Cold spell
Wrap well.
Bare trees
No leaves.
Snow storms
Ice forms.
Blizzard
Hazard.
Cold toes
I'm froze.
On snow
Drive slow.
Black ice
Think twice.
Don't roam
Stay home.
Mulled wine
Divine.
Downhill
Ski thrill.
Sky Grey
Dark day.
On sleigh
Kids play.
White snow
Bright glow.
Springs near
Big cheer.
I caught a ghostlike glimpse,
of steel breath on blunt mirror,
as my taut brain mulled scars,
from fractal bleak life motif,
zooming across skewed glass,
reflections glum and forlorn,
black ink eye ring capture,
shadow, shade, or shield,
brittle convex, abject cog,
whoa, my frail image riven
As I sat at the North Pole, I was feeling glum.
Directions there make me reckon I'm dumb.
"Jeepers, how can I go North one mile?"
I mulled this over for quite a while,
then thought, "How do I go one mile East or West?".
I didn't go nowhere, and became more depressed.
Finally, I decided to go South with great fear,
"Will I end up in the East or the West hemisphere?"
There was a cat who used up her lives of nine
Feasting upon caviar and mulled wine
She went out like a light
On Christmas Eve night
And her owner passed away the same time.
The Who’s were all gathered one Thanksgiving day.
Their little brains pondered what games they might play.
They’d already feasted so royally that
they couldn’t stand up from the place where they sat.
They’d hobgoblin-gobbled their fish with no break
when they pigged out on pork and a juicy beast steak.
On Yorkshire pudding so puffy and yummy
they soaked up their gravy and filled up their tummy.
They tore into trifle. Someone blew a raspberry!
Toffee pudding so sticky made each Who so merry.
They guzzled mulled wine - those Who over-eaters.
Oh how they guzzled those big wine-filled liters.
They’d wanted to think up fun games, but each Who,
by the time they stopped feasting, could not a thing do!
Their tooting and pooting turned into their game,
and I’m thankful no Who in that room lit a flame!
our mental simulator is the incubator
of our physical illustration
our mental perceptions of how events
in our perceived physical world
are created by our inner most desires and cravings
to be tested and mulled over
before manifesting themselves
in our physical world for final testing
The air slowly fills
with curly pungent wafts of steam
billowing up from a
hot freshly brewed cup of coffee.
Raising the baton to
conduct the dawn chorus
of bird songs and plans
mulled to begin.
I love to see and feel
the ringlet tufts of steam
getting up my nose, blurring and
opening up my eyes,
like a curtain raise,
to conduct the symphony to begin.
The trills and tweets,
chirps and cheeps,
whistles and trills,
caws and chortles,
are all entwined and garnered
in the first sips, of the first cuppa,
taken at wake of day.
The steam and songs
unspool a cotton thread of
memories and reflections,
hopes and fears,
to be weft, warped,
shuffled and shuttled,
through the loom
to weave the coming day.
Written: March 14, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
*****************
After the rain, the air smells musty and moist,
and smoke swirls clumsily upward from chimneys,
as they float away, the leaves crackle and rattle.
Mulled wine soothes the spirit on cold nights,
our eyes feast on the blazing fire as the sun sets.
a nectar
the garnered spit of worker bees
drops of undistilled wine
hive-mulled
dripped through the dropper
of hair-lipped lips
plants
dig themselves out
of a dry earth
to sup an opiate of life or death
fostering a flowering
manna delivers green
to the pale fat caterpillars
grubs fly away
to enrich
the open mouths
of graves
the thirsty wombs of
ants
hummingbirds
elephants
Seven Thirty, Five Thirty and Nine
Paid a visit to Ten Past Eleven
They were tasting the precious mulled wine
Talking sweetly until it struck seven
Seven Thirty then raised from his chair
Said I’m sorry but I have to go
Answered Ten Past Eleven take care
Hope you’ll be back in time at your home
Then Five Thirty fell down fast asleep
As the clock struck eight thirty, raised Nine
Said I’m sorry, but I have to leave
Thanks a lot for the talk and the wine
Then the bell rang and came Five To One
She said sorry Ten, it is all over
Time to close, your guests are on the run
Now they must be beyond cliffs of Dover
I got Five Thirty here on the carpet
He’s your relative, take him away
Book a cab, please send off this old muppet
He’s been drinking too much the whole day
Said Ten Past Eleven, then fell into dream
Five to One left without goodbye
The mess on the table was gulfed in moon beams
For a moment, then vanished in time.
By 12
By 12 I was
fully grown. My height was
the envy of
the short arses in
my classes. I wasn’t a
porker like
some ... I was
spared fat jokes. My level of
pituitary activity was, well,
excellent. Hormone increases were
too. Ejaculated more than
most. My secondary sex characteristics gave me
some respect. I was the first in
my class to
break their
voice. My thin mo caused awe in
the hairless. Deductive reasoning was
special. My systematic problem finding the answers to
things had triple the
different possibilities thought about, mulled, prior to
the answers being chosen. I was the king of
abstract thoughts, and that
riddled others with
confusion and
anger. It was easier for me to
manipulate abstract concepts than
concrete ones. Hours on
end I’d get lost in
idealistic contemplation of
hypotheticals until I was
clapped out
of it. I spent a lot of
time lost in
identity formation. I soaked in
everything. Long-term memory
ached. I praised daily the
elaboration added to
encoding strategies. I avoided happily interactions with
most. Opposite-peers I avoided
happily. I was
undateable.
Mulled Cider Memories
Santa Claus sees what we
are doing.
We rejoice in grandly...
snow-shoeing.
And, oh we do love our hot,
mulled cider.
Especially next to a warm, cozy,
fire!
Christmas tunes joyfully fill many
a home.
Friends an relatives here, who do
Love us ..and do not roam.
We love each other for who we, as
individuals, truly are.
Freedom lovers, we, one and all,who
sing beneath silver, Christmas stars.
Speaking our truths, behind wreathed
ribboned, decorated doors
Bright eyes that sparkle, arms that hold.
True love carved, in poetic, holiday gold.
12/10/2024
Stopping by early, soon it will be Christmas Day,
Shiny gifts, inviting bows, ‘neath the tree do lay,
Hot, mulled apple cider in red glass, deer mugs.
Magnificent family with endless,warm, love hugs!
Roast beef, just glowing with luscious juice.
Sad absence of cousins, Maggie and Bruce!
The peace and love that fills the pine scented room.
Wish all days, were like this, the absence of gloom!
Merry Christmas poets and love to one and all!
This is your early eight week, wake up call!
10/25/2024
Love and hugs to all, in those busy, fun weeks ahead.
~ PANGIE~
Light Some Stripey Candles
Light some stripey candles,
Brew a chocolate hot.
Dress in a festive sweater,
Sit in a cosy spot.
Watch the fire glowing,
Count gifts around the pine.
Admire the sparking baubles,
Take sips of dark mulled wine.
Put on your favourite carols,
Relax as music flows.
Enjoy the calm warmth spreading,
Forget your daily woes.
Enjoy a sense of drifting,
Eyes closed and thoughts sublime.
Let Christmas weave its magic,
And be your happy time.
They say actions speak louder then words
then why do your words leave my broken and hurt
you say Im not who you want me to be
I could try to change
but then I wouldn't be me
And I take pride for my self
Wasn't just the words
but the emotion I felt
I mulled all night about the things that you've said
couldn't get to sleep they're drilled in my head
tossing and turning to my braincells were dead
and I was preying
for everything to end.
then I was thinking.
I don't believe in change
I think life's a journey
and we all pave our way
some never make it
and that is a damn shame.
so then
We put up walls to hide our insides
to protect our vulnerability that
we try to hide
as you near the end and you look to demise
will you be happy about your disguise?
Because if I can be me
why cant you be you?
scream it from the rooftops
shout it to the moon
there is no gift greater
then you
being you.
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