Put the X back in Xmas! — Mitch Teemley

People often assume that the term “Xmas” is an attempt to take “Christ” out of Christmas. But did you know that: The term Xmas dates all the way back to the Middle Ages. X is an abbreviation for Christ (it’s the first letter of Christos, Χριστός in the Greek). X is a traditional symbol of […]

via Put the X back in Xmas! — Mitch Teemley


Calling on Calliope


Cattails cast winter shadows
on frozen sand,
Summer’s castles are gone now,
so too the crowds; tides
have long since taken all traces
of their time here.

What the surf couldn’t reach
was picked up by the wind.
This is God’s land
and though it is reshaped
with every storm,
I still claim a dune as mine.

With crackers and cheese,
a thermos of chocolate,
a yellow tablet
and some brand new BIC  pens,
a bargain at ten for a dollar,
I can last for a while on this isolated spot.

I hunker down in the wooly warmth
of a favorite blanket
as I sip the thick sweet chocolate.
Hieroglyphic prints fossilized by frost
fill the beach with poetry.
I beseech Calliope
to guide me in translation.

Snow Globe

The glass round and smooth
warms to the touch of my hands,
It is the world and I own it…
Shake it, watch the snow
settle over the enclosed planet,

A small universe,
but nevertheless, mine.
Even upside down
the steeple holds
to the church,

The ground stays grounded,
A child frozen in play shows no surprise
at finding his feet above his head,
I hold the globe upside down
until I fear he might be dizzy,

Then with gentle hands
and the ultimate conceit,
with just the twist
of my wrist,
I set the whole world straight.


Unpacking the Decorations

December breeze holds hints
of your song. The holly is hung;
scents of cedar and pine linger
in every room. I see your smile
in every star that sparkles
the heavens. The seven stages
have long since expired.
I have made peace with your peace.
Every day is a celebration
of what was, what is and what will be. 

Who Cares?

Who cares about the suffering?
Who cares for the pain?
This planet is hurting,
our heroes are falling,
our dreams are burning.
What are we teaching ?
What are we learning?

“Who cares?” they will ask us
“We care,” we will respond
for though we’re born weak,
Love will make us strong.

Who cares if the sun is shining
or rain is falling?
If laughter is foolish
what about the weeping?
Children are hungering.
How will they survive
if we’re myopic guides?

“Who cares?” they will ask us
“We care,” we will respond
for though we’re born weak,
Love will make us strong.

Who cares to have diamonds and gold,
the sheen soon grows dim.
Open up our hearts, Lord,
Lift us from the shadow
of sin. Heal us of
our instinct to judge.
Fill us with your love.

“Who cares?” they will ask us
“We care,” we will respond
for though we’re born weak,
Love will make us strong.

Always Near

…in the shadows
that sashay
across the sweeping lawn,
dancing at twilight
to settle quietly
with the first sweet blush
of each new dawn.

Always near…
in the prism
cast by morning dew,
the fiery flash
of the tiny tear
that drops silently;
that is you.

Always near…
You are the sky,
the earth, the essence
of all that is
or ever will be
through all the eons
of eternity.

Sometimes heaven
seems so far,
but you, my child
who dwells
among the stars,
live ever in my heart.
You are always near.

Blaming it on the Keyboard

The ‘C’ sticks,
repeats itself
as if caught up
in some mad recall

The ‘S’ engaged
in the same such goo
goes sluggish
in extended hiss

The ‘M’ is faded
like a fuzzy memory
and all the keys
are worn

state of the art,
it stumbles, forgets its words
and how to spell them

It types
so much
than it used to

and seems
no longer sure
if what it types
is true

Why on earth
would I use such machinery?
Well, that’s easy:
The tablet,

the i-phone,
the i-pad and
even the android
have a grudge against me.

Is it just me?

Is it just me or is there something special in the air today?

I have only read a few posts as it is a busy day, but what I’ve read has been so splendid
that I had to share a couple of links to blog entries that really struck a chord on this
beautiful day-after-Thanksgiving.

Torn Pages by MSScheffer

Under the Ice by Kerrianna

My Mother’s Death by Mitch Teamley

Dyma gartref by bongler

Turner gets busted    by Carl D’Agostino

I know there are others that will knock my socks off, and I tip my hat to those too.

Many thanks!



A Lull

Mist rises over the mountains,
The world is between sips,
requiring nothing
for just this second.

Elms are stripped
of their umbrella leaves;
their bare limbs celebrate freedom
with no inkling of brooding.

There is peace in the sound
of November rain.
It lulls into thoughts
of content.

No victories or failures to plague us,
there’s no struggle to overcome,
just an overwhelming sense
of simplicity

at the kiss of the kindred rain.

A Wren Sings in an Idle Mill

The idle mill has oxidized,
weeds and rust claim empty ovens.
Smokestacks devour themselves;
row after row of broken brick
falling, filling
falling, filling
like minds gone dim.
Memories and old dreams
make us realize our innocence.
A tinge of sadness at the smallness
of our might have beens.
Then in the wasteland
of baser thoughts, of sidewalks cracked
and old cars rusting on cinder blocks,
a wee wren boldly lands and sings.
Amidst the ugliness of an idle mill
where empty spaces are filled with wind,
we glimpse the pure, the beautiful,
the benevolent touch of God’s hand.