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A Gifting

A breeze freshened, then turned cold,
Another old story now to be retold:
Of seasonal wishes and hopes reborn,
Chances taken even if burnished by scorn.
Crossing the tracks, he walked into Tiny Tim’s store
Sunlight followed him in just like the weeks before
The shopkeeper smiled to see the young man arrive
Another payment to place, was it number four or five?
Four payments left and then soon Christmas comes,
That time of roasted chestnuts and puddings with plums.
Back to Cross Grocery and shelves to stack and refill
Earning his money for rent, food, and that toy store bill.
Twas a sudden quirk storm that roared into town:
Rain, billowing snow, then sleet rocketed down.
An SUV late for choir practice risked running the ringing gate,
But the Autotrain was faster, STOP!
…but, too late.
The clerk flew across the tracks to help if he could;
He pulled out the shopkeeper, nice old Josiah Wood,
And a couple of customers getting their purchases done;
Then, stayed with that car driver, trapped and sore alone.
Car and train had finished their dance at the toy store back door;
All happily survived, but that prepaid toy was of course no more.
Christmas Eve, and the clerk had just walked back home
To start his Ursa chili with his Woolworth’s pots of chrome.
A knock on the door, and oh my goodness, there on his stoop stood
That railroad councilwoman, and on crutches, Mister Josiah Wood!
Beckoning them to come in and get out of the cold,
Our clerk blushed in worry about what could be told.
Mister Wood then handed our clerk a box as he brushed away a tear:
The Lionel Train Set the clerk had been paying for over the past half year.
Pop-eyed, our clerk struggled to make good on giving proper appreciation,
The councilwoman said it’s they who wished to reward his aid and application.
The clerk still said thank you, for this most important gift, was meant for another—
A gentleman at the Ashland Nursing Home, a railroad friend of his departed mother.
The wind slowed to a pause for this, a new holiday silent night.
Twinkling merrily did the Christmas lights make for a sweet sight.
And, for our good neighbors who may forget old holiday rhymes,
It’s nice to remember: “For it is good to be children sometimes.”

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Looking Up

Looking Up—
I see the Sun has come out
And chased away every Cloud
The cousins Rain and Thunder
Had been playing most very loud

Now the Rays—
Have warmed and dried up the whole place
Dogs and Birds and kids have all came out
No dour faces; no, not a single trace

I know not what may be this calendar season
Just want to run and play without a professed reason

On the horizon—
A rumbling and tumbling of clouds approach
It just might rain before we take our leave
The Sun’s rays scurry and hide beneath dark folds.
So, again come the rains, we do believe

Flashing and splashing—
Rain and Thunder make the scene
Such splendid commotion dazzles the eyes
And the roaring crashes so smite the ears
A thunderstorm is a glorious thing, I surmise

I know not what may be this calendar season
I just hope in the morning I’ll have a nice reason
To be

Looking Up—

Skip Skipping

Time is skip slipping
As the rain comes misting down
I think I really like you
With you I can sing and clown
Time is a sore pouring
The wine is half gone
Dance we again across the floor
We spin and spin until half-passed dawn

Time stops stupid short
You skitter sweetly out the door
You seem positively unsure
If you’ll come this way anymore

Time comes to do laundry
Separate the lights from the sweats
But we’d danced so hand-in-glove—
Always seem to lose at these kind of bets

Time for my daily bread work
Cloths are all neatly pressed
On a misty kind of rainy morning
One must always look one’s best

Because when the time seems right and the Sun supershines
The world may yet crash down but you still must work the mines
Wanna dance?

Number 62 In Blue

The candle sputtered
Then guttered out
The wick a speck in the wax
The old poet looked
And suffered to stand up
The last present wrapped was Jack’s

A fresh Christmas candle
Striped Santa red and holly green
With its new flame warmed the room
Placing presents about
A tree to shame Charlie Brown
The shards of wrapping left with the broom

The cat’s tail flicked serene
The poet reached for his quill
As words soft filled a new page
A chance Winter memory
Spurred the poet on
Thoughts neither steep nor very sage

She bought him skis for a gift
Though “cross” country would mean something else
Tears of laughter with every tumble and spill
He wondered where she was now
A score of years have long passed
When meeting on Concourse B was such the piquant thrill

Chinese Five Spices
Floated upon the solemn merlot
The poet paused to let the tightness pass
Tomorrow the two-state drive
Back to his beloved Crescent City
Though this year without his own wee lass

Daughter would be skiing
Off out with her Mother and half family
Cross country over in the mountain West
He’d be with swiftly aging brother
And a Christmas with the family Creole
But things always work out for the best

A meow and a sigh
The poet let Jack out the door
A cat in search of secret nocturnal meetings
The candle blew out neat
The cold front had as promised arrived
As the rain pelted out its Season’s Greetings

Waxing and waning here came Christmas Number Sixty-two
But he yet looked ahead brightly through this Yuletide in Blue

Just Dance

Some poems are wine lyric
Two goblets Clos du Bois
Others are simple syrup
Just so much blah, blah, blah

Now some too-humble wrought lines—
An old wrenched heart softly pines

Heart-tears gathering inside
Aching to let go and fall;
Words mocking a conscience
Of feelings so cold t’would appall

Terpsichore blanches, and then wilts,
Suffers in her marble a new deep fault:
Who can answer for these deaths?
Young stars ripped from the celestial vault

Haruka and Meechaiel pas de deux—
What are we all ever going to do?

The pain lingers…
The words won’t come…
Broken thoughts slip chalky fingers;
The glib finally struck dumb

How to unsee a sunset?
How to unhear the rain?
Where do we put these feelings?
Where do we plant the pain?

A far lightening pirouettes across your glance—
Dance for Haruka, dear friends…just dance

Friendship Run

Katja Bunche Starlight flew as fast as fast can be over from Edelweiss.
Seems her cousin Sally Gossamer Wingstep had gotten caught in a jar—
The rains had come and she’d tried to hide in an old spout
Turned out to be a trap jar and now couldn’t get out!

Jonathan R. Spider, Olde Webmaster of Fairiekynd Forest,
Heard her cries and ran for help just as fast as his six legs could…
When Jonathan and Katja returned, the jar was gone!
Frantic they scurried and scurried trying to find her all day long!

Over across a fence and beyond the wide, flat plain
A wizened dog saw the two odd creatures buzzing and fretting and crying and all.
She tought she might perhaps ought wander over to the south fence
To see what just was what and try to curry up some sense.

“HARrrooo!” Spoke the dog.

Katja and Jonathan leapt great leaps at the sight of that huge dark-furred monster.
[As to fairiekynd forest fairy folk and a geriatrical spider, the black Labrador looked pretty humongous!]
“ARrwhat is the tizzy that makes you two so dizzy?” Enquired the dog.
Katja flew over to the fence, not too close to the fence, but over sorta to a nearby log.

“Our cousin is GONE! Jonathan here says she got stuck in a jar but the jar is nowhere about.
We came as fast as fast could be to try to let her out.”

“Arrumph!” Harrumphed the dog.

“I do believe little master 2-legs has her in the big house.
He likes catching fireflies and such and I am s’posing he has your cousin.
He was mighty tickled he caught something, but he couldn’t get over why it didn’t glow.
Yes, ARrrmm sure that’s your cousin. Little 2-legs just didn’t know.”

“My Cousin Sally IS NOT A TOY!” Exclaimed Katja.

“I ‘sposen you’re right…
Can I help?
I can take you over to the house. Maybe you two critters can get her.”
Offered the big dog, pensively grooming at an uncooperative bit of fur.

Jonathan shuddered and stammered and turned to the Alpine Fairy. “Are we going?”

“Of course, YES!” Spoke the fairy.

With as much elfin dignity as could be conjured, Katja slung Jonathan onto the back of the Labrador.
And then the trio headed for the big old house across the flat plain.
Wisteria and Sweet Olive wafted to the senses as they got to the window.
Upon the sill, Katja saw a jar and inside a damp cousin fairy looking pretty low.

“……………………..….!” yelled Sally from inside the jar.
“Don’t waste your strength, mouthed back Katja. We’ll get you out, I think???
Uh, my big girl, what’s your name?”
Well, lessee…it used to be Coco, but now it’s Jenny, it’s all the same.

“Uh, ok, Coco-Jenny, I’m Katja and this is Jonathan.
“HARarrroo!” Welcomed the dog.
“Hiya.” Stammered the spider, his courage a mite subpar.
“Ok, so Coco-Jenny, could you get your paws up so we can grab the jar?”

“Certainly!” Answered the dog.

With a tug, and a pull, and a push and a pull, Sally from inside, Katja and Jonathan from out
The jar finally slid off the sill and fell to the clover-carpeted ground.
“Quick, Coco-Jenny, grab the jar and take us back to the fence!”
“ARrrrright,” agreed the dog, tail awagging, caught up in the drama and suspense.

[At the fence, Coco-Jenny held the jar between her massive paws as Jonathan and Sally and Katja grabbed the lid and PULLED! After a second, Katja had to instruct Jonathan that it might be better if they all pulled in the same direction. Coco-Jenny thought to herself that she’d never seen a spider blush quite like that. Fiiinnnally…the lid slid and popped off the jar as out shot Sally. Streaking up and following behind was Katja.]

A relieved Jonathan then ponderously threaded up to the top of the fence—

“So, Coco-Jenny. What happened? Why do you have two names when one is sufficient for most of us?”
Well, lessee…long ago, after outgrowing being the runt of the litter, this nice golden-haired lady got me and took me in. Then she went somewhere I don’t know and her housemate took me to the pound!”
“Wow! Uh, what’s a ‘pound’?” Johnathan not much caring for the word’s off sound.

“Oh, that’s a very important place they take animals to get reassigned, at least that’s what seems to have worked out. That gold haired kid was so sweet and all, but I’m doing real important work now with these old 2-leggers and their children and all. Big responsibility to wrangle these old folks and kinder in this big place. Get to run lots too in this big yard!” Crowed the dog.

“Well, that sounds pretty good. Thanks so very much for all your help.
I’m sure once Sally gets over being enjarred she’ll come over to say thanks too!”
“That’d be real nice of her. I don’t know what was my young 2-legger’s game,
Trapping nice folks like your…Sally, what wasser name?”

“Oh, Sally Gossamer Wingstep and her cousin Katja Bunche Starlight.”
“Well, nice to meet you all. Oh! Gotta go, the can opener is buzzing so dinner’s on.
Bye, Jonathan!” “Bye, Coco-Jenny!”
I think that old dog and forest spider have started a nice, new friendship run.

Young Love Pauses

Marcus V Featherstone winged about the morning mist
Contemplating marvelousness if Sally G. he might have kissed
But she’s far too grand, he thinks, for one as insignificant as he
Perhaps if he completed the Annual Race to the toppermost of the Queen’s Tree
The he might could just barely maybe conclude he warrants the attention of said miss

Sally G. foraged amongst the garland vines of fairykind’s farthest field
She commanded by the memory of a certain someone’s cool violet eyes to yield
But he’s far too grand, she thinks, for one as insignificant as she
Perhaps if she completed the Annual Race to the toppermost of the Queen’s Tree
Then she could just might perhaps sort of conclude she warrants his attention to wield

The morning of the Annual Race dawned a foggy and clammy-close though yet Grand Affair
But such was the history and joy of the Queen’s Event that most of fairies did nae much care
But that few reached the canopy and much warning was about the hazards of such a quest
Some trained for years, and though many many failed to summit, they all tried their honest best
Oh, but at Start Time, the mist cleared, the skies blued, and the weather could be a day most fair

Marcus V. would go the southern approach and make his noble stab for glory
Sally thought after the eastern boughs to write the best of her winged story
Neither knew of the others flight plan or even that they would be there
Neither thought the other could possibly think this would be a thing wise to dare
Oh, then clouds shrouded the Sun and the gathering mists promised to turn the day most hoary

Lost in the dark and the fluff Sally alighted on the next promising soft tree bough
Crushed in the knowledge of this failure: what, oh what would she do now
Flying way off course, Marcus drifted ever and more further east
Summiting the Queen’s Tree seemed a dream to be cast off as a need least
But a far soft keening did Marcus and Sally perceive, but to reach the fairy, how

Working bough to bough, the two young winglets sought to help the crying one
Shaking off disappointment as this had been their plan for a heart to be won
Sally got there first to find a wee fairy far too high for his own good
Trying to impress a stern lofty Father as if such heroics ever ever could
Marcus arrived shortly after, tamping down his joy for the good that needed to be done

Down the tree Marcus and Sally silently escorted their frightened cold charge
Stealing glances at each other, young love paused, though their longing loomed large
His Mother flew up to embrace her naughty though ever brave young son
Father too weeping flew up to his boy, holding his loved and cherished one
Sally and Marcus feathered off, such a familial scene they knew not into barge

Marcus V Featherstone flutterbuzz-winged about the morning mist
Sally G foraged amongst the garland vines of fairykind’s farthest field
Remembering how the moment came when longing caused something to yield
And at the foot of the Queen’s Tree, as Marcus made his thanks, his cheek Sally had kissed!

But Sally Gossamer Wingstep already was planning to train for next year’s Queen Tree’s Race

As It Will

Small people, little people
The Wind knows nothing of these
Big times, noble times
The Rains still fill the trees
Grand Love, Heartbreak
Discover your knees
One death, another last breath
Time passes as it will please

A month ends, a new week shines
No right answer calls
Newborn cries, an old lady sighs
A poor candle spits and stalls
Sun glows, Moon rises
Cold blusters thru the walls
A bell rings, the horde finds the access road
Time and midday traffic stalls

Little people, my people
Earthkind teeming all around
Mere races, many-coloured faces
Trying to keep above ground
Have Faith with Freedom to saith~
I disagree with what you propound
Singers spiel, Dancers reel
Look to what Music has found

Another death, one last breath
Time passes as it will please

Love In Reverse

Clad in regret
And coif’ed in despair,
Another day has passed—
You, uncalled by the phone by the chair.
Cobwebs adorn all
My old dreams forlorn;
The rains did fall,
And refreshed, the pasture of the lost awaits the morn.
Wick wagging,
A candle mocking—
Here, the only flame that burns
Lights a keyboard click clocking.
Poet bent double,
Love in reverse.
Is the regret or the rhyme
Which tarries for the worse?

A Rainy Spring Weekend

So, have you decided to come on over
And do some boy and girl things:
Consume Moon Pies while making eyes
Listening to records as the hippy gypsie sings?
We could walk down to the gulch;
Maybe even while holding hands,
Traipsing along while wrenching a song
From one of our favorite rock and roll bands.
I like the Stones and Zeppelin.
Yeah, Taylor Swift is totally cool—
I like ‘Blank Space’ and her girly-girly face,
Just wisht she’d finally find a suitable fool.
But, down pours them Spring rains
And our Sophomore finals are coming fast.
My Dad says I have to make A’s,
So seems Sunday’s schedule is cast.
Maybe next weekend you can visit
And we’ll do boy and girl stuff—
Laughing at jokes like regular folks;
Seems these weekends are never long enough.