Christmas.
Believe the story, the prophet, the myth?
Is it all about festivity, excessive drinking and gifts? About family, relatives coming together that otherwise wouldn’t mix?
Do you see it as a meaning?
Peace on earth, will it ever seriously exist?
Opposing soldiers playing football before sending the bullets flying over the ditch?
Christmas.
A tree in the corner, mince pies, brandy butter, foods so excessively rich?
Is this your Christmas? From your earliest memory to this present itch? Itching to make all things lovely, snow falling, reindeers flying, mistletoe to get that kiss?
Or do you think about the others?
People who’ve never sat with family pulling crackers singing songs? People who live with no money scratching scrapings from used bowls? Should we see it as an opportunity to help the people with no families, the families with no homes?
Christmas.
All the best to you and yours.
Enjoy the festivities but please remember what JC would want you to remember - the forgotten discarded lives of the lost souls.
Categories:
scrapings, christmas, family, for her,
Form: Free verse
I watched it emerge
from out of the fog, monumental
in size, a sheer cliff face of steel
moving pass me, almost
quieter than my breath
but for a whispered wake
running from its bow.
Something this big
should have made
more noise.
A black hull bore scars
of scrapings and rust bleeding out
of fissures along its length.
The fog seemed to oil its way,
its shape looming large
then slowly growing smaller
as it slid down river until
it dimmed and disappeared.
In that moment its passage
was a mystery, a brief apparition
of something beyond the dimension
of ordinary things. The quiet
of its passing, the dark bulk
and beauty of its presence
was magnificent
and overpowering.
It was like a shadow cast
by a mythical beast
coalescing out of history,
infiltrating the mind then
dissolving once more
into a place somewhere
hidden in its magical past,
suddenly brought back
to this world
with its registered port
written in rusty lettering
on its stern - MONROVIA
Categories:
scrapings, boat, magic, river,
Form: Free verse
Antiques
He is there,
Grandfather Clock like,
a throwback to another era.
His finely chiseled and polished edges,
the scrapings of life,
the worn, faded, varnish.
His value
should have increased with age,
as with the clock.
Their timeless presence
sweet mementos
of a dusted past.
Categories:
scrapings, age,
Form: Verse
Little Pigeon River
Little Pigeon River’s
water lullaby,
the flow’s soft percussion
against mossy green
rounded river rocks,
multi-layered,
contrapuntal,
a faint hiss,
tiny scrapings
as small stones
are settled into place
by the cold current,
my eyes heavy,
sleep waiting nearby.
Categories:
scrapings, nature, , Lullaby,
Form: Free verse
Inside scrapings of darkness
how restless and doomed,
the bellow crashing in like
an agonized moon;
the tunnel hears blood whooshing
in pits full of rain,
hurling damn imaginings
of her fetus’ pain,
wails rip through the stained window
and grinds near right lung,
heart reeks for a babe frozen
knowing breath is gone;
if I could pluck her memories
from uterine wall,
to touch sun’s glint christening
new eyes on dawn’s call.
-----------
*Sadly,research estimates that approximately 1 in 4
pregnancies end in miscarriage; and most women
experience a grief period during such occurrences.
For Susan's If These Walls Could Talk Contest
Categories:
scrapings, angst,
Form: Personification
The economic woes that no body knows
Pork scratching eaten from scrapings between toes
Man must eat
What ever the meat
No money anything goes
*Economic woes
Categories:
scrapings, funny
Form: Limerick
May i trade my cards dealt?
What do you mean no?
Putting aways forgotten feelings felt.
Forgetting the pleasures i never got a chance to know.
Can i sell back stocked ammunition's?
What do you mean only half cash back,
Just scrape off their inscriptions.
This incredibly high level of BS has my trash stacked.
Food scrapings go under the table,
There's no desert in this full coursed meal,
Seeing my life will make your life seem stable.
Its important that a person learns to hide what they feel.
Get grabbed from the back of your skull,
With your nose broken and your teeth scattered,
Head smashed until the cracks in the table look dull.
Open your eyes, even if it means getting battered.
Open your eyes like the sight you thought you saw never mattered.
Open your eyes.
Categories:
scrapings, adventure, devotion, hope, inspirationallife,
Form: Rhyme