I have noticed my holiday poems seem to focus on food. This one is about Christmas Eve dinner.

Christmas Cuisine

Sisters scurry
around the kitchen.
Shrimp sizzles
in the skillet
and linguini simmers
in the saucepan.
Scents of garlic,
lemon and butter
fill the air.
The transfer is made
from pans to plates.
Parsley flakes fall
on food and floor,
like the snow
that covers roads
on Christmas Eve.

My mother made Christmas cookies before the days of prepackaging. She made the dough from scratch and also did things like shell nuts and even shave some with a potato peeler. She made at least eight different kinds of cookies and each recipe made several dozen.

The Mountains of Christmas

Mountains lined the buffet
and rose from folding tables
setup just for the season.
Brown sugar and nuts
yielded the darkest terrain.
Pinwheels were stacked into
mounds of red and green.
Frosting and sprinkles created
a glittery landscape.
Powdered sugar provided
a snow-like dusting.
Looking up from the
valley of childhood,
I knew I couldn't
scale these peaks,
but I could take
a little off the top.

All of the stories about Pearl Harbor brought back some memories so I wrote the following:

Emotional Ties

I stood in line
on a bright summer day
trying to imagine
the utter bedlam
that took place
in such a beautiful setting.
I read the history and
even saw some of
the physical wreckage.
I heard stories of
those who were there
and those who just
missed being there.
This visit brought
me closer, but
I still only understood
Pearl Harbor intellectually
until September 11, 2001.

I will be participating in a couple of holiday readings this month so I have been working on some poems related to the holidays. I thought I would share them throughout this month.

Gifts

Some gifts aren't packaged,
wrapped or tied with
a big red bow.
They are unveiled
throughout a day.
Kindness, understanding and support
Company, connection and concern
Laughter, forgiveness and love.
Never out of stock
Available year round
These gifts are best
when they are returned.

On this Thanksgiving Day, I have many things for which to be grateful. What stands out for me this year is all that has come along through the writing of poetry. I have made new friends and connected with old ones in a different way. I have gone new places within the city in which I live. I have connected with other arts in new and exciting ways. So, the poem that follows is a short (as usual) tribute to the building blocks of poetry.

Word Work

Words you read
Words you write
Words that give insight
Words you sing
Words you share
Words that convey care
Words you hear
Words you need
Words that plant a seed
Words you taste
Words you smell
Words that work so well.

I re-discovered haiku after taking a jazz poetry workshop and found that I enjoy the form. Most of the haiku I have written is related to jazz, but I am starting to use it for other topics. Here are three of those.

Mighty and muddy,
the river exudes power
and elicits peace.

Rivers turnover,
and like neighboring cities,
are revitalized.

Nature demands our
respect, but rewards us by
renewing our souls.

I attended a program about the Kennedy-Nixon Debates, which were the first televised presidential debates. This poem was inspired by remarks about the difference between politics then and politics now.

Give Me a Skillful Manager

I yearn for the days
when politicians were
engineers not ideologists.
Their decisions were not
pre-packaged, but freshly made
as called for by circumstance.
They did not vote against
other people, but other principles.
They practiced what seems to be
the forgotten art of doing
what is right at the time.