December 7th 1941
Japan invades Pearl Harbor.
Another useless war.
Attack on American soil.
Surprise military strike on December 7th 1941.
Oahu, Hawaii, a neutral area.
7:48 am with 354 fighters in the air.
Dive bombers, torpedo bombers.
2,400 Americans from our Military were killed.
The damage is done.
For what reason?
War was provoked.
The deadliest foreign attack on the U.S.
War over territory.
War is never ending.
Always about oil, power and land.
Foreign leaders with no spiritual direction.
They brought this to our front door step.
History of another war.
(President in1941)
(Franklin D. Roosevelt)
Still to this day, enemies continue to fight.
Over oil and territory.
Nothing ever changes.
What a sad day of judgment.
I'm sorry I didn't bring
roses to your funeral.
I brought a Christmas
wreath instead.
I didn't want to symbolize
your withering,
I wanted to represent your
eternity,
and the joy you brought
others instead.
He schleps constantly at noon
Through declivities and straight roads,
Bearing messages sealed by the hands
That laid them bare in the first place.
Sweat caresses his face, forming one mass of
Earnestness in every breath of delivery.
“Hello,” he says, “your mail. Your package.”
My palm breathes harder, having neared his.
I sign the delivery paper and reach out for the
Package.
He is fussy with time and gets rewarded when
The Christmas bells chime slowly
From wintry belfries posting blandishments of
Yuletide.
Merry Christmas!
A bright coin rolls into his palms and greases them.
He welcomes titbits of news within crimson cards.
His lungs inhale airs of chaperoned champagnes
Amid the voice of canticles, soft and secret.
Looking out the window
I didn't see a sound
Nothing out there moving
The world on solid ground
No birds were out there singing
No rustling of the leaves
Is the river flowing
But silent as a breeze?
Was I really seeing
The absence of all sound?
Or was I only hearing
The silence all around?
Deceit is a silent killer
Yet so many wear it well
They master the art of pretending
And call the mask a shield.
Like her
She crowned me with tender lies
Draped in robes of sweet illusion
And I, the fool, saw no disguise.
I was blind
To the poison in her touch
Too drunk on the way she smiled
Too far gone to feel the clutch.
I mistook the trap for tenderness
The dagger for a kiss
Wrapped in warmth that withered me
And still, I called it bliss.
Little did I know
I was held by hands that planned my fall
In the arms of lovely hate
Until I lost it all.
sky glows cloudy bright
edges of clouds melt away
elegant exit
teach those clouds lesson
Helios god of the sun
everlasting warmth
shine your brilliance
upon us that we might see
night has stayed too long
playing hard to get
overcast like wet cotton
put my prayer to shame
or get better gods
Uranus might help me out
turn this day around
Like some dark frail bird
she quivered and fluttered
there at my door
one dark cold Advent night,
swearing to return
come the new year
with a photo of Brandenburg Gate.
Arms, hands, fingertips, eyes,
then nothing between us
but electrified space –
her light tread descending the steps –
my heart drawn downward
by the diminishing sound.
Sometimes still my heart is snared
between winter
a swirling hem
and Brandenburg Gate
and I write a letter
which will never be mailed
to Karin.
To my complacent Ms. Crane
I am at odds my love, your comely visage has my heart rend. I struggle somewhere betwixt carnality and a fervent want of your attention. Oh! Ms. Crane, I do so labor for your love. The muse runs foolhardy across every page, and on stage I act the jester just to catch a glimpse of that sweet Southern smile. I do so aspire to taste the nectar of your kiss. All this time apart has my heart yearning, even imploring your touch. I beseech your name to stop the tribulation, to ease the travailing of my heart. My belle I don't say these things in comfort, I adamantly long for a union of our souls, and a harmony played on our heartstrings. As God is my witness, love is our destination, however our journey begins with us. I query of your heart oh misfortuned women, what perplexes your heart? What clutters your mind's thoughts? Is it I? My only desire is your happiness. I too, see happiness as my endeavor. So this leaves us at a crossroad. Shall we be a blessed union, or do we wander trodden thoroughfare?
Preemptively yours
Michael
December 10th, 1830
Born Dec. 10th, 1830.
Beautiful poetry.
E.E.D.
Lived in solitary.
Known for so many poems.
From Amherst, Massachusetts.
Her life is isolated.
Had one brother and one sister.
Greatest poet ever lived.
Emily Dickenson.
Passed away on May 15th, 1886. (age 55)
One faded picture.
Over 1,000 poems.
Vigorous writer in the shadows.
"Nothing changes but the date on the calendar." By Poet
We love our pretty calendars holding our favorite pictures.
Many pictures of cute animals,
some of majestic land or sea views.
Each month changes with new pictures to enjoy.
We circle the dates we need to remember,
never wanting to forget our appointments or events.
I like to write in the date box a couple of words,
these words helps me to remember why I circled the date.
When December shows up,
our calendar must be put to rest.
The many dates on the twelve months have served us well.
Now off to shop for a new calendar,
one holding new dates and wonderful pictures.
people never change
history has all the proof
dates always changing
Just because someone isn’t wearing a bandage or shows no outward sign of illness doesn’t mean that they are not.
Quote by poet.
Sam lived two doors down and kept to himself, some thought him strange,
I found out he'd been in the marines and was suffering from PTSD, he always acknowledged me with a nod and a faint smile but Sam rarely spoke a word.
I felt sorry for him as he lived all alone with no one to share his problems with.
On one dark December night before Christmas I was walking home from work,
I was fifty yards from home when three thugs appeared and surrounded me,
"Your money and phone" one said, I froze on the spot and reluctantly put my hand in my pocket, then out of nowhere Sam appeared, baseball bat in hand, he swung at one of the thugs who went down with blood pouring from his nose, one of them then lunged at Sam and stabbed him repeatedly, Sam collapsed and the cowards ran off, I quickly dialled 911, “I’ve called for help" I told Sam, he looked at me smiling and said ,"Peace at last" then his eyes closed and he was gone.
Archaic silence reasons with my soul
Not the latest model, and not really a classic
Just a girl who trembles with expectation
When the sun regards my flowers with a smile,
Sending her delicate shafts of hope
Coloring each of my thoughts in beautiful blessings
While the rain seeks to nurture the petals
Who laugh beneath dew and glimmers of light
Breaking through the soundless breeze
Who carries my dreams, roaring into eternity
Old-fashioned, sometimes though – I feel my heartbeat
And mumble to the wind, a song who remembers
What it must be like to stir the old hearts, the souls
Who color my life in yesterday’s glory,
The stories without words, stories that remember
But are never heard, stories in poetic murmurs
Healing the heart and happening, so sure
Reflecting the eternal with each wave of assurance,
A destiny, wrapped in quilts of endless truths
Old age is the one solace from an emptied innocence.
It was December night,
All quiet outside,
Except for the wind,
With the moon shining light.
Cold hands, warm breath,
Walking side by side.
Holding her hand,
She held mine tight.
Open lip locks
Under the dim light.
Feared none,
'Cause love was our guide.
Gazing at the past,
Coming from the stars,
Said, "That's Grandma,"
As she was from arts.
Wrapped inside pile of clothes,
I felt just right.
She, in top and shorts,
Whispered, "This cold bites."
Grew up in this place,
Know every stone misplaced.
But that night,
Every sight was a sight,
'Cause I think
Love was our guide.
Star-crossed by the years
a cuckhold of fate ...
I made love to you
in the copulate verses
of another time
— and another life
(Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
Swirling, twirling
Crisp and white,
It’s a snowflake
Kind of night…
Crystals shimmer
By moonlight,
Building castles
Till daylight…
Specific Types of December Poems
Definition | What is December in Poetry?