The Shirt of Father Christmas

The stiff, white collar
Was tight around his neck,
And with two fingers
He would stretch it,
For comfort and for custom’s sake.
A burley Father Christmas,
With white beard and a hearty laugh,
He passed it on to me,
The shirt, to keep and store it
For some future day.

Many years it has so hung,
Empty and deprived of use,
A memory of childhood days.
Now, out of necessity,
I took it from the shadows,
To find it graces you.
And quite as if by chance
You fill the shirt, and make
My days an endless celebration,
With gifts of patience, trust and love.

© jsmorgane (Nov 2010)

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Published in: on November 23, 2010 at 9:10 pm  Comments (2)  
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And there is Light

Hold your hand against the sun –
It would not be denied.
The Light seeps through,
Setting your fingers aglow.
Then the shadow that has fallen
Shall pass from your face –
It will be healed of doubt,
And within will be kindled
A spark to answer the Light.

© jsmorgane (Nov 2010)

Published in: on November 16, 2010 at 3:50 pm  Comments (4)  
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War

I consume people, one after the other.
I run my fingers through their long blond hair,
And dye it black after I have chopped it short.
I let my eyes dwell on their high brow,
And penetrate the Sacred with my gaze.
I dive into blue eyes,
And ripple their clear, still surface.
I outline straight noses,
And expose their striving pride.
I rest my heavy hands against the cheek bones,
And bruise the soft skin.
I kiss your lips,
And bite them bloody to match mine.
I caress your fingers, one by one,
And drain them of their delicate strength.
I draw dark lines in your tender balms,
And read no future.
I tie your long and well-shaped legs,
To stop the carefree gait.
I twist your white neck
Because I cannot bear its beauty.
And when your body opens to my touch
I absorb your essence, lead you out
And ensure your extinction,
Before I move on.

© jsmorgane (winter 2004)

Published in: on November 13, 2010 at 11:11 pm  Comments (8)  
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