Away so long...

But I'm back on Blogger, my first home. Before MySpace, before deviantART, before in-your-face-book, there was Blogger.

Sit With Me

A fool can see that the tub is clean,
the kitchen floor is bathed in sparkle,
enough ale is set to cool,
and the meanest holiday chores are gone,
done within the hour.

Sit with me.
I have a word to say to you,
about the year gone by,
before our friends and auld-lang-synes
devour up the hour,
we did the best with what we had,
or possibly we didn't.
Days give into hours
and hours into minutes.
But the house is clean,
and forest green is definitely you,
if I was you-that sweater?
I'd wear it.

Motes drift in the shaft of sunlight
that only comes in winter.
Through our study windows,
dancing in that very beam
the curly blue and
too much steel of cigarettes,
awaiting guests.

Holiday lights spark and gleam.
You've set our home to welcome-warm,
and kept the yule thing going
,since damn Thanksgiving morn,
and swept and held and scraped the hearth,
but now that New Year's born,
winter's here, and so are we.

Sit with me.

Hi Snuz!

Trying to remember how things work on this one Blogger. MySpace has ruined my brain, LOL! Also it says you can upload gifs, but I'm not sure.

Let's see what happens.

Christmas Time, Once More

Look Very Closely and see if you can guess who this is?
Here's a hint: she's originally from the San Juaqin valley in California, but actually enjoys snow.

Happy Birthday, Beautiful Snuz!

COLD FRONT (for Snuzie)

Lightning sparks; clouds darken.

Spatters start. I smile.
You close the window,
I shut off the dying fan.

The TV set succumbs to static.
Water flows upon the land.
Nature pulls the plug.
Welcome breezes flap the awning.
Shutters bang; we laugh.

You sit astride me,
I come pearls and glassy cream
up into a womb that hovers.
You ask, from a dream:
Like this? My Love?
I grin.

Liking Rain

I think of rain as periodicity,punctuation,
if you like,
needed like grammar needs light
expression,
the earth, it's children, you and I
cannot live unless the firmament opens,
and birds sing just after.

I think of rain in a new way,
no longer umbrellas or dirty streets,
or hated fumes from taxi
tailpipes,
city strangers soulessly dashing for cover
from nothing
more than a drop in ponchos.

I think I think,
then watch the trace of a wayward
bubble,
sliding down the window on your side,
a gift from
summer,
while you softly breathe,
sleeping on your side,
on a June afternoon in our bed.

I think of rain differently,
and I was odd to despise it.
And you were kind to be around me,
liking rain,
till I caught on, patient you:
till I stumbled upon what you already knew.
Now I watch for
the prism over town
late in the afternoon,
and the fresh note the robin chirps
when showers end and the world is new.
11:13 AM