Rows of multi-colored lanterns
and lights brighten the streets,
while frosted and glittered *****,
silver bells, stars and trimmings
on Christmas trees, paint our
gloomy perspectives with hopeful
greens, reds, blues, and golds...

life is never fair in the midst of all
these crises, we may have been
disheartened...yet, here we are,
trying to survive, finding wisdom
in sufferings...we manage to start
over, and prepare for the coming
celebration...even silent corners
in our houses and gardens, now
speak of festive thoughts...despite
difficulties, we find time to rejoice.

we prop ourselves physically, and
spiritually...eyes, heart and soul
are filled with joyful anticipation,
traditions bring cheer here and there.

a wooden diorama of the Nativity
reminds me that, all these lanterns
and lights...all these preparations,
lead us to but one path:..to the manger,
where lies....the Baby Christ Jesus,
the reason for this holiday season...

::::::::::::::::::::::

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!!!


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 23, 2020



#joyfulanticipation #nativity #reasonfortheseason #lanternsandlights

-


Looking out into the Dawn,
frost is a welcomed viewing,
snows hesitate here once again,
this Day is gentle to us.

through the clear blue, He looks
down and gazes upon the Earth
as i sit here in quiet reflection.

the only sounds are the shudders
of the refrigerator motor as it
kicks on and off,

the warm air blowing
thankfully through
the floor vent,

the pops and crackling
of joints, both of me &
the chair,

and the heartbeats that
He listens to intently-

the thought of this
reminding me—

i am never alone...


s jones
25 Dec 2007


.

breathe—
like mint shrub under a drizzle,
Ink clawing it’s way up a quill
Like lemon grass growing
Like steam rising from a cup of tea
Like parchment.

Like confetti circling a cyclone
Like a whip kissing skin
a branch cracking
Like chalk against cement,
Like nails on sandpaper
Like glitter.
breathe—

But sometimes I lie straight on my back
Under a heavy quilt—
let my limbs slump away, let my fingers sink
weakly into sheets
And I think,
this is how we die—
Insipid eyes blanketed by skin
A book incomplete—closed midway, without a mark.
They may tie our chin and skull with a strip of cloth
to prevent our loose jaw from falling open,
this— is how we die

Like the carcass of Morning Glory
hanging— swaying in the wind
Like coal left behind by a burning log,
Like a dusty painting.
Like a moor.

No wings sprout out of our jagged backs
they put us in a box and clothe us in dirt
No earthworms spare our clotted blood
Clouds don’t come bowing down
nor does sky break to shards— for our escape.
solid bricks, we never did mind sleep
nor the warmth or tight embrace of our beds
the world's too big anyway— for our shrinking selves

Silence—
Like a beetle crawling down a leaf
the ocean behind a portrait
Like moon, yawning
Like a folded paper, filled with scribbles
Like dusk.

Like a still child.
a tongueless nightingale up a bough
Like words in a bottled letter.
Like rubble under smoke
Like a palette, unwashed.
Like a bone.
Silence—

And someone knocks under you—
You dig out the coffin and break open its lid
But it’s filled, to the brim, with mud.

And time spirals on—
Pushing us behind, and we fight against it.
A puppet tied to the sky,
wishing to see the end of an abyss
Like a stone under the ocean, dreaming of stars
breathe—
Like a newborn leaf.
breathe—

But the time spirals on—
and we, with the dirt, reunite.

I awakened to your energy
an explosion, a profusion
rapturous light splicing air,
raining as fingertips
igniting my core with possibility
all desires alight in solitary flame
burn through self-doubt
incinerate negativity
until golden embers, I become
floating upon your dreams
harvesting thoughts
currents that harmonize
a fallen past with this eternity
feel my breath upon your lashes
change this perception of living
entangle belief, liberate desires
you, we, are whatever
our minds prophecy -
imagine what you adore
cultivate its garden
within your soul

-

weeks after he ascended
from his fallen carcass—

troops vacated what once
was good ground,

rains washed in mud
to refill the holes,

the scent of honeysuckle
once again became
intrusive,

birds of prey returned
to their perches-

watching as

squirrels and rabbits
went about
their collections,

and the veil of silent
winds once again
descended.

after decades passed
through the footfalls
of morning strolls
between healing
vegetation and
eroding
rock—

a park had completed
formation about the
flanks of his bones ...


s jones
2020


.

once there was a squirrel a funny chap was he
he lived in a hole in the middle of a tree.

a happy little chap as happy as can be
jumping branch to branch wild and very free.

he would gather nuts and take them in his hole
running up and down a busy little soul.

then we he got tired he would take a rest
then off to sleep he went in his little nest.

the word

flake makes
them seem

so light and fluffy

but when
they fall
this fast

they have no space
to breathe

or express their
individuality

merging into
one another other

becoming a mass

I feel lost in the
heavy whites

of winter
a weight I

cannot bear alone