During the Christmas holidays a candle is continuously lit.
It is in your memory to let you know I'll never forget.
Each year that passes gets harder than I like to admit.
I sit by the fire reminiscing while I smoke a midnight cigarette.
Your vanilla scented candle burns on the coffee table.
I admit when you passed I wasn't mentally stable.
You would be proud of me because eventually I pulled myself together.
I remember you warned me so many times you wouldn't be here forever.
You were my superwoman, I believed you were tough as steel.
This candle along with your memory helps me to heal.
It's kinda like you're right here with me.
I think of you as I put each ornament on the Christmas tree.
Tears roll down my cheek as I whisper your sweet name.
Inside my heart resides your eternal flame.
*I love you momma Merry Christmas Queen.....
Billie Jean Alexander Lopez...May 1, 1937 - July 26, 2007
It wasn't long after Christmas
The one where the fates had granted me my fondest wish
A shiny, red, Schwinn bicycle..... a basket in the front, and a bell to ring
On that cold January night, the sky was stained by the color of trepidation
I remember my young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through the mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us downstairs, down the raw-grained stairs,
not tying her robe, pushing from behind with her two hands
out onto the back porch, into the frost of the wee, early light
We stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose
warning him to keep safe,
while sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Don't worry, we will make sure you get another one, just like it"
Then, I remember looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
11/25/13 For Nette's Contest: "Brief, Unforgettable Moment"
Hearing the jingling bells of Santa's sleigh,
Hanging silver tinsel on the tree for trim,
My cousin and I going sledding all day,
Reading the story of Scrooge and Tiny Tim.
Building a house made of spicy gingerbread,
And hearing a Bing Crosby Christmas tune,
Leaving out cookies before going to bed,
Seeing eight tiny reindeer flying by the moon.
Santa Claus bringing toys down our chimney,
Almost every house twinkling with lights,
Cutting down a fresh, pine Christmas tree,
Hanging antique ornaments, so shiny and bright.
Grandma and I baking my favorite cookies,
Shopping for Christmas gifts in every store,
A fireplace with a stocking hung just for me,
And singing Christmas carols at every door.
My hometown covered in glistening, white snow,
And the sweet, minty taste of a candy cane,
Presents containing treasures we wouldn't know,
And drawing snowflakes on a frosty window pane.
My Mom making a snowman, as perfect as can be,
Decking the halls with garlands, wreaths and more,
Whispering wishes to Santa, sitting on his knee,
And the excitement we all had the night before.
December 12th, 2013
A self-written poem begun in Christmas Time,
While it tasting the soup and looking for rhyme.
In the kitchen, neighbor with the quiet tomato paste,
The sorcerer's apprentice, a poet pretty well placed
Near Soups (ciorbe) with characteristic sour taste
With luminous face and much grace added the rest:
As he was sipping and tasting from raw and cooked.
His group had a passionate look at what was booked
For the dinner: These might be meat and vegetable soups.
They had to choose till the coming of the helping troops
For the pig`s sacrifice rite, old mixture of joy and grief
Under the hot and long debrief of the pleasant smell-thief
Tripe soup (ciorba de burta) hard prepared from beef,
And calf foot soup (ciorba de vitel), with green-gold leaf
Pickled soup (supa de moare) with pork and big rice;
But use the dice to decide between spice and allspice.
From the slaughtered pig the village` families prepare:
Carnati - sausages kept in special aromatic smoke
Of wet fir and oak burned at small fire as enjoyed by folk;
Caltabos - sausages made with liver sprinkled with beers;
Toba and piftie - dishes using pig's feet, head and ears
Suspended in aspic like a frozen symphony in red
After cups of plum brandy and before going the bed
Tochitura - pan-fried pork to bid it a farewell, twice
Served with mamaliga - palesta , and red wine with ice,
Or boiled wine with pepper and cinnamon against frost;
So that the pork can swim and the verse were glossed;
Piftie - inferior parts of the bashful pig, mainly the tail,
Feet and ears, kind of meal like taken from a fairytale
In which all are cooked and served in a form of gelatin
In this naturalist field, all the poets smile like Mr.Bean;
Jumari - small pieces of pig meat are fried and tumbled
Through various spices if after all, you are a little troubled
And may falter some poetical from the famous songs
Like "So, good people drink…" couples of diphthongs
Since Saturday to Thursday and make colorful the gray.
This poem was written in the Night of Tuesday to Friday.
( And later we`d find that the housewife had covered with it the pickles cucumbers jar.)
CHRISTMAS TOYS AND JOYS
The toys in the shops today are different from the past,
with electronics replacing bat and ball.
Even parents get in the mix, and children need be fast,
if they want to play with their new toys at all.
Back-yard cricket is forgotten when the Wii comes on the scene.
Virtual sports replace the games we know.
Invisible balls are slashed at when hit towards the screen
and a cartoon rival hits it back to you.
These rivals in the TV Box will play with you alone,
or you can play with a friend by your side.
Sometimes a couch potato gets up to play and groan,
but keen to join the game with a swing that’s wide.
The DS, Xbox and the PSP keep everyone amused
with puzzles for the brains of young and old.
There’s Pokemon and Mario forever been renewed,
played with concentration; fingers quick and bold.
But the games are put aside when we are called to table;
no fast food today it’s Christmas fare for all.
There’s turkey, pudding, pies and cakes to eat if we are able,
then we often fall asleep on the lounge, or in the hall.
But lives, when shared with others are better for the sharing,
with memories created and sent across the miles.
These keep us going when we feel alone, with no one caring,
then we see their photos; remember friendships and we smile.
Mandurah, cruises, jingle bells,
The lake house splendor in shooting stars dwell,
Tremendous Christmas without snow, implicitly the stunner glide,
Black phantom unveil the cloak of his clandestine pride,
Scintillation gigantic Casuarina Equisetifolia ornament tree,
Embellish the solitude's dew which endorsed by the clasp of glee,
Dear Christmas Eve, I am your bride,
Let me merry you by the simplicity of thee pride
Mandurah : Situated on Western Australia's beautiful coastline about 72km
south of Perth
SEASON OF LIGHTS, DELIGHTS & ENLIGHTENMENT: OUR GLOBAL COMMUNITY Free Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Cyndi MacMillan
So many traditions run deep in all of our families,
And each holiday calls for a memorable and worthy gathering.
At Christmas, one tradition fills our hearts with glee!
When caught up in the season of joy; sadness, never harboring!
We find that it matters not whether a leaf has fallen from our tree,
And sailed on angels' wings to join the celebration above.
We reminisce of yesteryears assured their spirits are free...
Free from turmoil and chaos; free to taste purest love.
High upon the Christmas tree, there, amongst sparkling colored balls;
Tucked between precious old ornaments and brilliant, festive lights,
Hang these amazing balls of glass; bearing the names of all.
They're protected by the extra padded skirt made of satin- red and white
Time will not dissolve memories or the love and affection which flows,
When kindred spirits, on Christmas morn, gather to hear the sacred story.
We’d recall the prudent sayings; simple stories that nurture, still, our souls,
While in harmony, young ones and old, celebrate God’s majestic glory!
Note: For the Contest, "Traditions"
Christmas day is coming soon
I can hear the little drummer boys beat
As I sleep under a stack of newspapers
At my home here on the street
I have no shade from the summer heat
No shelter from a spring storm
When autumn and winter roll around
I have no blanket to keep me warm
I have no one to talk to
No doctor to keep me well
My life is like the seventh circle
Of an everlasting hell
I have no feast on Thanksgiving
On my birthday, I have no cake
Most nights as I sleep in my concrete bed
I pray and hope I won't wake
I think about the man I used to be
The one that died so long ago
Now all that's left is this scruffy, filthy creature
Who I don't even know
Now that Christmas is here again
I pray to the good Lord above
For a gift that most don't appreciate
Filled with lots of happiness and love
I'm not talking about material things
I can get by without any of that
All I want is a house and a family
Complete with a dog and a cat
I wish every single Christmas season
That my dear, sweet Lord would send me
A beautiful family with warm, smiling faces
Sipping hot chocolate around a Christmas tree
We would have a most amazing feast
A rack of lamb tied up with a bow
Then we would all get bundled up
And go caroling in the snow
Oh, how glorious that would be
To have a family and a few friends
To have people who love me
Even after this life ends
God please hear my prayers
And answer them if you can
Just grant one simple Christmas wish
To this old homeless man
Quickly is coming Christmas day,
Perhaps you ponder with dismay
Amidst the shopping and the shouts,
What is Christmas really about?
Is it about reindeer and elves,
The gifts we wish for ourselves?
Is it about wrapping paper and bows,
Stockings stuffed with goodies clear to the toes?
Is it about family, friends, and feast,
The smell of bread baking rising with yeast?
About trees, lights, and cute decorations,
Parties, eggnog, and celebrations?
These commodities make the holiday bright,
But something else is required to make it right;
For Christmas is not about programs and costumes worn,
But about a miraculous baby that was born.
About Mary and Joseph, man and wife,
Who came to Bethlehem pregnant with life.
No room was left for them in the inn,
Shelter was found in a cattle pen.
The time of her delivery would not waiver,
In that stable she experienced labor.
Born into a place smelling of manure,
Christ arrived our salvation to assure.
Nearby shepherds tending flocks by night
Were startled by a glorious light.
Angels while seeking to calm their fear
Came proclaiming this event of cheer.
Told of a birth of a baby boy,
A king, a savior, who would bring joy.
His mission was one of peace,
From our sins to bring release.
Then with haste they went with glee,
Marveled at what they did see;
Found him in a manger yet filled with glory
Then left with excitement to tell his story.
So as we gather this December
May this jingle help us remember,
Christmas is not about dear old Santa Claus
But about the Christ who saves us from our flaws.
Ole Christmas cards, gifts for the soul,
Manger scenes, elves at the North Pole,
Short prayers for joy, hope and peace,
Glitter long gone, worn at the crease,
But they are sweeter than carols.
Slowly, I reread each in whole,
Recalling smiles, wonderland strolls,
Tears come, yet I’ll never release
Ole Christmas cards.
Throughout the season, church bells toll,
Wishes are sent, sentiments scrolled,
Loved ones pass, their numbers decrease
so I kiss their names and each piece
of yore, for my angels cajole
Ole Christmas cards.