Poem: January First

On the eighth day of Christmas My true love gave to me: eight maids a-milking… January 1st  is here bringing a new year and on this the “Eighth Day of Christmas.” Eighth is just s…

Source: Eighth Day of Christmas: Eight Maids a-Milking

Time has fled ahead,
slipping away again.
Bells chime and remind,
that early this morning,
today was forgotten;
reborn as another name.
Yesterday’s a memory drowned,
tomorrow’s not even a dream;
And here I lie, once more alone;
wondering where you’ve gone.

Poem: December Thirty-First

On the seventh day of Christmas My true love gave to me: Seven Swans-a-Swimming… December 31st  is here and so this is the “Seventh Day of Christmas” – and the last day of 2…
Source: Seventh Day of Christmas: Seven Swans-a-Swimming

If I gifted you with seven swans
would you indulge me for the week?
Swimming in sensual serenity,
with you laying as my Leda each night,
nesting in passionate weakness.
Wings outspread taking flight,
in downy pillows and feathered sheets;
Trumpeting our significance to
the night, and the sky, and Olympus
until we too faded into mythology,
leaving constellations in our wake.

Poem: December Thirtieth

On the sixth day of Christmas My true love gave to me: Six Geese-a-Laying December 30th is here and so this is the “Sixth Day of Christmas.”  The day of six geese-a-laying – and w…

Source: Sixth Day of Christmas: Six Geese-a-Laying

a full flock of geese
no matter how pretty
seems impractical
as a seasonal gift
given and bestowed
in the heart of winter
when the pond is ice
more suited for skating
than for laying geese.

Poem: December Twenty-Ninth

On the fifth day of Christmas My true love gave to me: Five Golden Rings… December 29th is here and so this is the “Fifth Day of Christmas.” This is a quiet day – as the day…

Source: https://merlinspielen.com/2014/12/29/fifth-day-of-christmas-five-golden-rings-3/

Round wheels and gears never cease morphing
raw paradise to more earthly hell.
Five golden rings is pure overkill
where one golden ring would be pleasing.

Somehow it’s never enough to feel
that all of our needs are satisfied.
We consume to excess; gratified
to be another want in the wheel.

Feed me; please me; make me more than real!
There’s a plastic black hole inside me;
accretion disk of purchased debris,
buried beneath sweet lies of appeal.

I have never wanted anything
more fiercely than your gentle essence
when I laid naked in your presence…
That alone is worth every golden ring.

Poem: December Twenty-Eighth

calling birds
never say anything
ever to me at all
they just
keep on chattering
in amongst themselves
never letting
me slip in a word
and catch their prettiness
they just
keep on chattering
in amongst themselves
complaining
how nobody ever listens.