There is
the sound she made,
the slightest breath,
imperceptible by most,
when opening an envelope,
caught slightly and paused with
the letter opener.
over the sound of cut paper
and the crispling of an unfolded letter
as it discloses itself.
watch her lips move
with the words, and hear the
moment she exhales
at her recitation’s end,
then returns the paper
to its folded heart.
As the raven scoured the ground
his pecking-at, his clicking sound,
scared the groundling bugs away
to trees nearby, as if to say,
“goodbye and farewell to the earth
we’ll burrow here, for what it’s worth.”
There they tunneled, deep and wide
down through the roots and up the side,
-eating up the tree in bits-
Upon this stand, a treehouse sits,
that once come tumbling, crashing down
when its support became unsound.
The sound of this infernal din
startled Cecelia Margie Quinn
who dropped her violin- and squealed
then rushed the window and appealed,
“Someone call the doctor please!
Our tree has fallen in the breeze!”
The doctor came to take a look.
One glance of the felled tree was all it took,
“No wind was cause for this, my dear.
Your tree was termite-ridden, I fear.
I’ll call the tree removers – quick-
before the other trees get sick.”
The tree removers came and cut
it up, the tree – I think chestnut-
was hauled to Fred McClintock’s dump,
where it decomposed and clumped.
The bugs – or termites- as it were-
found other places to inter.
Cecelia Margie Quinn resumed
her violin rehearsal – it’s assumed –
a performance or two will be contrived
of concerto numbers nine and five.
The doctor had to leave straightway.
The raven – it just flew away.
I’ll set out to find a chair, one that plushly – sitting there-
holds the moments that we share in a room otherwise bare.
One where lounging legs are strewn over armrests- fabric-sewn-
a soft and tufted, royal throne, this chair I dream of…want to own.
A fitting place to read a book over chores we once forsook:
Laundry, cleaning, or to look for recipes you meant to cook.
Would you like to find this seat, where love could coo, thus replete
with passion’s coverlet so sweet – an unobtrusive place to meet?
A cozy, spacious sincere stand, neither is austere nor grand
a sanctum with no harsh demands for time and memories – some unplanned.
Such as that I wish to see- not a fancy couch/settee-
Simply placed, for you and me, a place to live and laugh and be.
She normally works at night, she said, and closes up the store,
so she wondered why the song was loud out on the floor.
She counted charms with her right hand,
starting with the pearl bezel setting,
then ended with the angel’s wing and then
lithely wrapped the package in gold paper (the end a cleft)
a mirror bearing her reflection from the left.
Her lively figure evidenced, she smiled a coquettish smile,
demonstrable, even with her speaking
it was a pleasure to meet me (for that little while).
Things I’ve done in the last 48 hours.
– Baked 6 loaves of special holiday whole wheat bread, with cinnamon and brown sugar*.
– Delivered 4 loaves of the aforementioned bread as gifts to friends
– Ate 3/4 of 1 loaf of the aforementioned, remaining bread
– Searched TV menu for decent Christmas programs, finding none.
– Watched 1/3 of each of the LOTR movies
– Finished Christmas shopping for 6 gift cards, 1 bracelet, 2 sweaters, 6 bottles of shampoo/lotion that I can’t smell, and 2 or 3 things that were bought that I’m not sure what happened to them.
– Drank 1 bottle of Magic Hat #9
– Bought 2 large packs of AA batteries
– Watched the final 2 minutes of 2 different NFL games
– Washed 3 loads of my son’s college laundry to get it out of the floor
– Listened to 1/9th of my 9 hour Spotify Christmas playlist
– Played ukelele for 5 minutes
– Assembled 1 rolling rack
– Ventured out twice to the local megamart after I specifically stated that I wanted my errands completed early, so I would have to experience the last minute madness…yet I forgot 2 things…at 2 different times.
– Pondered how to write a 1 Christmas post that could accomodate my desire to recognize one of my favorite carols/poems.
– Wrote the following sentence – Henry Wadsworth Longellow wrote a poem in 1863, entitled “Christmas Bells.”
It was written on Christmas Day 1863, likely as a result of the news that Longfellow’s son Charles had been wounded in Civil War action earlier that year…and the recent loss of his wife Frances. There is just a snippet below. I encourage you to search out the poem and read all of it. It is short by Longfellow’s epic lyrical poem standards**.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
and mild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It has been set to music twice. In 1878, the English organist, John Baptiste Calkin, used the poem with a melody he previously used as early as 1848. The more familiar version was set to music in the 1950’s by Johnny Marks (he of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer fame). I’m partial to the Bing Crosby recording. However, google the recent recording by The Civil Wars, which is very inspiring, and in light of the poem’s origins, somewhat “poetic.”
Wishing you all a Happy Christmas.
********************
*A recipe handed down in the oral tradition from my father to me. Though it has origins in the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook.
**Pun intended
Where is hope, this time of year, as some are wont to shed a tear,
wondering if it exists, in a world that leans and lists.
As if you have the wherewithal to stay above the means at all;
emotions ragged, fractured too – thinking all depends on you.
Hope against itself to win the inconceivable, again
your hope- against all hope will be your dream, your joy, a victory.
Remember this – a tale of old – of a child born in the cold
in a tiny stable there in a town where no-one cared.
Thus began a simple life, bound with hardship- full of strife.
Yet in his story, we can see a dream, a joy, a victory,
all encompassed in a soul who loved his fellow man, in whole
or maybe just in part, because he knew what difficulty was.
Who knows best that love is blind to all our faults, and we will find
that when we stop to ponder this, emotions that we can’t dismiss,
we are bound to seek the aire of happiness at Christmas, where
in a world gone wild, disgraced – we find it on a child’s sweet face.
A simple smile with wondering eyes, full of sparkle, no disguise
will stop us from our self-defeat and bring us back to where we meet
the once-young child in each of us. We celebrate the hopefulness
with inner peace, contentment grows, something that our smiling shows.
And all it seems your heart desires – no more than anyone requires –
is gained by giving of yourself in ways that open others’ hearts and sways
their temperament to one of cheer -especially this time of year-
and bringing forth a simple smile that’s worth the effort and the while.
***********************
it is when
all you hear
is a bumping sound
with a few short bursts of
crackle,
that you realize
the songs have all ended.
you must flip
the record to side two
or change out the record
to hear new songs.
-it doesn’t just switch itself-
neither can you pick and choose
your music with play-list ease,
without the drop sound of the needle scratching
-abruptly-
the music must play from beginning to end,
the way it was meant to be heard.
While looking at stars behind her silhouette,
Carrying a gift
in the pinpoint lights,
The corners of her smile
Snagged a cedar bough.
And she remembered.
Some day soon-
when we have nothing left
to say,
-while gulls hover and caw-
we might scavenge the shores
for bits of dropped sandwiches,
crumbs from families on holiday.
Looking away from broken branches
spooning just below the water line
of last season’s storms,
we might see the sun rise
over the copper and green tree tops.
Dancing in the unconquered sun,
we would unfold and float
out to meet one another
among the water lilies
-if the fates allowed.
One swatch from Arethusa,
-lingering in the deep-
These were lost words
printed on tissue.
Translucent pages,
cut and glued,
then pressed smooth
by delicate fingers
over a picture
of a fig and pomegranate.
A memento pendant,
she would wear
next to her heartbeat.
Taps and Ratamacues 