Month: November 2015

Fideles

Christmas is
too melancholy;
so looked forward to,
and so quickly passed
as to draw sadness
from the ether.
The wait
and anticipation
bring so much
sentimentality
and echoes
of youth
and past
that no present reality
can reasonably match
those fuzzy memories
(made sacrosanct
by time and trials)
or supplant them
with new ones.
Then,
with the soft whuff
of needle on vinyl,
Bing sings the Latin
of Adeste Fidelis
and I realize
that
my three-year-old son
has never heard
this gift
before,
and some hope
is restored
that new yesterday’s
are possible
and happening
now.

Distilled

A single ice cube
in a glass of whiskey
spreading out tendrils
as two disparate fluids
marry one-another.
I love the sight of this,
a gorgeous dance
awakening the spirit
of the drink.
Now a slow,
deep quaff
of scent…
left over
from the barrel,
the process…
time.
Lastly,
the sip
(the tongue
must wait
its turn).
Pause,
repeat.
I think
this is what
prolonged time in heaven
must actually consists of.

Backing out.

Strangers
shake my hand
but friends
turn
a blind-eye.
I don’t want
a hug,
just affirmation
that they see me,
hand
outstretched.
I like the corner,
I put myself there…
not to be ignored
but to guard myself,
and watch.
Maybe they have forgotten
that i am here
at all.
The outstretched hand
has gone to my pocket,
or the drink,
and i have dropped
my gaze…
indifferent,
now.

Beaufort

Some light
housekeeping.
The autumn trees,
willowy and delicate,
showing colors
unique to each,
in row after row:
reds, oranges,
browns and yellows,
quiver and dance
in the light breeze,
revealing,
in flashes,
their colors
and then
hiding.
The puddles
show back
the gray sky
and exult
with every passing car.
Turned leaves
spiral with the wind
and collect in shifts
on grass and curb.
The wind rises up
and batters the house
making sounds
from silent siding
and giving voice
to the stoic structures
while cleaning out
the refuse of summer
with autumn’s broom.