A poem a day for December 2014

[Pompey Bum]

Lover's Kiss
by Marcus Valerius Martialis (translation: P. Bum)

Spent balsam, burnt yesterday, sweet,
Last scent falls from a curved saffron mist;
With apples ripened in winter store,
Or a field made lush with soft spring petals;
Silks of a Palatine mistress's couch,
Or amber warmed in a virgin's hand;
A cask of black wine, opened, but hence,
Or a garden's keep of Sicanian bees;
Alabaster boxes like hearths of gods,
Or a garland fallen from glistening locks:

Why speak of such things? They are not enough.
Blend them all, for such is the taste
Of my lover's embraces when dawn is near.
Do you want a name, Sabine? I'll tell
If but for the sake of embraces--but swear!
Ah no, Sabine, you seek to know too well.

[Paulclem]

Alone with Christmas.
Windows reflect festive lights
into the dark night. - Paulclem

Memories gather.
Spiced rum scent wafts,
Mingled with pine. - DATo

Mingled pine fragrance.
Minds become those past moments;
sipping joy and pain. - Paulclem

I am gratefulness -
and I have learned to be peace.
I need for nothing. - NikolaiI

Yet memories gather.
Smiles and shrouds
Mingle in a ballet of yesterdays. - DATo

Yesterday's ballet;
the ghosts of a thousand days
not here, there, nowhere. - Paulclem

Aether now their ghostly clime.
Christmas memories - thou Grecian urn,
In thee I now abide. - DATo

Christmas memories:
full of tinsel, warm smiles, tinged
with passing sadness. - Paulclem

Darkness, you old mask
Promises come and leave me
Alone with Christmas - Pompey Bum

Vows unfulfilled, dance outside
My window with snowflakes in the wind,
Summoned by Festive Light's allure. - DATo

Snowflakes in the wind,
like forgotten memories
whirling from our minds.

[YesNo]

I know my messy desk needs cleaning
But I would rather write a verse
Explaining why it needs that cleaning
And why it’s likely to get worse.

[Pompey Bum]

Higgledy Piggeldy
Dickens and Eliot,
Yesterday's writers, Vic-
Torian guck.
Oh what I'd give to see,
Anti-abashedly,
One of them mention a
Jolly good, um, time.

[Paulclem]

And so you sit and talk until
your day will drift away and then
the night creeps slow beneath your door;
night swallows, your face hits the floor,
and who was then is now no more.

[YesNo]

Being the good guy is easy to be
Though often it means that I simply won’t see
The way that that bad guy keeps showing his face
Insisting that I should now stand in his place.
But I can ignore any bad guy illusion:
Pretend that I’m better and trust that conclusion.

[Pompey Bum]

Old pipe smoke father
Your ghost is still on our books
Every page a grave

[Paulclem]

Wishes

Out Christmas shopping.
Try to buy seasonal joy
that cannot be bought.

This seasonal joy;
the flashing mulled wine laughter,
lulling stocking dreams.

Christmas stocking dreams,
the warmth of sparkling snow scenes
here with little snow.

Here there's little snow;
wishes reach for perfect scenes
and ghostly night bells.

[YesNo]

There is no traffic on the street.
The whims of winter still
My urges to explore and greet
Or magnify my will.

[Paulclem]

Eve's Christmas

Christmas Eve in town.
Red faced men gather by pubs,
Red faced women shop.


Hordes

Hordes descend on town,
you hear their calls from afar;
the youths and children.

Old Guy

The sick yellow beard
incongruous with fast food
and his fifties suit.

[YesNo]

A Child is born and angels sing.
The shepherds watch the magi kings
Present their gifts then back away.
There’s joy for all on Christmas Day.

[Pompey Bum]

RAIN AT CHRISTMAS

The god in red
Was lost this year
In cold, sharp torrents
And fast moving clouds.

We left him for dead,
His antlers, his deer,
His mallet, his clothing rent,
His hoary head bowed

Beside his sled
(Now a tomb); where near
That doom lamented
Lonely, angry crowds.

A star fled
From that darkness and that fear,
And through the night it lent
Celestial light while shepherds cowed.

On and on it led
To such a place that tears
Of joy surprised were sent
To wash the eyes of those that followed.

[Paulclem]

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve darkness
full of the blue stars watching.
Birdsong but no bells.

Christmas Eve at 12

A twelve o'clock song.
The frosty night rings with birds
calling to starlight.

Winter

The hand of winter
grips tighter in the darkness.
Lit Windows peer out.

[YesNo]

After shock there comes repose.
The tensions tilt to peace and those
Who worried once can rest and pause
Their search for an unloving cause.

[Paulclem]

Losing a Wristwatch

Time now rolls onward;
not round and round, though my head
spins- unadjusted.