Tag Archives: holidays


Your heat has raged and burnt the world with light
since you were born to rule Midwinter’s night;
you’ve warmed the earth, its bones and seeds alike,
to melt the snow and turn all new life ripe.

But lo! your flames now flicker and will cease;
this season’s reign of fire begins to wane.
Look, now your brother Winter breaks his peace
to take from you the throne of earth again.

Let darkness creep again into the world;
let summer sink in silent death-like sleep.
Let earth again succumb to Winter’s charms;
and in the shadows, wean the spark of light.

Slow down your constant spin of sunlit days,
and find in autumn’s pace great joy and peace.
The summer is not dead, it merely sleeps,
and waits through this cold season for release.

23 SEP 2011

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List Season: a catalog poem

It is the season for great lists
of gifts, and guests, must not forgets,
of menus, meals and seating charts,
of who sits where and who gets what;

of when to this and when to that,
of great logistic strategies
for if I cans, and oh I shoulds,
and definites and wish I coulds;

of obligations, scheduled tasks,
address labels, greeting cards,
of days off, of overtime,
of who eats what, who won’t drink wine,

of wishes, dreams and memories,
of moments lost, of used to bes,
of blessings, friends and relatives,
of those who get, and those who give,

of resolutions and regrets,
of things that haven’t happened yet,
of what it is, what it could be,
of births and deaths, and family,

of friends who don’t, and friends who do,
of what’s important most to you,
of those who never have enough,
of everything that’s left to do.

02 DEC 2010

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Beltane 2005

What I have left to strike a spark
is just a book of grayed and dusty matches;
not much good at dispelling dark
when the flint is reduced from ancient scratches
where once I sought to catch a fire
against the troubled wind of youth,
fueled with some bottomless desire
to speak for Beauty, Love and Truth.

It seems as though my kindling’s turned to rot,
soaked through with time’s stale sweat;
even the bark has curled where water has got
and turned the umber wood to jet.
Still, there is quite enough spare chaff,
cast off from years of gleaning grain,
swept up against my mind’s baseboards
to feed a bonfire, this Beltane.

As summer brings its sweltered breath
again, and warms my arid bones,
I will return from Winter’s death
and on my hilltop, stand alone
while the flames lick the turgid sky
with their caress of wild desire;
in that bright light, the world and I
are spark and tinder, fuel and fire.

29 APR 2005

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New Year’s Eve 2004

I may resolve to change my ways this year,
exchange old habits for ones I’ve not tried.
But there’s no point in much of that, I fear,
for one’s true nature cannot be denied.

Perhaps I’ll vow to focus more on things
that increment the positive aspects,
but who knows what the future’s bound to bring?
The lessons never come like you expect.

The truth is, all the seeds for next year’s fruit
would not be useful now unless the ground
for planting them had been already tilled.

My only hope is that the land will suit,
and that the right conditions will abound.
Should that occur, my barn’s already filled.

31 JAN 2004

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Yule Log 2004

The times when goodwill, peace and love
are praised are rare indeed;
and rarer still those instances
when thought translates to deed.

So in such seasons where these things
are found, take heart, rejoice,
and with compassion, grace and honor
add your hands and voice.

It matters not whose holiday
was borrowed, changed or nicked;
but just that at this time of year,
the bubble has been pricked

that splits us up in separate lives
and robs us of the sense
that we are all part of the whole
lifeforce experience.

So wassail, carol, hymn and jig;
let yuletide spirit reign —
for sadly, it may be a year
before it comes again.

25 DEC 2004

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Independence Day

I heard the sounds last night of war
outside my window and front door,
wild shells and streaks of fire and light;
and I was troubled at the sight.

No thought of where the sparks might land
entered the minds that worked the hands
that with their matches struck these bombs;
a country of brave automatons.

The flash of light, the burst of sound
and emptied beer cans all around
while through the smoke which slowly cleared
the throng of wise non-voters cheered.

They cheered the colors and the show
and cursed the duds that would not blow
their senses wowed by shock and awe,
and the ends of their fingers raw.

The cost of fireworks? Twenty bucks,
from out the back of nameless trucks;
The cost of freedom? Tears and bone
worth more than any flag now flown.

For what good pomp and grand parades
to celebrate a poor charade?
It lessens knowledge of the cost
if lives in some great lie are lost.

This freedom that we celebrate,
is it a license by which hate
and fear become the only sense
by which we gain experience?

Our independence, so hard gained,
is its dirge to be our refrain?
I seek, although perhaps in vain,
to define freedom, once again:

Freedom from the right of kings,
in matters large, and petty things,
and from the presumed word of God
that with chains bids man’s feet be shod,

and from the whim of landed wealth
who seek first their own fare and health
and from the bane of presumed right
that sees darkness, save its own light

and from the harsh slavemaster’s whip,
and fear of persecution’s grip,
and from the unseen, hurtful ties
that persecute the meek and wise

and from the threat of hangman’s laws
that seek to punish without cause
and from the hand that seeks to still
the tongue, the mind, the heart and will

and from the bloodied, soulless crowd
that sees itself as just and proud
and from the ignorance that seeks
to serve itself, and harm the weak

and from the politician’s greed
that dines in pomp, while poor men bleed
and from the engines geared for war
that gnash their teeth, and cry for more

and from the state, that seeks to bind
the tongues of reason, and be blind
and from the cloaked and hidden cause
that bids us follow, just because

and from the forked and evil ways
that seek by bloodshed gold and praise
and from all those who would be kings
and paint themselves with angels’ wings

and from our baser natures, too
that seek reward where none is due
and from the impulse not to act
when those who guide us go off track

and from the right to hold one’s peace
when liberty and freedom cease
and lastly, freedom to believe
and when that freedom’s risked, to grieve.

06 JUL 2004

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Easter by Telephone: a cyhydedd naw ban

In California after eating
they called up to offer a greeting,
their plates filled with beans and broccoli
ours with roast beef and mashed potatoes.
We passed the telephone back and forth,
discussing children and work; of course,

we spoke of weather and summer plans,
the price of groceries and minivans,
and then of mom, who now lives alone
in that big house, her children all grown.
We discussed if this year we would meet,
compared our schedules, and each month’s heat.

They want to visit, and spend a week –
catch up on all the news, so to speak.
I wonder sometimes if the link we share
is stronger because of distance there;
We meet rarely, just when someone dies,
and talks like these are a big surprise.

California, it has been so long
and I have grown up since I’ve been gone.
They just keep on talking in my ear;
although their voices are nice to hear,
I hand the warm handset to my wife,
thinking of Easter, and of new life.

11 APR 2004

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