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Holiday Dinners

Knives out, we pull our chairs up to the table,
and sit, while dreading that which is to come.
No, love is not enough. We are unable --
wherever we may be or we are from --
unable to suppress our hurts and losses.
Find difficulty in expressing love.
The hurts seem to win out. We bear our crosses,
and see those closest as the cause thereof.
Yet most of us come back to face this music,
accompanied by chimes of Jingle Bells.
If God looks in, must find it quite amusing,
these get togethers, all those little hells...
And then it's all kiss, kiss, until next year.
A step outside. A sigh. We're in the clear.

Evergreen

I came across an ancient oak
which had refused the Fall,
his neighbors bare. When asked, he spoke,
a voice meant to enthrall:

"I care not for the seasons, child,
nor for the Day or Night.
How hot, how cold, unpleasant, mild,
a time was, I'd delight

in every variance and change
but I no longer care.
When nothing's new and nothing's strange,
why would I have to bare

my mighty branches to the wind
as if I stand in awe?
Go tell the seasons to rescind,
go on and tell them so."

I asked the lush and sprawling giant:
"Don't you know regret?
You stand there, mighty and defiant,
as the seasons let,

but have you ever loved another?
Standing all alone,
no acorn you can call a brother,
tired and overgrown,

in your own shadow, and no doubt,
you do not crack or bend,
but all these years to go without
a tree to call a friend..."

He interrupted: "there was once
a tall and pretty fir.
We had a bit of a romance,
I was soo fond of her.

She liked to needle me, the lass,
but gently, in good fun.
We grew and watched the seasons pass.
Together, we were one.

Then one cold day a lumberjack
arrived and set her free.
I called to him: will she be back?
He laughed, said Christmas tree.

'Twas then that I decided that
I'll never fall again.
Let Winter try its best to flatten,
bears sleep in their den,

but I will stand here and defy,
leaves green as if it's June,
as if a fledgling butterfly
just morphed from its cocoon."

Fell silent, there was not a sound
except the sound of grief.
And then I noticed, on the ground,
a single, wilted leaf.

Unreliable Narrator

A narrator, reliable or not,
should still deliver something of a tale:
so be it of a land that time forgot,
or a mundane affair, he must regale
his audience with brevity and wit,
omitting needles words but keeping those
that matter even just a little bit.
Remembering to plot and juxtapose,
while banishing a hero here and there,
their absence timed to make the heart grow fonder,
and I'd suggest, especially, beware
of failing to maintain a sense of wonder.
When all is said and done, the work complete,
don't hesitate: hit save, and then submit.

How Do You Get Your Ideas

I'm often asked: how do you pick a subject
for this or that unlikely composition?
A tired, stale cliche, or just an object
that's placed in an unusual position.

A dialog between two silent partners
so caught in an unlikely dialectic
that the ensuing conversation garners
reactions from the rad to apoplectic.

Attempts to wax poetically are often
too maudlin to earn their weight in paper.
Eschew the urge to decorate and soften.
Ethereal, like tiny whisps of vapor

is great for a deodorant commercial.
I aim for the bizarre and controversial.

Piano

Unless you're ambidextrous -- and who is --
your melody is favoring the right,
until it's played with habit forming ease,
each keystroke made to thrill and to delight.

There's strength in it, there's purpose and technique;
perhaps a hint of genius or gift.
It is as if you hear the music speak,
you revel in it, wholly, mind adrift...

But on the other hand -- since you have two,
and one much more familiar with pleasure,
which leaves another without much to do,
accompanying solely for good measure,

and feeling, for its part, so left, ignored...
Do give that hand a chance to strike a chord.