Christmas Lights

Christmas Lights

Red light pokes through Christmas snow as a carpet
of wet brown dead pine needles softens your walk
from Usang Apartments to Immundae, where you’ve
sat, looking at Ggachi in Sycamores for seven years.
One eighth of the life so far boiled down to a poem,
a gathering, a suspended, augmented, finally diminished
goodbye. But this is the season of hello, great merriment,
brotherhood, sisterhood: of Auld Lang Syne spiced with
eggnog, turkey, ham, the harvest feast to last through stronger
longer days, detectable to the naked eye on exactly December
twenty fifth. My home town got its first four-foot blast in
November, so those snow-covered lights will diffuse a bit longer
than usual, emitting just enough color to stop frozen tears
from forming, and keep long-weary souls enraptured as humans
long enough for love to bloom again. Fourteen hours of dark
but interrupted by lights many don’t take down until March. Why?
Because they know what color means to those who make their
appearance at Christmas then slink back, unable to match their desires
to the way the world really works. To them the Christmas Fa La La
means more than to the carol-leaders. A toast to quiet perseverance.

 

 

TRA LA LA finally another new one!

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

Arable Spring and Two Haiku

Arable Spring

The gap grows wider at the top
And at the bottom too.
The middle also takes a flop
Because the jobs have moved.

Forget-thee-not inflation
Especially food and fuel
Which at present escalation
Leave the masses eating gruel.

Will sharing return to unite
The wage-slaves in such massive debt?
Capitalism already ignites
“austerity” protests that get

Larger, and longer with tear gas
And back-up police at the ready.
But fighting the system won’t last
Yet growing our food is rock steady.

It just takes imagination
And the ability to grow a team.
Voila, no more job stagnation,
Just hard work and following dreams.

The idiots who own the world
Have sunk us all due to their greed.
Protest will never unfurl
In time for us to be freed.

Energy wasted on change
Should be put into working the land.
Only neighbors can rearrange
To align the Creator’s plan.

Villagers already have fun
While the industrialized work.
Once money has ended its run,
Nature will make its own perks.

><><><><><><><><

 

Rumble on you jets
of money, set the world on
fire.  Death equals life.


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Ggachi squawks, builds a
nest, pecks at sand, warns its friends
of dangerous men.

Copyright 2014, Doug Stuber. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.