Your Mother's HeartbeatWistfully taunting, it echoes your pulselike so,tinnitus stretches walls solid as drums, and youbury your laughter with lilies on frost-bit toes.Drawing her likeness on old mugs does naught in lieuof glass jars holding it pressed on your blue cheek andwould that these ribbons and paper could hold it too.So I am hanging her scarves like a Neverlandcircling the tree, faint with eggnog and cinnamon,hoping warm carols remember her clapping hands.Scattering sugar on counters, I tap the thump-thump of her twinkling eyes, and inside it issnowing, bright white like her hair in a make-shift bun.The box is empty but, love, lift it, hugging thiswarmth to your heart like a conch pulls her ocean near,beating in rhythm with every smile. Do not missHer voice against your closed eyelids stealing your tearsHoliday memories always weather the years.
Carnival of FleshThe circus band plays "The Colour of Your Dress"The host throws quotes from "Dreams You Forget"Your ice-cream melts in a blissful mess.A magician calls out and you say yesAnd he shows you the trick of "The Invisible Pet".The circus band plays "The Colour of Your Dress".A stallion jumps over shadows of chessA roaring tiger rips out your regretYour ice-cream melts in a blissful mess.An old fiddler sings "To the Devil I Confess"With one good eye blinking red and wet.The circus band plays "The Colour of Your Dress".A clown imitates your kind distressAnd trades your kiss for a potion of sweat.Your ice-cream melts in a blissful mess.You try to love it even just a bit lessBut the host insists it is not over yet.The circus band plays "The Colour of Your Dress"Your ice-cream melts in a blissful mess.
Natural Gift.A feather falling, softly whisping,Skimming past your hair and ears,Drifting downwards till it nearsYour neck, so slightly tense, yet warm.Your mouth, smiling, yet clearly torn.The feather falls to water, glistening,Swims away past rocks and dirt,Your eyes watch it, until, quite curt,It floats once more upon the breeze.Whisked away above the trees.Nearby are two wings, undulating,Flapping with a discrete soundUntil a bird, with one huge boundLeaves its thin branch, flapping also.This visual dance is flowing, slow,But it is all clearly pulsating.Sweetly ebbing and alive,A sight to be romanticised.And yet, my hands reach to your face,Cover your eyes, remove this place.Your current sight is just frustrating,The pinky blackness of my handA wall between you and the land.A cruel gift and a cruel reminder:Your sight is a beautiful thingYoull never get to see.
My GiftsThe drought has claimed December's rains,The earth is parched and bare.I know you loved to turn aboveAnd feel the heavens there.The clime is warm; no cloudy stormWill fall upon this ground.A snowy quilt will not be spilt,For heat will still abound.The carols still will sound so shrill,Devoid of rythmic bass -You need guitars to soothe the scarsThe cheer leaves in its place.No gift to give, but you can liveWithout such things, I'm sure;While chocolate's taste I hate to waste,I'll give you something more.A simple touch can mean so much,A feeling we shall miss;I'll give to you the taste renewedOf chocolate on my lips.A metal tune I can't craft soon,So that will go unplayed;My heart can beat a drum complete,So you shan't be dismayed.And should you chill, I'll help fulfilProtecting you from harm;The feeling true I'll give to you,Of safety in my arms.And yet the rain won't fall again,No moisture on the ground.We'll never dance enthralled, entranced,While water
A taste of inspirationA little girl sits bathed in lightAs she opens Santa's giftA pad of paper meets her sightShe grasps her pencil swiftTry as she might her mind stays blankHer smile is becoming weakSanta's gift now seems so rankColour drains from rosie cheeksAs I approach with gift in handHer eyes begin to shine.My gift has helped her landA thought upon lifes golden lineI watch her grasp imagination from my Christmas GiftA taste of inspiration it seems was the perfect little lift