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01/01/11 NYC Holidays with Family

Photo by MPP
art festivities holidays love poetry Uncategorized

Christmas Eve

she adorns her hair

with holly leaves

cardinals singing carols on

her sweater sleeves

crushed rose petalsĀ lips

angels for earrings

a scarf woven of silvery tinsel

each candle lit

a prayer for earth

sent to the mail room in heaven

all this

and a love poem

on Christmas Eve




don’t suffer from


poetry says,

festoon that shit

Americana holidays poetry religion sociology traditions

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night…

the bedroom curtains

would be left open

upon my insistence


framed with clinging frost

to better gaze into the late evening sky


sure Santa Claus would find

his way through my stars


as i watched intently

from beneath

my Cabbage Patch Doll comforter

only to fall

fast asleep

listening for reindeer sleigh bells


not knowing


life is never what it seems


but exactly

what lies within

the human heart


may yours be filled

with love and hope

this happy Christmas night

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

amy’s earrings

christmas was nearly lost
to a human form of fire

morning was hijacked by manic
rather than merry

i sat amidst the cinders
and falling rafters

still burning
in the early afternoon
wrapping presents
reusing a gift bag
in which i had been given
a book of biblical proportions
from a connected friend

as i emptied the contents

there they were

a set of christmas bulb earrings
clear glass
like the ones that glistened in my innocent
little girl fingers
at my grandmother’s tree trimming parties

i had somehow overlooked them
amongst the green tissue paper
in my excitement over the book

and let me tell you
it was a moment when i needed to be loved
i needed to feel loved more than anything in the world

i needed magic
and she gave it to me

that was the day

amy’s earrings
saved me

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

thank god it’s christmas

this is the night
i must forgive you

not for your sake
or mine

i’m endeavoring to do this
for my sons

they don’t deserve
to have their mother destroyed
a woman laid to waste by poisonous contempt
numbed with bourbon and burning stakes

but see
i know you won’t get that
a mother loving her sons
and i’m sorry
it seems to be causing you a bit of trouble

but i’m tired of mourning you

i have somehow become
your unmarked grave

i dig deep
i dig so fucking deep
nails scraping dirt and jagged stones thrown
to remember

your sweetest
words spoken

to make me smile
in the darkest hours
whenever i was full of agony
distance or fear

even in mid-July
especially in mid-July

bright side ironic
you would say,

“Thank god it’s Christmas, eh?”

yeah, baby

thank god it’s christmas

i wish you endless peace

now i can walk away

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

where magic sleeps

at maybe three
new to the world
already punk rockin’
in Sesame Street pajamas
and Grover slippers on my feet
liked to curl up
under the christmas tree
staring up through lit branches
sure i had found
where magic sleeps

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

the night he died

i can no longer recall
the last words we shared
but it was something screamed in anger
whilst trying to force the earth
to bend to our geography

memories, blood, and paint
all turn to brown
when mixed and left alone to dry

my mind retains only one
fading recording
of his voice
a few words
he would say in the most desperate
hours of the night

“Baby, I’m tired, I need to sleep. This is not the last day that will see me loving you.”

…until it was

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

lenny bruce’s eyes

the holidays stopped by
with a bottle of bourbon
tucked under his arm

a sugar coated lemon moon
hovering above his hat

he is beautiful
in the opened doorway

we share a heaviness of heart
more burdening
lenny bruce’s eyes

i tell him thank you
for remembering
i’m sometimes very little
and act accordingly

his smile becomes centuries

a coltrane record begins to spin
my favorite things
in the corner

all of it carried in his pocket

as he pours spirits
into perfectly mismatched glasses
and says

i’m here because
we spend this time of year
surrounded by people
who are gone

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

love affair

we were driving
near the water
i was green
with a lack of land
begging him to veer away from lighthouses

he never let me drive
but it was okay
because it was one of the ways
he was older than me
and i counted on him for that

leaning in he notices
my pearly white painted fingertips
resting against the tan leather of the car
and says
your nails are beautiful

i say the color is called
love affair
and he says
of course it is, baby girl,
of course it is…