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20th December 2013
The Butcher's Stall in Winter
Numb hands
place cold flesh
on the meat stall.
An array of limbs and
shivers.
The Norm
Two blokes
pace - distant.
Back, forth, jig, back.
No calm purpose. We watch
in case.
Night's Fingers
Morning.
Two coffees.
Both will stave off
the night's fingers that stroke
faces.
Commuter Ancestors
Behind
on the bus,
my commuter
ancestors read, smoke, gaze
from then.
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I thought I'd be able to do this sooner, but it was a busy week. These have a special meaning for me. Twenty-three years ago today I had a baby of my own. My how time flies.
I dream
Of sweet warmth
But It’s discord
I often find under
The tree
The dream
Floats to the
Icy surface
Of my conscience-hushed and
Holy
Oh god
It’s cold here
In the dark night;
Still I seek the mystery,
Wee babe
qimissung
December 2013
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21st December 2013
Nice one Qimi.
Memories
The years,
The fifty
filled to the brim
with all I've done and seen,
congeal.
They lie,
hard stories
with age increase.
Polished gems to pocket,
recount.
And then,
with some lost,
shined by handling,
the same emerge again,
again.
-
22nd December 2013
After the Funeral
The spoons.
A cup. Knives.
The odd small things
absorbed into our lives.
Of them.
-
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You have such a nice way with the small moments, Paul.
We are
such children
wrapped brightly in
this hectic hermetic
season
Can we
be kind to
the tired, the poor?
Leave that to Angels perched
on high
This, my
gift to you-
my eyes, your soul-
a piercing quiet that
resounds
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23rd December 2013
December
Winds. Rain.
December
blows round the clock.
We rush to house havens.
warm ports.
Safe ports.
The rooms glow
with Christmas trees,
mulled wine and big dinners.
Welcome.
Christmas
over, rings
the memories.
December waves in the
New Year.
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Quote:
Originally Posted by
Gilliatt Gurgle
Enjoying. Almost there.
Yes. I'm enjoying doing them, though I find holiday time harder to manage than work time when I can plan in an hour. I'm escaping this morning for an hour or so, so I'm hoping to get a few done.
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24th December 2013
The Children's Ride
They go
round and round
in complex loops,
painted cars, lights and bells.
Like life.
Glazed
We mould
all our days
like blind children.
Adept adults always
use glaze.
Chance Meeting with a Stranger
Café.
A spare seat.
A conversation.
A mutual interest.
Huge odds.
I use whatever I'm thinking about or whatever has happened as the basis of the poems. That last one happened this afternoon. A bloke called Eric asked whether I was writing poetry, a story or planning something for the precinct, (as I was gazing and writing out of the window).
It turns out he also writes poetry and we had a great chat about it. Interestingly, he spoke about combining poems with art, photography or performance in order to increase their appeal today. Certainly food for thought in today's image rich world.
A Merry Christmas to you.
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Wearing
Rose-colored
Glasses gets lonely
I wish it were a sweet
Sweet world
But hark
My sister
Is visiting,
Candles are burning, tree
Lights blink
My sons
Orbiting
The homestead, stars
In their own universe, far
Yet near
Love fades
In and out
But for tonight
Faith hope charity all
Exist
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25th December 2013
My Books
My books
fall into
my memories.
Somewhere inside they live
and speak.
-
26th December 2013
Memories
Photos
of times passed.
How we all change.
Birthdays and Christmas marked
in smiles.
Strangers
We start -
selfish mind
grasps for its ease,
until it's clear we gain
in groups.
Our groups
support us,
family, friends,
may train the mind to help
others.
Help them?
No clear gain,
Perhaps a threat,
But that aid to strangers
helps all.
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27th December 2013
After Boxing Day
Traffic,
sparse, lazy,
winds towards town.
There's sales and calm without
frenzy.
After Christmas
Our lives'
great wanting
boiling over.
Are we taps to then be
turned off?
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17h December 2013
Gah - huge fail. I missed out the 17th, and so I've looked back in my notebook and found one from the 17th which is unused. I have also metaphorically flagellated myself - rest assured.
Down Time's Line
I leave
hearth and home.
Never return.
We will meet down time's lines.
Both changed.
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28th December 2013
Winter Dig
Digging.
Preparing
ground for the Spring.
Spade in, pull back, bend, turn,
knee ache.
John
He died
yesterday.
His widow's world
has collapsed, while trees still
lose leaves.
Disappeared
Wet dog
racing past.
I follow but
he's gone. My mind grasps for
meaning.