lovely dancing stream
snaking it's way down the slopes~
with soft jingling sounds.
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/ \ ( )
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“””@ @ @ “*” @ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “
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l
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v
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l
y dancing stream
s
n
a
k
i
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g
its way down the slopes~
with soft jingling sounds.
“*” “*” @ “*” “*”
@ @ i @ @ @ @
=\!/= =\!/= =\!/= =\!/= =\!/=
Hear the tolling of the bells -- Iran lives!
As the danger ebbs and flows,
in the clamor of a fragile ceasefire,
the sobbing of innocent victims,
collecting their belongings in the rubble
of bombed out buildings,
away from the mad extrapolations of a one-sided victory,
hear the jingling of the bells,
heralding a new beginning,
a new chapter in Eastern civilization,
holding the barbarians at the gate, no matter how they encircle them
like hungry hyenas proclaiming a blockade with a pilgrim's shadow.
Cyrus stands amid the roar
and holds within his hands the tighter clasp of a civilization,
a luminous point peering deep into the darkness of Western civilization.
I thought it was the right thing to do
On reflection, it wasn't
As they played to us seven people
In a barn in North Wales
Candles and hay
Beards and denim
As they wrapped up and we met them
I saw it there
Polished and gleaming in the light
Crimson and jingling jangling
I picked it up and took it with me in the taxi
At our own band rehearsal
Our singer turned to me and said,
"Where's Jarcrew's tambourine?"
I regret what I did
It was a mistake of rock and roll judgment
Nowadays, my composure has become my superpower
That, and my handlebar moustache
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A penny face-up in the gutter—
Abraham’s copper gaze half-lidded with rain.
I pocket him like a secret,
like the first digit in an equation
no one taught me to how to solve.
The laundromat coughs up dimes~
silver cataracts rolled under dryers,
buried beneath lint and lost socks.
I tally them in my palm,
each one a tiny moon
pulled from the tide of neglect.
My grandmother saved buttons in a jar,
swore they were pirate treasure.
I collect coins instead~
nickels in parking lots,
quarters wedged between bus seats,
their edges bitten with teeth marks.
When the year ends,
I spill them all onto the kitchen table~
a metal harvest, a jingling autopsy.
Enough for a coffee,
a lottery ticket,
or the weight of knowing
that fortune isn’t a mountain
but the slow accumulation
of what everyone else
steps over.
I woke in a cheer toned embrace.
Enthused by the bubbly hold,
I wished to spread its hugging sound.
Joyful feel emotively
played jolly, jingling, jangling notes
on a gleeful tambourine.
jeopardized jellyfish jangled jagged jewels.
Jingling jolly jovial jim-dandy jellybeans.
Jellyfish jocundity joyously jostling jubilantly.
Nipping snowflakes light
Crisp whispered winter's cold bite.
Christmas still darkness
used absolute dazzling charm
on a crystalline white rug.
Above the snow clouds,
silence watched Jolly Santa
and his reindeer fly
with "Ho-Ho-Ho," and the thrilled
sound of light jingling sleigh bells.
The little children
And family round decked tree
on early morning,
with the halls decked with holly,
presents in the brightest wrap.
I want an old fashion Christmas
Like the ones from yesterday
Where families make memories
That no one can ever take away.
The smell of fresh baked cookies
Drifting throughout the house
As Christmas carols jingle
Louder than the sound of a mouse.
Where decorations are handed down
Throughout the many years
From generation to generation
With stories that bring us to tears.
Where Christmas trees smell like pine
And Santa is still very real
And the true meaning of Christmas
Is only something you can feel.
A horse drawn sleigh ride
Bells jingling all the way
Snowflakes dancing to the ground
In a hypnotic sort of way.
I want an old fashion Christmas
Like the ones from yesterday
Where kids still hang their stockings
And Merry Christmas is still what people say.
Where children's eyes shine
At the Christmas lights all around
And laughter and joy
Are truly a blessed sound.
Where homemade gifts
Still come
From the hands and the heart
And family gatherings
Are still the biggest part.
the wind chimes hang aimlessly
a rare event on a summer day in Kansas
they are usually whipping around
jingling a cheery tune
as if we are getting ready to be blown to Oz
Aroma of warmth, Aha! A cup of tea
Brewing romance, Yes, it's bittersweet.
Cheers of tranquility soak in solace
Darjeeling dreams, in Assam serene.
Ecstasy infused, our senses relaxed
Family and friends, bond captivated.
Golden or black, it's a drink just divine
Have a cup of Tea...and all gets fine!
Induces a mood, adventures unwind
Jingling china cups, in morning time.
Kettle whistles, bubbling with steam
Loose tea leaves in hot water swim
Melting sugar in lemon and honey.
Night jasmine, or chamomile flavour?
Oasis in summer, green tea is amber,
Picnic reverie, A fireside tea in winter.
Quiet thoughts to sedate the beverage
Rainy afternoons, cookies get drenched
Solace of caffeine blend creamy cakes
Taste delicious, evanescent moments
Under crushed cardamom is sober joy,
Valentine kiss: thou tea-cup you're mine
Wrap of the elixir slows our fast mood,
Xanadu magic! the hot and cold allude
Yin and Yang stirring in balanced hold.
Zest of life is Tea Time...layers unfold.
The merry widow’s marvelous mincemeat melody
Was gradually heard around three by the old oak tree
Honestly said Bert, the bumblebee, is this the Grand Prix?
Miraculously, there was a royal red revelry
A chickadee landed on the right knee of Diana Dee
Making her a friend in furious practicality
Old oak tree receded into the loving forest canopy
Forming a deliberate, desired universal solid symmetry
Would you like a chewy chickpea Lee asked widow and me.
I heard hyena-like laughter from Leroy, the red-butted monkey
Rolling them in warm tortillas is the chef’s secret recipe
Flamboyant frog huffed away, jingling her copper jewelry
The rest of us stared, which we do on Wednesdays, habitually
Being yourself and making no apology is the key said monkey
The faeries made themselves tinier, they were in fact now wee
Lovely monorhyme in progress, guessed my observant cousin Vee
I must agree said my boss, the pompous persnickety Mr. McGee
The rhymes are rather delightful, and frankly, there are plenty.
My lighted island,
Hidden somewhere behind the red rocks,
Somewhere between the jingling of bangles
As I reach out to you.
My lighted island,
Lies behind the rusted walls of the blue city,
Among the trembling of my long earrings.
My lighted island,
Winks at me from the colors of the bustling market,
I find it in the strong scent of fish,
In the muffled noise that swallows us whole.
My island,
Is the color of my skirt’s folds in the wind,
Imaginative as a dance,
And warm as mint tea.
A poinsettia.
Doesn’t do much.
But when you look at one-
It seems to make a merry jingling sound.
The doorbell rings.
And there are more guests.
Who notice the Christmas tree.
The poinsettia sits by the heating vent.
The leaves are blowing gently.
No one notices.
This humble decorative plant.
The poinsettia will never grow very tall.
It is an indoor plant.
It likes to be,
Around the festivities.
In the warmth.
But not the center of attention.
There is not much more it needs.
A poinsettia.
Doesn’t do much.
But knows how to live-
A warm and comfortable life.
Smelling
Woody, sweet, aroma
Christmas pine tree,
Weaved with Bright blinking lights,
Topped with a starlit top.
Feeling
The Brrr ... chill of the night air
Brrr ... freezing cold of the North Pole.
Listening
To the sounds of the wind
For the Ring a ling, jingling,
Ringing of the sleigh bells.
Watching
Moonlight shadows dancing
On the walls as they take
Different fantasy shapes
Waiting
Jolly, rolly, “Ho, Ho, Ho”
White beard Santa
In a white fur trim, red velvet suit.
Seeing
Santa’s sleigh just went zooming by
Fading off to nighttime dreams
Making every minute count.
12/16/2024
“if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”*
Such a sweet talker
He could talk a buzzard off a meat wagon
The truth lied in his mouth
Waiting…patiently…
Preying on the moment
Venom dripping from its fangs
The rattle just a distraction
And still they listened
Responded to its plea
For an “AMEN”
As the basket passed
Pennies from the poor
To feed his “privilege”.
She was less subtle
Standing on a street corner
Jingling an almost empty cup
For emptiness draws no attention
She speaks softly
Causing you to slow…to listen
Speaks of need, of loss
Of a longing to serve god
Could you but help her
As she fumbles for the i-phone
Chiming in her pocket
*Flower the skunks mother in Bambi”
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