This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at dear mortal.

My saliva swirling is a celestial blue.

My favorite color is dark green.

But you my friend will always remain a swift, sweet, majestic combiation of the black and white beat of good and bad, you are everything, you are my grey and I love you.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Grey.

By: Cynthia DiSciullo and William Zigmont

Sunshine leaned back into her comfy overstuffed chair,

Felt the amber glow and warmth of the fireplace there

The magic of a youthful mind is so very scrumptious and delicious

A charming place things are really-real even if they are fictitious

Rambleton Acres felt a jolt of winter’s mighty breath and gale

Which now becomes the back-drop of this cutesy child’s tale

Snow and cold had frosted the windows and whitened the yard

Icicles hung from the eves like shark’s teeth all pointy and hard

Beneath her seasonal blanket she tucked her leg under and said,

“Why, oh, why are hats worn by Santa Claus just white and red?”

Sunshine closed her eyes and traveled in the beauty of her fertile mind

In hopes of an answer but instead possibilities is what she’d find

In the corner of her mind’s room stood dapperly dressed Saint Nick

His pants pleated, and his coat adorned by epaulettes the color of brick

Four brilliantly polished stag-head buttons held the sable coat snuggly tight

And his boots were more the slipper, ornate much the festive delight

But it was the hat, the most unique hat that caught the child’s mind’s eye

Its minutia of intricate detail was the reason and the only reason why

Alas, an unusual coiffure of white framed it as might holly beneath a bow

The traditional hat was not that any more, for she imagined a sideshow

A snowman with a full bristled broom, held in arms thin for they were stick

Eyes and crooked smile coal, scarf plaid, a carrot nose, sporting a cowlick

The mailbox wore a red hat, showing Santa ringing a bell bedecked in

A swan covered shirt, a gingerbread neck tie held with a wreath tie-pin

The details of the hat revealed that four frogs sat on block spelling noel

The chorus singing from parchment songbooks the song Jingle Bell

A tiny rocking horse covered in cloth, the print poinsettia and holly on white

Wore a red bow, matching ribbon it rein and a white mane trimmed tight

A Christmas raccoon was placing a glow star on the top of an orange tree

Four teddies looked on, their vest’s button of star shaped shimmered glee

A woman’s handbag sat beneath that tree shaped exactly like the tree it sat below

Fifteen and twenty pine cone cluttered in a pile circled by a train, chuggin’ slow

Carrying a drum, wrapped presents, a pup, a kitty, four birds, a sled, and mittens

If you looked in one car’s window you’d see a girl sitting with three kittens

To the left, just above the brim, a girl was pulling her sled on shiny gliders

On it was one red-headed dolly, a stuffed bear and penguin as lucky riders

Look hard and you will see an old typewriter with paper in its carriage that said,

“Dear Santa…” and two mice were depressing the keys in dresses red-on-red

There do you see it, yes, a mouse turning a wheel, grinding coffee a holiday blend

One can easily imagine it must be a special gift for a very special friend

Standing alone on a frozen pond of ice is one lone snowman completely colored blue

Blue jays abound a blue birdhouse, blue top hat, scarf, coat, mittens, blue, too

A Christmas seal wears, yellow ear muffs that match in color to hand muff of a miss

She shyly turning her head beneath the mistletoe avoiding a beau’s frisky kiss

Duck… duck… goose… duck… duck… swan… all about to fly if you holler

Look closely and notice wreaths, bows, bells and bears are hanging from their collar

Three skunks are marching two carrying signs, one reading “I heart snow!”

The other, “I brake for reindeer!” while the drummer skunk-boy tympanis slow

In the far corner up near the tips ball is a huge up-dumped gold Santa sack

And all the things she saw were flowing from the wonderful Christmas pack

Her whimsical thoughts were interrupted by the call of her older brother

“Sunny, it is time for us to go, ready to visit our wonderful great grandmother?”

Sunshine looked around the room, smiled, fluffed her curls, and rose from her chair,

Neatly folded the blanket, covered Wally, and then winked to the teddy bear

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at SANTA’S HAT.

                -Withdrawn-

The voice that haunts me is…

The voice that sounds as if…

It has exhaled opium for 30 years,

And has forgotten where to get out

Living loosely?  No, just living on idle is…

The OCD’d white car that just

Won’t bust

Waiting to break her in and make her up

I write

Longing for the time when cherry cheese cake was

All that was and would ever be

On the slate

Cheese sticks – fried – late at night

Mickey D’s PLEASE I’d say,

Always searching for that new toy

What a world I now see, now that I…

Continuously take out the trash.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Excavation of Trailer Trash.

I had a dream the other day,
Its vision will not go away,
About some people dressed in gowns,
(I know how strange this story sounds.)

Each gown was separate from the rest,
With different colours they were blest,
And everyone had points of view,
And revelations that were new.

They studied scripture, ancient books,
And gave each other dirty looks,
As back and forth they argued so,
As if to let each other know,

That they were blessed with knowledge, dear,
And their great wisdom would appear,
For they could point the way to God,
But all their knowledge was a fraud.

And then another happened by,
Who was alone and very shy,
And on an altar placed a gown,
And then upon it he laid down.

It was a gown so pure and white,
Yet more than white, for it was bright,
And as he laid there peacefully,
I knew at once that he was free.

And still the others held their glare,
So full of hate and unaware,
That one among them was at peace,
And so their conflict didn’t cease.

Another cried in solemn prayer,
And hoped that God was there somewhere,
As to the Virgin Mary called,
And on his knees he knelt and crawled.

Still on that altar in the room,
There laid a man, as in the womb,
So peaceful and so satisfied,
While those around both cursed and cried.

As quick as that I was awake,
And wondered what of it to make,
Yet as I thought upon the scene,
I knew the meaning of the dream.

The ones in gowns, religious folk,
Both pulled and strained within the yolk,
While trying to find the God above,
They weren’t aware of His great love.

But on that altar silence reigned,
He didn’t fight and wasn’t strained,
For he had met with Jesus there,
While they were lost, he was in prayer.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at I Had A Dream.

Nothing seemed special, all was the same,
I looked a bit closer and saw something strange,
A black and white envelope there in the rack,
I scooped up the letter and then headed back.

The writing was neat, but my name was spelled wrong,
I write it quite short, but they spelled it quite long.
I opened the letter to see what it said,
And started to chuckle, for here’s what I read.

“My Own Dearest Dave, or whatever you’re called,
Homeowner, Tenant,” (I was really appalled),
“I have something special, so don’t go away,
I’m glad that I reached you, you’re lucky today.”

“I’ll give you some money, I’ll give you some fame,
You’ve nothing to lose, and all things to gain,
Just send twenty copies to all of your friends,
There’s nothing to buy and nothing to spend.”

“But if you don’t do this, you’ve no one to blame,
For bad luck will follow and drive you insane,
Your car will not start and you’ll have a flat tire,
Your house will get robbed and your cat will expire.”

I thought it was crazy, another big scam,
A gullible person is not what I am,
I’m nobody’s fool, nor easily swayed,
I ripped up the letter and threw it away.

My life is on track and I’m right on the mark,
I’d paint the town red if my car would just start,
I’m ready to party; (that guy was a liar),
Now what is the matter, I have a flat tire.

I flagged down a taxi and went on the town,
I found a great party and really got down,
I met a young lady and we did some kissing,
But when I got home, my TV was missing.

Now where is that cat, she was here when I left,
She’s hiding again, she is such a big pest,
Oh, that’s where she is, over there by the fire,
I think she is dead, my cat has expired.

I got into bed and thought of my day,
I had a great evening, doing it my way,
I thought of that letter with all of its rules,
I’m glad that my Mama did not raise a fool.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Chain Letter.

it’s been more than a year now,, since father left us,, mother, and i alone.. things have not been easy,, but we are making our way,, in this strange world,, into which we’ve both been thrown…

with father gone, and little in the coffer,, after his illness and burial and such,, our one saving grace,, has always been, the ivory keys on fathers old piano,, under mothers gentle touch..

every eve, after we’ve sup’ed,, in the dim light before we go off to bed,,, mother sits down, and speaks thru those keys.. they are her words… words left unsaid….

she speaks sometimes of her love for him,, and the music is soft and sweet,, it is playful and ticklish and smiling,, sometimes i have noticed her blush,, with a thought,, perhaps indiscreet….

and others she will wail,, and bang down hard,, on the surface of black and white keys.. reliving her days of frustration,, whilst fighting that horrible disease..

the wasting sickness that swept up father,, like a pile of old spent leaves,, and carried him away to the dustbin of life,, like a swift cold unforgiving breeze…

sometimes she will play,, and i am sure that it is,, hope i hear springing to glorious life,, and as she continues i pray that it wont spiral down yet again,, filling her heart with strife…

it has been for us both,, a blessing and a curse,, our nights spent around that piano,,, catharsis, and hope,, anger and joy,, she’s accompanied us,,, mother and i,, where ever we go..

and tomorrow when they come,, and haul her away,, to her new home in a place far from here,,, we will look on with sadness,, as if we are losing a friend, one we have both held most dear..

i cant help but wonder how we will fill our nights,, with both her and father reposed,, just mother and i in the still of the eve,, after supper,, when the drapes are all closed..

will we sit every night in the darkness,, speechless, thinking solely,, never saying a word?? or will it draw us closer,, on this road full of losses, which together she and i,, have incurred..

it is my solemn prayer,, that one night very soon,, mother will draw me to her bosom and say,, “tho’ it hasn’t been easy i’m richer by far,, having you,, daughter,, here with me each day…

by: paisley

photo:
At the Piano by James Whistler

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at at the piano.

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at celluloid.