Wireless, wi-fi, blue tooth,
the air is tangled with virtual cords in the remote fear
we may miss a call, a post, a text, and yet somehow
as we bring the world closer under the microscope
of life at the cellular level
we miss the real world as it passes
before our downturned eyes.
#145
Start with love
and all you do will
end with love.
#144
Acronymically; a U.S. Government agency or a culinary institute,
As a verb; to kill, to reserve (when put on), or to frost a cake
Colloquially; diamonds, drugs, frozen dessert, and precarious situations (if thin).
Locally; the reason we keep a bucket of sand by the door.
#143
It’s when you push through
though pain makes it hard to move.
Tomorrow you’ll cry.
#142
I think someone left
the weather on last night and
the chinook got loose.
#141
Chipped edges like wedges ripped in pine
and bevelled corners and ornery splinters
that go into your fingers even with gloves
on your hands and your plans and self control
drop through knot holes and seep into cracks
that keep coming back, rejecting
the filler, seems nothing will ever
smooth out the skew that warps the ends
and bows that extend into the forth dimension.
The quest for perfection
in two by sixes is a real trick.
#140
Why does it seem
like a faraway dream
of only a minute ago?
Time on the wing
is a relative thing;
a concept you can and can’t know.
Like a cat in box
sometimes here, sometimes not,
even now, there’s a clock ticking down.
Though time tends to blur,
we are what we were,
but were we then what we are now?
#139
My yard lives a sheltered life,
shielded from the wind
Convenient
on those cool and blustery
days in early spring.
My yard lives a sheltered life,
shaded from the heat.
Pleasant
on those summer days
when pavement burns your feet.
My yard lives a sheltered life
guarded by the trees.
Lovely
in the autumn, shuffling
through the piles of leaves.
My yard lives a sheltered life
gathering up the snow.
Perversely
storing winter’s drifts;
reluctant to let go.
In a sense
we never really come to terms with loss;
we just find a spot to park it;
like a bus station locker, then
we lose the key.
#137
‘Twas a month before Christmas, when all through our place
There were no decorations, not even a trace.
The stores in the town were a tinselly mess
Of garlands and lights and ho-ho-ho-ness;
And stocking stuffers nestled all snug on their racks
For something ninety-five each, plus tax.
And we in our work clothes resumed our fixation
On building a deck and home renovations.
And we knew as we worked that the homes of our friends
Were beginning to sparkle with holiday gems.
Their window with LED lights were aglow
In their doorways hung clusters of bold mistletoe.
Their homes smelled of cranberry, spice, and scotch pine
While the fragrance of paint and paint thinner graced mine.
Away to the rec room we flew like two fools
We stowed all the paint, we packed up the tools.
We vacuumed the sawdust, me and my spouse,
Till instead of a workshop, it looked like a house
The refurbished dining room light fixture’s glow
Gave a lustre of midday to the laminate below.
Then off to the storage shed out back I trekked
And exhumed all the boxes marked “Christmas dec.”
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But bins full of tinsel and holiday cheer.
What sorting, what cleaning, what awing and oohing.
What fond reminiscing, what hot gun gluing.
The fragrance of spruce soon replaced the Pine-sol
As I pulled out the cookbook, the apron and all;
More rapid than Martha I baked and I iced
And we put up the garland and then, in a trice,
We invited our friends to help trim the tree
To kick off our plunge into merriment-ry.
As our friends and relations join us this year
We will all raise a glass of good Christmas cheer
And toast to the season, it goes by so fast;
Toast to the memory of Christmases past.
And wish that the goodwill could cancel the strife
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good life.
#136
Linda Studley 