christmas spirit
when you're not here with me.
May the Lord bless you,
keep you safe and sound,
while we're havin' His day
down here on the ground.
Happy Birthday, Jesus
take care of my ol' man.
We'll be doing Your party
just the best we can.
Merry Christmas my love,
that you shall always be.
"Well, my goodness ...
watcha got there son, a present for me?"