Bears and the grief of Winter

J. Rajcich 2011

Winter is the period of grief

after watching the world

slowly fade around you

into a beautiful death.

The flourish of autumn

is the moment of clarity

just before the world dies.

The bears seem wise

to hibernate winter away.

Never being there

for the final breath,

the last words,

or the death rattle.

Bears never see

the grey blanket

drawn over the vibrant

face of Mother Earth

as her soul leaches

from her body into

the groundwater below.

I do not envy the bears though.

They do not feel the pain

or Struggle with the loss.

They only sleep

all winter long

awakening in spring

only to experience

the mundane repetition

of the same old shit.

After a winter of strife

we get the joy of rebirth

coming full circle

from the dark of Morgoth

to the violins of Vivaldi

as that first splash of color

delivers a touch of splendor

back into this harsh world.

November Crush

The November crush

Grips the inner ghoul

And blackens the heartbeat

which slows to a sluggish pace.

Each beat slow to absorb

Every last ounce of summer blood

Hemorrhaging off the oaks

Spilling to the ground

For the dark season’s ferment.

Broken ghost emotions

Haunting the minds

Of those hunkered down

Away from the bone chill

Clinging to the last time

That they remember feeling

Fuzzy on the inside.

Frozen breezes strike

Those with smiling teeth

Like a dentist’s drill

Killing the friendly gestures

Into a tight lipped grimace.

A holy sweater covered face

Moist with the breath of

A turtle-neck Jesus is

Converting the Masses

To the snug scripture,

While the chicken soup Beelzebub

Tempts the weary spirits away

From the light and into the den

Of baked breads and unforgiveable sin.

Yet this eternal struggle

Between the heavens and hells

Can put itself on hold

Until winter slips away

And returns our imprisoned souls

From solitary confinement

Where they have been stored

Since the November crush began

And there will once again

Be a few souls worth fighting over.

Sunday is bittersweet

Sunday is bittersweet,

 in its' hangover

 of weekend freedom

 being slowly digested

 into impending minor chords

 of breaking waves

 onto the interstate ocean. 

Friday night bedazzling

 in its’ vast opportunities,

 until Sunday corrals the spirit

 back into the credit induced

 gray security blankets

of Monday morning blech.

GLORIOUS TRAMP

Google image composite

Glorious tramp,
stomping daisies,

in battle boots,

living this life,

in-between ruts,

gutter to gutter,

sipping the wines,

of discord and strife.

Surfing the breeze,

into each moment.

Just one haircut away,

from becoming pretty.

A fortune cookie prophecy

gives you hope,

but we both know,

hope is a luxury,

that you cannot afford.

So, onward you stomp,

beyond the daisies,

into the blue-bells.

The death of beauty

is the only way

you keep yourself

from feeling all alone.

Something once beautiful,

now destroyed,

you create an army

of kindred down trodden.

Full of pain and wine,

you all share war stories

until the breeze drifts in

and carries you away,

into the next moment.

THE YEAR'S END

Feeling fuzzy

We held our schedules and lesson plans

for the annual year’s end tradition.

Innocent beginnings and small-talk commenced.

Strangers afoot, and comrades handy,         

a table of nosh in-between to equalize .

We loosed the booze and let it swell.

Words and memories passed with the minutes,

two ales an hour was our pace.

Our sideline seats soon were overrun

by uncomfortable conversations,

that we moonwalked away from gracefully.

The camera flashed as we made this moment immortal,

silly-faced grace and bizzarr-o alter egos

adorned the compact camera lens.

A sudden moment of panic to rally the troops,

one final minute to acquire some bubbly.

Auld Lang Syne on the wind and we hum along.

It’s the end of the beginning,

and the beginning of the end.

Chinese liquor and whiskey suddenly appear,

haunting the wellbeing of all in the room.

Our chance to depart the sinking ship appears,

we fill the life raft with hugs and happy new year’s.

One child left behind in a miserable condition,

the lovey-dovey was too good to be true,

square knots and Kanye was our vigil to you.

Today may give way to the newest year,

but today is a new day and so is tomorrow.

The moment is now and it just passed us by,

each day can be the beginning of something good,

each day is a good time for a positive change.