Long, narrative poem about friendship and
the day after a holiday of pain.
December 26, 2006 As I watch this candle flame, my thoughts go out to sea, anon, anon, my thoughts go out to you. The clock's ritual hands sweep past the parrots on my Key Largo face. A blue and white patterned cup from Williamsburg long ago, signals my checkered love, the band at the top filling up my badge of courage. What bell has struck, which flag has flown over poppied fields of yore. Can I dear friend, make up for years of anger, gossip, and the cold blank page of a certain note. Your head turns back and forth, as waves upon the ocean and I long for your Roman nose, maybe Jewish, maybe something else. As the candle flickers, I glimpse your stockinged foot, so unmistakably Buddha like. I fight a cold and scorched lips from scalding, honey-bush tea. This after Christmas day comes sledding to a close and I long for turkey and sweet potatoes, pie and foaming creamy spoons on pumpkin tops.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Inspirational poetry, written from the heart and soul. Verses that are well-suited for reading on a rainy day and that are guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.
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