Christmas is a long song sung in winter,
An epic poem written with white quill feather pen and
Gold ink, and on clouds of paper,
Beginning from a sneezing December to a
Dizzying twelfth-calendar month,
When snow drizzles gently into the souls of
Those who hearken to the tinkling sound of
The church bell which rings gently with the weight of
The slow-passing season.
I see whiteness in every song, with so much redness;
Regal and romantic; flagrantly friendly.
Oh, how pure!
Oh, how sweet!
Well, that’s Christmas.
It lights up the courage in us to think right and assume
Merriment in the warmness of some frozen hearts.
It’s the best time of the year.
I swear to this because I am a child of Christmas.
It’s a time of fog and dew and sleet that rebaptise us.
Let’s not forget the slanting rain whose liquid kisses us.
And white Christmas of snow-carpeted lands and seas.
There’s no other time or season like it.
So full of gentleness and love,
Christmas causes hearts to race s-l-o-w-l-y,
As the year races on to breast the tape of seasons.
Six months with six fond memories.
1. Helped correct the official document.
2. Taugh me to learn how to download songs and save my corrupted USB. Firmware and privacy apps like Conversations, KeePass and Gajim.
3. Three wonderful trips to my favorite beaches.
4. Inspired me to get back knitting, piano and started embroideries and poem writing.
5. Putting lipsticks on the pig which I see it every early morning.
6. Shopping, healthy meals preparating and consuming.
Then came the Lunar Calendar spirit month,
An official name of the Chinese
Calendar month of ghosts and evils,
On Lunar calendar 7th day of 7th month,
After you wrote "Thank You" replied to my message
"Good morning. On behalf of Chinese culture,
Wishing you Happy valentine day.
???????????????"
You shocked me with a ghosting friendship
And a cold blooded goodbye.
Delicious green and red apples,
Grow in the farm by hard working people.
Carefully transported to the fruit stores,
Displayed for the shoppers to adore.
Then they were in my possession,
Planned to give them to a dear friend,
Who used to love and enjoy them,
But all of a sudden, the fruits and me,
We, to the recipient, became aliens and enemies,
And hence we both were rejected as his favorites,
Somehow just because we related to the dirty system,
by the definition from this person.
I would rather let the fruits rot and become fertilizers,
Than let him be the fruits' consumer.
Who knew how to use negative and aggressive language,
Unkind and hurtful words towards others.
He must have sold or lost his soul to the evils,
In the Lunar Calendar month of the ghosts and devils.
A spirit month was the traditional name by Asian.
It lasted 28 days, but ended my friendship forever,
After knowing him for six months, six days and six hours.
I thought he could be my friend forever.
By the Way was his private surname,
66 was his nickname and
6 was his favorite number game.
2.8.2024.
Approaching Lunar calendar, month of spirit and devils.
Must be extra careful.
Why do I sense some troubles.
If one does not believe in it,
Does one be affected?
Why people have so many superstitions.
Must keep my sanity and integrity.
Not to be convinced to sell my soul to the devils.
I tried not to go to his 2nd home.
One of the reasons was afraid of hearing his unkind words.
But I could not resist the temptations.
I have tried not to mind his language.
But, I still could not do it.
I asked him "why you do not want to get any thing from the government"
You said "it is negative and I do not want any of it".
I should listen to what he said.
Please him the way he likes.
Save me a lot of work and time.
Red Petals
I bring you roses with no extra demands
They are pretty just like her, the thorns prick my hands
A rose every single calendar month
A ritual that cannot ever seem to be yet enough
The red petals match that red kiss
The time our lips met for that lover’s sure bliss
The petals are soft to the silky touch
But now I think I do not love you dearly as much
Time passes, and I dream of us
Back together I wish we could be, now a must
The rose does have its cutting thorns
Though we are not together, my heart is still torn
Now separate, we are back to our own ways
Sometimes I wish that you were still with me somedays
The thorns have cut through my beating heart
And your petals are still beautiful, they are a work of art.
Travis “Ceijaeh” Klein