Words.

Words

can be so utilitarian.

Scrawled

reminders

on Post-its,

tapped

to-do’s

in Memo,

tiny type

on

included

Directions

(folded like origami)

(and about as easy to duplicate)

densely

pecked

and purposefully

convoluted

onto

Contracts

–which excessive footnotes and addendums

tickle anxiety bones–

(and mean to)

but words!

Because words!

Words

are also the stuff

of Poetry.

of Love.

of Every Story that ever was and

of God,

(if you believe In The Beginning of that story, anyway)

and in these distinctions

–everything beautiful

arises.

Lyrics

to caress notes,

Sonnets

to entrance

souls,

Happily-Ever-Afters

to pull wool

over

jaded gaze,

–that the heard might continue–

words can be

the Rembrandt

of Your Story

–daubing the Dream–

or words can

paint the house in which you dwell

–careless of crown moldings

and missing primer–

the decision

tips

your pen.

A conduit of the heart.

I needed

AWOL

(4)

my

room∙in∙nation

(s)

a place

to

round

(house)

my

tribulation

(s)

a

rogue

leave

ceiling’ed

in looking

glass,

reflecting

trap

doors

and

ruling class,

Ames architecture

constricting

and expanding,

worst

conjectures,

&

(uncertain landings)

I wanted to know why.

Why he was so quiet

–when I had told him everything–

and in that void

I spewed.

Answering my own uncertainty

with all the dirt collected

in the corners of my fears

–and more.

Vacuum in reverse,

I coated the nothing

in darkness within.

Growing thief-thick,

and animate, besides,

these released Tommyknockers

towered in

naked trembles above

and all around–

throwing undulating shadows

that danced a grim jig

–and threatened–

–and mocked–

–and kept amazing time–

(deliverance be damned)

Undone and wrung out,

when the darkness

was exhausted

the flickering light

that yet existed

(within)

dimmed

and

new darkness grew.

Don’t ask why.

(is the take away)

Asking why

turns burners on

–front and back mind burners–

and prepares a

meal-for-one

repast

that trumps Humble Pie and

Crows meant for snacking and

Everything better served cold and

no matter how vigilantly

that bubbling stew is watched

–burns down

houses.

Vacuums and all.

swipe on

pretend,

dress near

in

–clashing clues–

stand up

loose

an I shirt, too

don

go away’s

. . .

but

linger.

8

The countdown’s been counted,

and kisses exchanged,

‘lang syne has been yodeled,

in high-octave range.

The Waterford Ball

in Times Square has dropped,

the New Year’s begun—

the old one has stopped.

According to recording

GMT clocks.

Time now to honor,

extravagant claims,

of what you will do

that isn’t the same…

And how these adjustments

are sure to effect,

an overdue tune-up

on things you have wrecked

—and by you–I mean me,

because I project.

The quitting of drinking—

will help you grow healthy.

The quitting of gambling—

will help you be wealthy.

The halting of

swearing—

while wearing

in private–

will set an example,

both pompous & pious.

This year will be different.

—If ancients weren’t lying—

the Aztecs…the Hopis,

the Toltecs, & Mayans

as planets aligning

will shift, too, our focus,

swing north pole to south,

& screw up the locus.

(unless it’s all been

so much hocus-pocus)

Hurrah! We’ve made it. The bad news is also the good news; with 2 months down and 2 months to go, we are halfway thru these shorter days. I don’t know about you, but eVening falling at 4:30 is just too short a day for my sensibilities, and I am always a happier camper when the sun hangs around for more than a cameo.

We’ve also made it to the 8th and final installment in this series,. As usual with this sequence of verses, find links to all that came before below. Click thru for a full view of how the last 2 months unfolded–in joy, jeer and jest–and have a Happy New Year while you’re at it, too.

First Week

Second Week

Week 3

4th Down

5th Golden Week

6% Sales Tax Week

7 Deadly Sins Week

7 (Deadly Sins) Week

You’re bloated

—and bankrupt

Yule Tide’s washed your tanker,

into islands of debt,

peopled by bankers–

–likely to raise

your APR soon,

since plastic’s

elastic

and rarely a boon.

And though Noel’s past

and Boxing Day’s done,

you’re not

off the hook yet

for ritual fun,

as pending New Year

dictates a freezing–

–of habits—

—and vices–

and other things pleasing.

Yes, gluttons

will diet,

and lazy men toil,

the proud find new lows,

the envious foiled,

smokers will quit,

and drinkers abstain,

following

swallows

of helpful champagne.

Live life

to the fullest,

these next seven days,

pampering—

—hampering

dubious ways.

Indulge in your cravings

your crutches and sins—

at least until midnight

when New Year’s begins.

We are just one ball drop away from the holly-daZe coming to a close–if they still do that in NY, anyway–and to mark that, here is a timely verse in this tongue-in-cheek overview of the holidays. A little jest, a little jibe, but all in good fun, I hope 2023 is a great year globally.

If you missed the start of this 8-verse sequence, you can get up to date by clicking the links below.

First Week

Second Week

Week 3

4th Down

5th Golden Week

6% Sales Tax Week

Also, this was originally published by the Book Smuggler’s Den, and you can link to that great site–and other inViting reads–here:  Book Smuggler’s Den

March Hare fools April,

(Hatter mad & turtle quick)

and capricious she, boomerangs

May Days into month next,

showering June with

Gloom Bugs–

–Bigger than Moons–

but Lady-like in spots, too.

Not the bugs celebrating

Independence

from Kings & burning children

well beyond the 4th day of month next–

lightning bugs…

(and fireflies)

spangling skies & beginning a tradition

that opiates a populace with patriotism

and backyard barbeques, besides,

until Days wax to Dogs–

–howling hot and

let out by God knows who,

but probably Golden Retriever Dogs…

As luck would have it, the 9th month

(Laboring perpetual 911 emergency thru photo opps)

––flies by in consummate fashion →→

and when it’s Killing Time,

that’s a blessing.

A straight up blessing.

Primal release that Rocks

it all Over All Hallows,

and All Hallowed, too

> Prissy Hallowed <

everybody knows

sex is standard operating procedure

after mortal loss,

(look it up!)

the door between worlds wide open that 31st day

–giving thanks for this & more!

Parodizing a Last Meal,

Paganizing a Big Deal,

Until January, cold and forlorn,

reminds you just how little there is to

Love without commercial recourse–

–when you March into See’s,

silent as a lamb, but

quick like an Easter Bunny–

to foil hearts.