akin to mom, tucking me in,
a blanket of warmth, security and love
envelopes me, most mid Decembers.
no herald angels in voice
no braying of beasts,
possible starry night.
memories tumble down
scent of pine, invades the room
which takes on a late fifties glow.
lightly closing eyes form the silhouette of
a tree a hue of colors,
think holly dream mistletoe.
not every, yet pleasantly many
of these awaken nirvana stumble my way.
a whim of dream, a longing for the almost forgotten.
only times past regrets refrain from here
as do spilled hope/ vision of grandeur.
no calls for more /no hint of want
just pleasant seasonal contentment.
Born and raised on the prairies of Manitoba Canada, along the Red River and just south of Lake Winnipeg. Then Alberta and ten years in the Rockies, just above Montana. The last decade in the Canadian Gulf Islands. People, ideas and stories set the stage of my poetry and writing. Music and art fill my days and verse fills my head. I feel the fortunate one and share this world with my life partner.