The Winter Holi-Dazed & EnLightened Word Jam

[Doreen Peri]

I'm lighting scented candles,
sipping sherry, dreaming
of lightstrings to shimmer
the snowfall.

The streetlight outside
makes my shadow on
the wall
look like a tall
willow.

I should have gone to
sleep with I was tired.
I long for my pillow.
Now the adrenaline
has set in.

When did the party begin?
Pour me an eggnog.
Decorate it with cinammon.

[tinkerjack]

that makes people kill them selves

I don't know, I tried to figure it out when I was about eight years old

Locked in closet with a belt and a coat hook



Romantisizing silent winds?

[Doreen Peri]

Silent nights. Silent winds.
Pour me an eggnog.
Did the party begin?

[tinkerjack]

When did the party begin?
Pour me an eggnog.
Decorate it with cinammon.

sounds yabyummy

[Axanderdeath]

I am drinking beer and writing in an internet place with a bunch of morons playng some roll playing game--my birth day is dec. 25 I HATE THE FUCKING TIME OF YEAR

[tinkerjack]

Are you having fun?

[Doreen Peri]

The birth of a baby,
mid-winter, surrounded
by the love of animals
in a pen.
Some playing donkey,
some playing sheep.
Some remembering
when.
This is the myth.
A beautiful child
to behold.
A life cycle of seasons,
birth, death, resurrection,
unfold.
Winter, spring, summer, fall.
All follow the pattern.
Yes, all.

Happy bithday coming soon, Geoff!
There's nothing to hate about life!
Well, not unless you grow up
and marry an ugly bitchy wife!

[Axanderdeath]

for some reason the last line of what doreen write made me smile and laugh!

I don't want to hate the world. It is setting it's self up is all...

[tinkerjack]

I can tell by your smiling face everything is going to be allright.
But you know
Tomorrow there will be another war, more starving children, but tonight we are warm, we have beer and egg nog
time to break on through to a little joy
you deserve it

[Doreen Peri]

Well, it might be 'cause it was funny.

Glad to give ya a grin.
Lemme try again.
Where shall I start?
I'm not that smart.

Oh I know!
I can tell you about Santa!
Unless you've got Claus-trophobia!
What do reindeer say before they tell a joke?
This will sleigh you.
What is Santa's primary language?
North Polish.

Did it work?
Are ya grinnin' now?
Did you hear anything about the
tenth reindeer named Olive?

Olive, the other reindeer,
used to laugh and call him names...

[tinkerjack]

jingle balls jingle balls
I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus
Mrs Claus did not like it one bit
Dam there has to be a punch line
So she peed in the punch bowl

[Doreen Peri]

If I'm standing at the North Pole, facing the South Pole, and the East is on my left hand, what's on my right hand?

(Fingers, silly.)

[judih]

poor dears,
poor santa, holly, overwhelmed dears
lost in the labyrith looking for a waif
singing out to the invisible child
offering alms and chestnuts
sitting by fireplaces
and sipping ambrosia
waiting for the waif

looking for the eyes of redemption
holding onto hand-knit gestures of obsession
a woolen kiss, close-cheeked bliss

sweet human family
shucking lies like outer leaves
warming up hopes and dreams
sitting by the log-filled hearth

my family caught in a moment
a month long dream
while i, this past century dead,
hover so close
a myth i hope to capture

a myth from an age-old pasture
i a heavenly concoction
a toy witheld, a joke barely uttered
a longing for what i could be
if only i were there

i wish i were there

[tinkerjack]

a myth i hope to capture
a longing for what i could be
if only i were there

i wish i were there

Waiting for the waif’s metaphor of the happy ending
A longing for a sisters and brothers in a family redeemed

If only I was here

Sing it Lightnin rod

sweet human family
shucking lies like outer leaves

He was preaching peace and mercy mild

now that preacher man tell me that there ain't no more messiah's going to be born cause he has come and gone. And he is coming back really pissed, going to kick some infidel butt

edited

[Doreen Peri]

(that's beautiful, judih.. make no mythtake about it!)

I am reading about esotericism.
Every night for the past month, I read from this book.
I light a candle by the bed and read.
On my nightstand is another book. A novel where
a man journeys to another planet. I alternate between
books. I will do so until I finish them and then there will
be another book because under the novel sits another book
and under that book is another book.

I don't need to read them in order. It is the symbolic
nature of the ritual of reading by candlelight which brings
light to my heart and every book has metaphor and symbols
and every page is a new trek, every paragraph a new hill to
traverse.

I am an avid believer in reading.
I often print you out and take you
to bed with me and I print others out
and take them to bed with me.

I read best by candlelight when
the night is large and I am tiny, when the
words crawl inside me like little pieces,
small glimpses of truth.

In my youth, I read under the covers
with a flashlight, the blanket pulled over
my head like a tent.

This is not poetry. These words hold no metaphor,
no simile, no structure. I am only attempting
to read myself out of the dark and I am thankful
for candlelight and printouts from goddesses
and discoverers, from seekers, from mythologists.

One day everything I write will become me.
It will be all there is left. I am a book inside a book
with another book left to read right outside of me
and inside the second book is a third book waiting
to be written and in between the chapters of the
third is a fourth book waiting to be read and outside
of the fourth book is a fifth book with the characters
from the first book only they are discovering the
sixth book and so on until the infinite. One day
everything I write will become me and you will
crawl inside my one hundredth book and find
parts of you in between clauses while reading
by candlelight and when we blow the candle out,
we will become the candle and someone will light
us again and read us in their books by their bed.