December

December Wine
 
 
Decant December wine
The best saved for end
of the year
held in fond anticipation
Traveling slick hills on sleigh rides
of old
Reliving the thrills over
fine age and spirit
A day we hold dear
it is worth far more than gold
I see a star pale and strong
hear glorious wind
made of song —
holy choirs singing
There is sacrament in desire
Wonders of will, of intensity
wild like the sweet breath
of winter
Drink in the joy of being alive
Betty dances
an instant choreography of our conversation.
Her familiar rhythmic motion seems to keep
flow of thought musically cohesive.
We play at soliloquies,
interweave of dialog,
tangential themes, dissonance in
effective counterpoint, comic relief.
Betty enhances assiduously.
Rarely do we hear her voice, or need it
for eloquence.  These gabfests include all
who are present.  From each according to
individual style.  Tonight, to welcome December,
we assemble to figure out this season of
stress and expectation.
Betty falls into slump as if exhausted. 
A mischievous grin peeks from between
tumbled hair.
Her fingers float, mime symbols rising
on bare air.  She crawls into upward pose,
awaits our inspiration.
Marcus sarcastically Ho-Ho-Hos.
She bows, lifts his right arm to her
left shoulder, then deftly pirouettes
across the room.
skidilee scadilee
A man who remembers
A maid whose Decembers
Have wintered away
Dew of the Morn gone to
Desert in sentences
Wick of moisture cools skin
He begs her to stay
Remember, remember, love is the ember.
Catch fire to your mind, to your brutal December,
to your losses cast upon a lotus sea.
Hold for your life, upon this memory;
into this lonely Moon of sad reflection send those longing nights
when no one remembered you.
Can you recall, reanimate, reconnect?
Can you forestall, hold so close there can never be bisection?
Can a silent echo fill so completely, instill ever enriching,
radiate that instant, that bond?
Is the memory of a song,
the distant weep of times so long bereft of sweet release,
a mantra moving mind
beyond self-imprisonment
for a crime of passion?
Winter Warmth
On the longest night
How do you celebrate, commemorate
our nature? Living world dependent on
a circled star for light and warmth, for energy
to fuel our fate.
We bring our forests inward.
Ceremonies carry epic myth to shape
consciousness.
Night walks for reflection.
Touches contours of Earth.
Cuddles dervish bevies of stars.
Night desires primal connection.
Eternity compressed, expressive spirits
too subtle to survive Sunlight.
Longer nights, stronger ties to sky lore.
Siren songs run along aspirant spine, instruct
your mind to widen, become open
to awe.
December days go fast.
Light returns slow through
white horizons.  Darkening tones
feel appropriate companions.
Sparkling peace, alone in vastness,
at one with gladness.
Cold, gallant partner, urges closeness.
Calm before pent up congregation.
Ready to pop Hallelujahs, surge
ecstatically.  World wide exultation.
Electronic connection.
Virtual warmth.
Past fantasies’ achievement.
We weave into future beliefs,
reach forward.
Accept and demand:
We are all in this together.
Capricorn at December’s End
Quiescent  summit of hero’s mountain
soothed by view of waves, of distant heights.
Currents lift to flow, falling
to rise.
Symbols,
wisdom releasing
over transits of Time.
What year has this been?
Wishes obtained, sustained, begun.  Deep inspirations.
Races run, sunsets framed, scintillating proclamations.
Bold, flirtatious masks; goal enhancing tasks;
reflection of cascading plans in sheltered flames.
Relaxing fun, happy laughter, expansive games.
Holding the best to memory; the rest let fade away.
Increments of transitions, long, steep,
often discovered in critical obsessions,stored in
popular modern messages.  Hard to keep
up, in touch, aware of cards in play.
Unable to resist insistent caring.  Still weak, wary.
Yet, need to lean on panic’s crutch a bit less each day.
Taking steps, stands, giving attention.
Over months and moments projects start, fit, flow.
Unknown unknowns less like monstrous black holes.
Mystery, magic, sage co-creators in ecstatic circle.
Familiar woes, stories of want, of work without
reparation, strangely dispel.
When we all begin again
to resolve to evolve, to make a
better trade, more alive, less afraid
ready to dig in and build for blessing.
No prohibition, requirement of mission
denies desire’s essentiality to feed our greatest visions.
What bright star might foretell
future resolution, fears openly quelled,
goals of hope in sight?
Beacons, blessings of a night, cold
yet comforting.  Season of projected light,
of ice and fire.