Messengers

They fell on my face
Fastened upon my lashes
A chilled embrace
The softest of kisses
A welcomed grace.

All around
The earth slept
As the white blanket
Settled upon
Yards and sidewalks
Streets and avenues.

They made no sound.
They were messengers
Of silence.
Emissaries of peace.

I paused
Beneath a street lamp.
Its cone of amber light
Seemed to ignite
Each crystal
In its downward journey.

I grew dizzy in the presence
Of the tiny invasion
Of flakes
Parachuting to earth.

Perhaps angels sometime come
In forms unthought
And unexpected
In visitations of serenity
Such as this.

Merry Christmas, Ya'll!

I wish ya'll a very Merry Christmas, and a warm and wonderful New Years! I'll be doing some relaxing through the end of December, and will return refreshed in the New Year, ready to roll. I truly hope ya'll can do the same.

~~ James

ps....a Tender, Merry Christmas, Monarch! (wherever you are)

Splendor

A cup of strong coffee
Fire crackling at my feet
Night falling around me
And a stump for my seat.

The woodlands in slumber
And a hoot owl near
The leaves softly stirring
With the North Star so clear.

A man is no man
Surrounded by walls
Framed in by paintings
Of nature lining his halls.

But let him breathe stars
Spangling the night
Let him make fire
To give him his light

And somewhere within
Deep in his breast
A warmth will begin
And spread through the rest.

I’ve no need for company
There’s communion for me
With this splendored creation
Around me I see.

The Bitter Root

I have quaked before danger
And survived.
Each trembling moment
Fashioned in my breast
A fierceness
A resolve
That is untaught.

Comes a time
When danger darkens
My sill
I greet it
As an old friend.

I know the bitter root
The sulfur
The tang
And heartbreak
Of fear.
I steep it as tea
Strong
Black and unsweetened
By lofty grit.
I drink its dregs
Without shying.

Comes a time
A man laces his boots
And walks to face his enemy
In open ground.

Comes a time
Going out
Doesn’t mean
Coming back.

But it’s the going out
That makes the man.

No Light Thing*

He was a trapper
Taking his pelts to market
In Natchez
When he was waylaid
By bandits
And lay dying
In pools of his crimson
Blood.

His widow eventually
Remarried.
It was from this second
Union
I came.

A man had to die
For me to live.

A frightened soldier
On a frigid Belgium
Night
Shot a young
German soldier
Carrying a
Schmieser.
Had the frightened soldier
Not killed the German
My father told me
He would have been the one
Dying in the snow.

A man had to die
For me to live.

A Savior
Was nailed to a plank
Of rough hewn wood.
He was rudely mocked
And abused
By soldiers
Steeped in the ways
Of grisly death
And scorned by the temple
Elite
Before releasing his spirit
Home to his Father.

A man had to die
For me to live.

My life is the unlikely
Recipient
Of the gift of blood.
What am I to do
With so precious an offering?

The weight of being is ponderous
And the drawing of breath
No light thing.

* To appreciate Christmas you must understand Easter

Days Marked on Paper

The page soon will turn
The numbers will roll
A new year will come
And the former will go.

Just days marked on paper
Seven in each row
None telling the others
The mysteries they know.

It has been so forever
And forever will be
It truly won’t matter
What together they see.

Just days marked on paper
Twelve pages in all.
You may rise tall or sit
You may lay softly or fall.

It is a mistake to think glory
Is fastened to you.
Days come and days go
No matter what you may do.

The Mighty Lightness of Being

I have not seen
The Milky Way
Since I was a boy
Growing up on Illinois’
Grassy prairies.
It stretched like a tent
Horizon to horizon
Across the night sky
Like God
Was having a party
And I was invited.

How I celebrated
Beneath the spangle
And struggled to imagine
The vast enormity of it all.

Life danced for me then
Charmed me
With all its perplexities.

But the universe shank
And the stars dimmed
Lost amid the dust
The mangle and pain.

I loved the banners of light
Joyously suspended
In the cosmos.
I loved the marvel of creation.

Now I shudder
Beneath the stars
Far fewer in number.
I turn from majesty
And retire from joy.

The world is a yawning chasm.
Every step
Is toward its edge.

But I will again
Lift my head
To the star fields
And my voice will rise
As a choir of one
When finally unburdened
Of the mighty
Lightness of being.

Personal Request

Dear Readers,
Over the last week I have been having trouble with severe pain brought on by a traumatic brain injury (TBI) years ago. From time to time it flares and flames. I am, when so effected, restricted from the necessities (like work) and the pleasures (like eating regularly) of life. Most disheartening is the complete lack of ability to think and write creatively. Hopefully, I will soon be out of the grip of this most recent difficulty. In the meantime, if you pray, please pray for me. Pain is a formidable enemy. I do not want to submit to the heavy-duty narcotics prescribed for me, which pushes me into a mental and emotional fog. I would rather be coherent and suffering than under the influence and out of action.
Keep a good thought.
Thanks ~ james

The Drum

The evening air
Is painted blue
A soulful color
Of cheerless hue.

On wet grasses
In gentle rain
It soaks me through
In darkening stain.

Let it fall on me
Oh, let it fall
I am determined
To take it all.

When darkness comes
And all is still
I will surrender
To the world’s cruel will.

But until that hour
Let the rains come
And beat on me
Like a sodden drum.

A Bit Sad Today

Dear Readers,
I'm a grown man (a groan man, too)....but I'm an unashamed "Daddy's Boy." My pa was a WWII vet, in the ETO (some will understand), a survivor of the Bulge; a gunner in a half track nicknamed "Climax", assigned to the 2nd Armored, "Hell on Wheels" Division.
After the war, he often worked from dawn to far beyond dark to feed and clothe his small family. I always wanted to be like my dad. I am not. Not even a little. But my dad is my hero. I have one of his dog tags dangling from the mirror of my big, red Ram. My little brother has the other.
This is my dad's 94th birthday, though I lost him in his 80th. His absence pains me even now. I dream of him regularly, though he never talks...just like real life.
So, as the rain weeps beyond my window, I weep beyond his touch. I guess I just needed to release this to the universe today.

Thanks for reading....james