they're screaming christmas
haven't made my list yet
or even checked it twice.
peace and Osama hide right on,
since afghanistan paid the price.
tinsel'll be a bit duller this year
whilst we slip down slopes of fray.
christmas seasons first sounds rev
as chain saws sing away.
whys and wherefores drift through jangled bells,
countless trees wilt to surreal.
once alive they now die ornamented and mounted
with sugarwater in the pinching base as last meal.
forests of young trees
die holding lights.
one carol of grand tradition sings
as utrasonic screams tear Christmas night
sunset ceremonies - sunrights
half century of westwatching
at endtime of day
during paintboxes of changes
bring back faces catching colors,
places splashed with lastlight,
snips of comments lit
by bits and expansive hues;
visual sniffs of perfumes past
trigger memory treks -
assorted west edge beaches and ranges.
long after greek grandfather
tried to explain the immensity
of a pittsburgh or latrobe pennsylvania sunrise
seen from a city gardened back yard
or country long front porch;
sunsets would become for me
what the other end of day
had been to him.
maybe it's something to do
with this west edge
or a family bond long gone.
perhaps it's about another
sequence of events or rolling dice.
tom the wino smiled,
got that long-range stare in '67;
he was looking back through
port stained pages as he whispered hoarse,
"ahh, do you remember that
peach and green one of august '64,
the one that Maxfield would have whistled at,
the one that sent the colors racing,
the one I watched from
right here on this redondo pier?"
after a sip and a pause,
"well, let me tell you,
it was hard to keep your balance watching;
it spread so wide and bright
it dwarfed and dimmed the rest forevermore."
years later craig and sarah
shared the ceremony
with friends and wanderers
on rolling ridges, windy shores
where herbs and hopbrews were
sacrificed to days closing door.
supper's were served from VW vans
and campfires in the dusk.
there was a sense of stillness and
deep calm in times buffeting storm.
cypressed coast coves and
sequoiaed inland perches held us
while hues rioted and burned.
tides of tinges tones
and tints rose and fell,
connected to the best of times
beyond that one that dwarfed the rest
forevermore.
now, best days start and end
with shades and qualities of light.
all that's ever been returns
to welcome and chase inevitable night.
