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Family’s Christmas Song

Wake up! Wake up! It’s Christmas morn! We don’t care where we come from, or were we were born! We’ve seen the gifts in every one’s heart —we have the reason — from where this starts.

Good morning! Scrambled eggs, French toast, home fries, hot cocoa, and coffee dark and local roast. Adulthood peeking into childhood memories. Quietly giggling, mama kissing all our cheeks warm —papa getting dressed, telling us to get ready for church, “to celebrate a birth, in a stable long before we are born, another child in a family melody —poor as dirt”. Long before we understood —long before we could. And — as all children should.

We wake up! Awake, —on this Christmas morn; joyously understanding the meaning —and the chorus of our family’s Christmas song!

fresh wreath cabin tied

marks a home that welcomes song

from a Holy night

[In the Old Testament books, several hundred prophecies about the Messiah and His blessed Kingdom can be found. They are scattered throughout almost all the books of the Old Testament, beginning with the Five Books of Moses and ending with the last prophets Zachariah and Malachi. The Prophet Moses, King David, the Prophets Isaiah, Daniel, and Zachariah wrote the most about the Messiah.]

And so we are born.

 

(Pastel and Ink by R.K.Garon)

2019

 
11 Comments

Posted by on December 22, 2019 in Christmas, Love, Poetry, Prose Poetry

 

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My Gift To You

     I began giving gifts, on the proper occasion, in the last few years or perhaps even, further than that, of things I have owned and have held fondly. They were meaningful to me, enjoying the memories of where and why I had them.

     Their presence… through the years, eventually faded into the bookcase or on an empty shelf, or, on top of the piano; until once a year I dusted them.

     Now, memories have assimilated into experience and knowledge. So please accept these pieces of my life that has been shared many times, as I pass on this gift of acceptance to share with you.

 

fresh pines tied in red

marks the door that welcomes gifts

in a special light

Merry Christmas to all my writer and creative friends.

 
30 Comments

Posted by on December 15, 2016 in Haibun, Poetry

 

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December’s Hope 2015

There is a universe

Within  Falls’  glittering sunlight  

In a fallen rain drop.

******

Frozen rain in flakes gathers

to embrace the earth

To protect the seed

Before spring arrives

with flowering ecstasy

In new-born Eyes.

 *****

Dawn is expected

Nights’ blue horizon highlights’

Morning star’s new day

morning star4

~Pine Cone Diary~   R.K. Garon

 

Happy Holidays

and a Merry Christmas

                    ZQ

 
20 Comments

Posted by on December 20, 2015 in Pine Cone Diaries, Poetry

 

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A dark wooded night: The Prodigal Ghost

Wind bristling, snow spitting,

urging my heels to push small pine cones

crunching icy pine needles in my foot prints.

 

Owls hoot! Shadows dart! Dead limbs snap!

Moonlight guides the rising bend.

Boot soles slide on unseen ice.

I regain balance.

Rousted squirrels brightly tick eventide.

The remaining light fades from dusk,

I find myself at the  forest edge

short of distant village lights.

 

The wind tears through his over-coat

 threads flutter and shred behind him.

Sleet and ice, preceding new-falling snow

quickly glistens  the way.

 

Dim lights flicker

through the tunnel of a covered bridge.

               He rode hard and fast on the morning he crossed it.

With anger, pain, and impatient with promises,

               he vowed to return without the empty hands

               that gripped the reins of his departure.

 

Wood smoke waffles in scented  shifting winds

carrying anticipation awaiting  by the wood stove.

 

Storm steadily  blowing in a white-out slant

stretches the flame of his swaying lamp.

 

Following  the tracks that he once made;

never looking back  at his worst now,

or, whatever he thought was his best.

Putting my lamp out,

I stamped my feet on the wooden porch floor

and enter the bright warm farmhouse.

 

In my welcome, I returned from my pockets,

the path I had taken and the good grace

of a dark wooded night.

 

 
11 Comments

Posted by on December 15, 2013 in Children, New England, New Hampshire, Outlaw, Poetry, Zen

 

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