a merrier christmas…

there was no need
to study the life line
coursing down the palm
of her hand
to know
of her past
one need only
to count the scars
on her face
stitches added
over the years
but this christmas
was different
she was alone
in the house her father built
atop a mountain
miles from the city
she thought she loved
in a one room cabin
with a small tree
adorned with left over
ornaments
but each one
was placed with love
upon those branches
and she
finally
felt loved
not by a man
but by
a simple
birth

line sketch…

life line
lines on chart
bus line
stay between lines
line of reasoning
lines of conformity
graduation line
lines the pocket
communication line
lines dropped
front line
lines between sanity and insanity
crossed the line
enemy lines
line of fire
three     short     lines
reception line
lines of sorrow
end-of-the-line
lines of crosses

poems….

i do not want to ponder the words
nor google terms so vague
that only a scholar could disentangle the phrase
no
i want to feel the words
reverberating in my skull
a resounding tribute
to
vengeance
death
love
sex
      of all types
birth
rebirth
pain
tears
war
and forlorn souls
or
all of the above

spring ritual….

oh how spring
brings forth from poets
a multitude of verses
a never-ending array
of love lost
and then regained
friendship betrayed
and then forgiven
like an army of prodigal sons
birth and rebirth
more flowers than in a monet painting
colorful rituals of every sort
say but one
removal of the christmas training wheels
although not practiced everywhere
it is one which these poets have forgotten
and like all rituals it has its steps
first to ride upon the softest grass
assuring no injury to the child
leaving only injured ants in its wake
no unexploded ordinances here
unlike the fields in vietnam
next moving to the cruel street
father racing beside his child
legs pumping and out of breath
protecting his child from his past pain
like a parent in beirut, afghanistan, iran
or east la
where learning to ride is not an option
finally at the child’s insistence
the father is banned to the bay window
watching his child challenge the world alone
with coffee cup in hand
still running beside his child
and with his first fall
the first scars upon his heart
as the child continues to confront the world
the father cannot end his virtual race
and with each fall
another scar

Poem inspired by comments from Mirella McCraken http://mirellamccracken.wordpress.com/