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christmas schmismass




It seems like yesterday
the impatient chestnut
spread it’s thousand giant hands
to the sky and
floated pale flower pagodas
over black streets.
Then came the rustle,
and the shade
of springs promise fullfilled.

Blue skys
Yellow mornings
Green canopy

Summer seems long
but winter delivers
it’s own white promise.
Those same green leaves
begin to show wide bands of rust.
The rustle becomes sharper.
From high branches
drop mace-like
weapons of construction.
Nestled in green grass
the armour splits with the promise
of another spring.

Now,
when the days are short
and the winds are bitter.
Now,
when the rustle
has become a hiss
and it seems spring will never return.
Now,
when we need
to hear that green promise most of all,
We roast the romantic little buggers
over an open fire.


have a few for me  -scott

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