In the daily rush,

time can, somehow, escape us,

leaving tasks uncompleted.

~

Every now and then

such timely escapes are good 

for the soul. Some tasks can wait.

When a relaxed flow

will take us where we want to

go, why do we push and flail?

~

Sometimes, we believe,

journeys require toil

to magnify their value.

Cradled in their arms,

vast calla lily bouquets,

offer a phantom of hope.

~

Hope is no phantom

when reminders of sacred

renewal are stirred.

If Trump leads the way

should we follow his sleigh right

smack into oblivion?

~

Some horses asses

assist us in our journeys,

but some just bray like asses

Calm seems to prevail,

for but the briefest moment,

before the chaos returns.

~

Limiting time spent

 on social media or

news could change the ratio.

Will the supermoon

have been too high a jump for

our president Donald Trump?

~

Some just lack the juice

to jump o’er the supermoon,

being… less… than super men.

If the Grinch hosts huge

holiday parties, will folks

know who’s picking their pockets?

~

Once  the parties end

folks will see their pockets were 

picked by tweets and  promises.

Of all that you could

do to bring about change, to

what one thing will you commit?

~

Art brings about change

of hearts and minds and cultures.

I commit to all beauty.

Enjoy the silence

whenever nature gives it:

cacophony soon returns.

~

Around here the time

nature allots to silence

occurs when I’m fast asleep.

When sun’s warm light fills

the sky does it bring hope on

these bone chilling days?

~

On bone chilling days

hope is all that can warm us,

with or without sallow sun.

Distant echoing

yips and howls and cackling:

coyotes in the distance.

~

Distant coyotes 

are not to be feared; those who

silently prowl close by are.

I hear in your voice

the poignant awareness that

your boy has become a man.

~

And is on the road,

again, in this winter chill,

answering the siren’s song.

A blast from the past,

blew into town this winter,

Arctic chill, nearly forgotten.

~

Cold-hearted Santas,

promising gifts, have always

been with us and are here now.

 What are some standards

for judging holiday time

with family a success?

~

Of many yardsticks,

the best holiday measures

are sweat, bloodshed, and tear fall.

A Joyous Yuletide

remains, still, within our grasp

if we keep our focus close.

~

May our focus be

gentle and our arms open

wide to embrace this Yuletide.

He’s checked his list once

or twice and he’s certain he

knows who’s been naughty or nice.

~

His list was outsourced

to Fox News and RT;

guess that means no gifts for me.

It’s hard to focus,

in this uncertain era,

on a joyous holiday.

~

Bubbles of ageless

truth still fill us with joy in

these uncertain times.

The winter solstice

is here. Does that mean Congress

will gradually see the light?

~

Who can see the light

on the darkest day this year

even in congress’s hall.

Why competition

for plentiful resources?

Life is no zero sum game.

~

Resources we have

in abundance, compassion

not so much. Some get zero.

Is there anything

more futile than arguing

with a teenager?

~

Building consensus

in the halls of government

leaps quickly to the forefront.

Seven dirty words:

once a comedy routine,

is anyone laughing now.

~

The laughter stopped when

words like “diversity’ and

“vulnerable” were banned.

Christmas is coming

 fast and some in Congress are 

rushing to give themselves gifts.

~

Unlike the Magi,

their gifts require little

self-sacrifice to bestow.

Offering comfort

across partisan divide,

his compassion flowed.

~

What manner of man

could ever do such a thing;

could it be, GASP, a statesman?

Why must some profit

from illness and misery

and the digital divide?

~

There’s no “must” about

it. Some choose to place profit

before fairness or caring.

An Alabama

testament – if Moore offends

thee, then cast him out.

~

Dixie firmly said

Old times are not forgotten

and neither are evil deeds.

Unexpected red

burning in this winterscape

fails to offer any warmth.

~

Seems like you may be

looking for warmth in all the

wrong places, my poet son.

If we’re unwilling

to ask open questions, won’t

we close lots of doors?

~ 

Some may slam the door

when confronted with the truth

and asked to look deep within.

Regard this orchard,

standing bare amid the snow,

mirroring frigid spirits.

~

In a frigid world

beauty still breaks through, bringing

comfort, delight, even warmth.

When we look outside

and see a blanket of white

have we just been snowed?

~

We have not been snowed

if we can stay inside, warm,

and enjoy if from afar.

Tangled in these webs

Evasion, misdirection

how can we perceive the truth?

~

First we determine

whose webs we are tangled in –

are they theirs or our?