Let me offer you a blue and scarlet balance
To wish you on these jocund days of Christmas
What mortals tire not of wishing to themselves:
A fragrant, eternal equilibrium.
© LazharBouazzi (December 19, 2017)

You can go as far as you can
Just step up to the plate
Utilize your time wisely
In order to seal your fate
The world is an open book
Your mind is an essential tool
Fill it with knowledge
Bring yourself up to speed and be cool

It’s been a long journey, yes,
but I am still moving.
I don’t understand how to accept kindness,
and I’m sure I’m insensitive —
I’m getting there.
I’m moving past years of resentment,
piles of bitter, stinking trash and ****,
to being able to give
as well.

I’ve always been bashful about those
being kind to me,
and doubly so when I am kind
to others.
I am kind without an audience.
Certainly it stems from feeling unworthy
if kindness received,
and feeling my kindness is an unworthy
reciprocation.
Sometimes it’s self-fulfilling.

Up until recently in my life,
I’ve never been able to give anything physical.
I’m still trying to understand if I’m
emotionally bankrupt,
so that’s uncertain.

My birthday is soon, and Christmas is coming.
December always forces these feelings into light,
but I’m still making progress on them
year by year.

Just do your thing
And make it happen
Empower yourself
Take some action
Lift your spirit up
And reach for the sky
It all starts with you
Take charge and aim high

Don't write about pets,
Well, I don't bother to.
Or scribble metaphors
About meteors, the moon, and stars
Caught in jars without holes.
I don't wax on about my lawn,
Or wax off on matters of law.
I don't know the difference
Between love and hate;
Feeling both so intensely breaches distinction.
I used to love, but now abhor
It's cause for loss of self.
So, I write on self-understanding.
I'm not a cat, a crescent or shooting star,
I breathe outside the jar,
Outside the envelope
Where I can't get licked.

If someone should ask
Where to take his ashes
Do so to the lands of his birth
Spread into sandstone waters
Where his mother and father lie
Do so on a cold windy day
Let those in view feel the bite
And celebrate they are alive
To see this glorious day
His ashes blown by the winds
His spirit rising in the sky

©  2017 Jim Davis