Tuesday, December 13, 2016

December

I’ve no rustic,
romantic imagery
of cabins
in the snow.

No,
December is cold
and wet
and harsh,

but when experienced
under warm blankets,
against the soft skin
of a loved one,

December can be
a quiet respite,
a sacred prayer.

December softly
compels an accounting,
demands
a grateful response.

Days run out
the calendar,
hours run out
the daylight.

With certainty,
there will be
tomorrows,
and blooms
will dot
the near-naked
branches,
the chill will
escape from
these bones,

and I’ll await
December again,
trying to love it all
not as a memory
nor a mirage,

but rather
as a moment.

9 comments:

  1. Remember it as a moment - I really like that idea.

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  2. Loving it as a moment, that is wonderful. Did you mean scared or sacred about the prayer? Am guessing sacred, smiles.

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  3. Anonymous9:39 PM

    This is beautiful and sensuous with a delicate quality. I like it very much.

    Vera

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  4. This is beautiful, coming from one in a rustic cabin. It really transported me to a place of poetic truth.

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  5. The simple beauty of your poem falls like snow.

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  6. This feels sad, nostalgic - stripped down to its barest moments, I do think December can be harsh. Yet you make it intimate as well, and somehow still soft & warm. The song evokes this same misty feeling...leaves me adrift in memories...Thanks for sharing.

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  7. Oh! If only I could do this. Anxiety gets in the way of appreciating and staying in the moment, now. Working on it! I hope you get some restful time off in December. I know I need that rather intensely.

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  8. This is a soft kiss of a poem! Flannel sheets, wool blankets, down comforter ... early darkness and long nights. " blooms will dot the near-naked branches, the chill will escape from these bones," ... that is so pretty ... but for now the moment.

    Sigh - you outdid yourself!

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