Posts Tagged Holidays
The One Stop Poetry Picture Prompt Challenge inspired me. Here is my contribution:
THE STILLNESS OF MUSICAL VICTORIES
That music which is from the soul,
It is that which wins, it triumphs.
Musicians are ready to bring it to life,
And there are always shiny musicians.
They stand in attentive stillness and blow
Against the temporary forms of life.
And when the trumpets sound and swarm,
Nothing is left of the worthlessness.
The worldly, false structures melt away.
There is forever in music and moving time,
The source being love and our creator,
And my soul is comforted and wrapped.
I float in love.
It is difficult to be one of those horrible human beings who struggles with the Christmas season, especially when my sentiment allows me to accidentally say I hate Christmas. I was speaking with Dad the other day, and he told me that I am not alone. Oh, really? I’ve never met another one, or maybe I’ve never met one who is willing to admit it. Dad assured me that they are out there that they just might not be as honest as I am or they might not even realize how terrified they are. I loudly admit my sickening fear and resulting hatred with some and thus I am ostracized. It’s understandable that folks would view me as not very tolerable as they are going around experiencing all of the joy. There is no reason to allow someone to diminish your season merely by being in your company.
This morning I was realizing something that I learn again each year, year after year: When Christmas finally gets here, I love Christmas. This may not sound like a big deal to you, but it is to me. I am allowed Read the rest of this entry »
Bach tries valiantly but cannot melt away
The despair of the season.
I need the beautiful structures to
Eradicate the guilt from failure.
I need the perfect harmony
To give me peace and love and joy.
But Bach fails horribly and I cry.
“I’m no good,” comes up from hidden basements.
Mother judged and hated my
Two bread sticks, one still going down
The commercials started
Guilt trips nearly killed me off.
The sea of thick red drowning me.
THIS Christmas, get her something she’ll love.
They all say THIS Christmas
as if they know you’ve failed
On every other Christmas.
Tom Shane says you can spend
$15 thousand on a tennis bracelet,
he claims it is only then
she’ll really be glad she married you.
Bread sticks almost come up.
They remain stuck.
There is a grinding blender
spreading my guts.
Come to Home Depot.
20% off HIS FAVORITE TOOLS.
How could you go wrong?
(We have more tools than we could use.)
These jingles and promises of
THIS Christmas continued for eternity.
I could not lift to change the channel.
Christmas has finally pummeled me.
Swirling in my mind, rummaging in my ears,
Stilted figures want to have a safe place.
Everywhere, everyone talks of safe places.
Proclamations from me, yes, I will,
I will make this place a safe place.
Seeing through the mass of human hatred,
I know better.
There is not one safe place.
There is no power moving to make my places safe.
All of my places threaten imminent death, and
No one sees that but me and strange, strange friends.
Places crash on me. Every place forces in on me.
Run, run, run down an empty street, but
There will be no safe place where I run to.
There are no physical attacks.
It is psychotic
Coming at me hard and fast and there is
A lover and pine trees in the mountains.
That is a safe place.
Not safe from storms but safe from psychosis.
There are no pine trees today.
I search for a lover who will bring pine trees.
I search for a lover who can cover me.
Is there a lover who will make me forget
That I am never in a safe place?
As I shifted in the darkness of the morning
Under the pebbles
Making a consistently uneven rhythm,
I finally became convinced
That we are headed for the depth of winter,
And Christmas lights will not deter us.
It is ‘cool’ to like winter,
But I am not enamored of the terrible death.
There is slight hope for serenity
Long after the bottom.
I know spring may only
Come after this barren landscape,
A landscape with no love left,
But I might not live to see spring.
At the office, why do we fool ourselves
With “holiday” decorating?
Empty “holiday” boxes
Litter our paths. Plastic greenery
Muddies every hallway, every wall,
Every cubicle row, every eve,
And there is one large wreath
With the sick and wilted red and green ribbons
Leaning against the recycle bin.
Every thing is plastic. Our souls
Join this dishonest array of junk.