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Click hereand so this is Christmas
wrapped up in cinnamon dreams
under Rioja haze
and an eiderdown cocoon
red ribbon kimono belt sealed
and signed with a promise
of tomorrows
and so
this is Christmas
and what have we really done
other than reach out and brush by
another set
of trembling fingertips
when we lingered tipsy
just outside the circle
of the others' homely fire
and sang a carol of our own instead
gazed upwards
to see no betlehem's star
but indeed a million milky others
that others try as they might
to plaster plastic to their
indoor universe
there are stars
in the lines of her palm
they landed when she beckoned
and gently closed her fist
now scattered across the room
with the rest of the
gift
wrapping
glowing in the corners
they keep us company
and wait for the sun
and so this
is Christmas
on idle breath
in candle lit air
blood red lips
raven black hair
and under those lids
glacier twin embers
almost cyan
hibernate
sleep now
questions too basic to utter
will linger unspoken
to be collected and released
with the scattered stars
we captured
come morning
so this is Christmas I guess
one like never before
a gift bestowed
a riddle yet
to solve
this was an enigma of yule. TK U MLJ LV NV
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,000 poems.
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A lovely Christmas rendering ~ Santa's bag filled with rich images and descriptions - sometimes mystical wording makes this a nice read.
Oh my ~
Some folk can be sooo touchy;
My favorite time of year
A pagan celebration going back
Many thousand years and, coincidently
My birthday;
And along with what Eve said,
The delicious flavor of cinnamon
Makes this all so special.
Christmas is love. The serene musicality of the entire piece is extraordinary and the language used fits that purpose completely.
I think you meant to say "homey" instead of "homely", in the fourth stanza, and - while being a gorgeous graphic image - I would probably have chosen a different, warmer word, instead of the "glacial" twin embers. Small details in the greater context of the poem, though.
As an aside to don87654, "To the pure, all things are pure; but to those who are defiled and unbelieving, nothing is pure; but both their mind and their conscience are defiled. They profess that they know God, but by their works they deny him, being abominable, disobedient, and unfit for any good work."