The end of the old,
the beginning of the new –
what is up for you?
~
Elevated ire
on the closing of the year
breeds a rage a wise man fears.
The end of the old,
the beginning of the new –
what is up for you?
~
Elevated ire
on the closing of the year
breeds a rage a wise man fears.
There is no justice
when pain rears it’s ugly head
in this season of joy.
~
Justice there may not
be, but love abides and drugs
remain to remove the pain
A cathartic meal,
sharing of dyspeptic pasts
tempered by a fine repast.
~
Good food combined with
honest talk can make what was
hard easier to digest.
The way that youngster
disregarded Trump’s Santa
question shows Congress a path.
~
From the mouths of babes
springs forth the withering truth
old grey men fear to utter.
Another Christmas
has passed into history
but what will tomorrow bring?
~
What if the spirit
of peace and the wonder of
joy is here if we but looked?
Family gathers –
what happens next? – your guess
is as good as mine.
~
Merriment ensues
punctuated by bloodshed
and alternative carols?
When the packaging
costs more than the gift, we must
be in Trump’s America
~
When the poetry
is less engaging than the
title – Mondo Sedoka.
How can we find time
in this chaotic life to
Wish you Happy Holidays?
~
And yet, in your own
style, in the midst of it all,
you found a poetic way.
~
When agreement and
praise come knocking, can you guess
who is opening the door?
~
Whoever’s knocking
with sycophantic fawning
won’t likely find who they want.
Someone is to blame!
Naturally, of course, we bear
no responsibility!
~
The world we know would
be irrevocably changed
were it to be otherwise.
How can they begin
to make America great
again? Start by not lying?
~
Maybe recognize
that America’s greatness
remains, despite their efforts?
Waiting three hours
to see the bloody doctor!
At least he gave us good news.
~
At the end of three
hours your glass was emptied.
Glad it was refilled.
Knock, knock, who isn’t
there? My fellow poet, please
come near. I won’t bite.
~
You may not bite me,
but the same can not be said
of my car’s knock, knock, noshing!
If we play, rainy
days can lift us up instead
of getting us down.
~
Glorious summer
rains are made for outdoor play;
winter rains for indoor games.
As the snow slowly
loses its pristine, white sheen,
is there something to be gleaned?
~
As with everything,
purity loses luster
the longer it a-lingers.
The birds are very
clear: ” Go to the store. Look. Buy
some birdfeed. Winter draws near.”
~
Bird’s all a Twitter,
demanding we meet its needs;
hungering for attention.
Hercules labored.
Conspicuously absent
was shoveling snow.
~
Or all the mundane
daily tasks that those who care
do regularly.
We are skidding on
thin ice literally and
figuratively.
~
Skidding and skating,
even on the thinnest ice,
sure beats falling through.
Drawing a deep breath
opens up many options
beyond those deafening screams.
~
A good response to
tweets from individual
referred to as # 1.
Just a reminder.
Seventy-six years ago,
your awesome mother was born.
~
How many more ’til
she begins to acquire
a patina of wisdom?
Our first scattering
of snow, pretty, but to all
kids’ dismay, it will not stay.
~
A fleeting dusting
to be sure, but winter’s young.
I’m trusting more is coming.
All our denial
can’t suppress the growing dread
borne upon this shifting breeze.
~
When hope grows grounded
roots of will and willingness,
we withstand such breeze borne dread.
The weather’s become
a quick-change artist and has
left us to quickly adapt.
~
But adaptation,
an evolutionary
process, is not a quick change!
Even though we know
better, we still succumb to
anger’s bitter tongue.
~
Some vomit anger,
others cultivate drama;
neither solves any problem.
Why must folk complain
about all they do not like
yet take no action for change?
~
Why pay full price when
talk is cheap, action costs, and
those armchairs beckon?