You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December, 2007.
Soft watercolor
pre-dawn shifts to vividly
rendered intense hues.
Lazy day, lazy
night. Dinner at seven with
turkey and plantains.
Green Cay Marina
walk. J gets stung, M watches
A Christmas Story.
Nut brown ale. Oatmeal
stout. Bayside, we eat gumbo,
salads, tan through lunch.
Cheeseburger joint with
singer grateful for applause.
Relaxed crowd, staff slow.
Day in Christiansted.
Cool arched walkways, courtyards lined
with stores. Few shoppers.
West coast of St. Croix
Palm shaded. At night, torches
cast glow on beach tables.
Green flash at Sunset
Grill on Sprat Hall Beach. Then dined
in lush tropic style.
To Fredericksted.
Live music on Rainbow Beach.
Snorkel for beach glass.
Wet bathing suits, striped
towels hang from porch rails like
vacation banners.
At Schooner Bay, iced
tea - 60 cents at Big Lots -
is nearly three bucks.
Island band’s Christmas
tunes with a reggae twist our
dinner serenade.
Kayak to Green Cay.
Snorkel among reefs. Head back,
sunburned and happy.
Cruzan pineapple
flavored rum makes happy hour
even happier.
We eat cereal
on the porch by the sea, while
island music plays.
Intense turquoise, the
water is a wake-up call
to swim, sun, sail, dream.
She PhotoShops her
self covered with blood spatters
loves puppies, is sweet.
Sleep gently takes you,
like the lethal injection
you cannot resist.
An affectation,
but it’s cute, and she is for
given many sins.
I’ll Dramamine my
self into torpidity,
sleep through drink service.
Like trying to use
your tongue as a lint brush, you
wake up fuzzy-mouthed.
separating the
non-essential from the much
needed is painful.
Andy Williams. Bing
Crosby. John Lennon. Jose
Feliciano.
Not enough time for
cookies, cards, decorating.
Which one do I skip?
Brainiac Barack
cheerleader Oprah campaign.
A Disney moment.
God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!
If I could shoot my
eye out with that thing, I’d just
sit and watch TV.
Only if you’re not
the one doing the shopping,
cleaning and baking.
Like catching snowflakes,
this melts quickly from the heat
of a stressful month.
If you had to pick,
what sense would you sacrifice?
Impossible choice.
My spare bedroom holds
many possibilities
under all that junk.
I burn candles and
incense. Maintain silence. Find
myself in nothing.
Fat balls of yarn crowd
my home like clawless kittens,
needling me to start.
No greater self-love
than a dog licking itself
with satisfaction.
Sometimes, the hunger
that compels you to eat a
cookie is sadness.
Soldiers wear helmets.
Women wear makeup, styled hair.
Our mode of defense.
Could I love you if
we did not touch, if I did
not mark you as mine?
The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.
Making travel plans,
like getting dressed for a date,
is a leap of faith.
We bring it home, put
it on life support so we
can hang ornaments.
Sad orphans ripped from
the forest stretch out their limbs
pleading, ‘Take *me* home.”
Like flickering tongues
of flame in green…blue…red. Just
plug in and enjoy.
It’s the guilty splurge,
potato chips for the mind.
You can’t watch just one.
Like speed dating, if
they make a good impression,
they come home with us.
TV’s “Fisherman
and His Wife” story for our
times. Unalloyed greed.
Inside the snowglobe
winter’s still life settles as
flakes swirl in the air.
Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
Urban mall jungle.
Shoppers prowl for deals, fangs bared,
credit cards dripping.
Happy, they’re kittens
fluffy and sweet. Mad, they’re all
claws, spitting, hissing.
“She hurt my daughter,
so I wanted to hurt her.
Can’t you understand?“
Viriconium,
Gormenghast, Majipoor. Dark
journeys. Twisted dreams.
White has many shades.
Shadow blue, sunlit gold, grey
of approaching storm.
On weigh-in day I’d
inhale helium if it
would make me lighter.
Small delicate word
studies of a larger life
viewed by an artist.
Inertia roosting
inside me like a hen un-
willing to lay eggs.
Summer’s sizzle leaves
me cold. Instead, winter’s white
embrace warms my heart.