New Year's Day--
everything is in blossom!
I feel about average.
Poetry can be so many more things
Than what people mostly believe it is."
[log in to unmask]
Poems by Others . . . <http://anotherpoetrysite.blogspot.com/>
On Barcelona <http://onbarcelona.blogspot.com/> (submissions sought; email
to my address above)
Truck <http://halvard-johnson.blogspot.com/> (no submissions; new
Entropy and Me <http://entropyandme.blogspot.com/>
Images without Words <http://imageswithoutwords.blogspot.com/>
Hal & Lynda's homepage <http://sites.google.com/site/halvardjohnson/Home>
Hamilton Stone Editions <http://www.hamiltonstone.org/>
Hamilton Stone Review <http://www.hamiltonstone.org/hsr.html>
<http://www.hamiltonstone.org/>Vida Loca Books
*Songs My Mother Taught Me
To Be Seen <http://www.spuytenduyvil.net/remains-to-be-seen.html>, *Sonnets
from the Basque & Other Poems <https://sites.google.com/site/vidalocabooks/>
*, *Mainly Black
, *Obras Públicas <https://sites.google.com/site/vidalocabooks/>; **The
Perfection of Mozart's Third Eye and Other Sonnets
Harvest with Entrance of Clones
Bouquet <https://sites.google.com/site/vidalocabooks/>; **Theory of Harmony
to the Tokyo Subway
<http://xpressed.wippiespace.com/fall03/genome.pdf>; **Winter Journey
<http://capa.conncoll.edu/johnson.eclipse.html>; **The Dance of the Red
Swan <http://capa.conncoll.edu/johnson.dance.html>; **Transparencies &
On Wed, Dec 31, 2014 at 5:11 PM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]>
> Bad form. It's funny isn't it, Max. You both so seem to agree with the
> ludicrousness of all the festivity and yet some vestige of hankering for
> surprise and/or ritual play lingers.
> Hadn't thought about that chimney lack being such a 'fretful' thing. But I
> suppose it could be, like another diminished thing: backyards, no longer
> available to go out and play in, new houses being banged up hard against
> fences, no room for a clothesline much less a makeshift cricket pitch.
> Ho ho,
> > On 31 Dec 2014, at 4:39 pm, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> > Christmas Trees
> > Days to go before Twelfth Night
> > and I’m stumbling on the pavement
> > stubbing my toes on pine trees -
> > last week in those apartments
> > they were propped up, lit up,
> > crowned with angel or star.
> > At the base piled up gifts
> > wrapped in red and green, tied
> > with gaudy ribbons. Kids
> > wrote notes to Santa, helped
> > mother in the kitchen, fretted
> > that they lacked a chimney.
> > Red stockings fastened
> > to high window ledges.
> > The shopping! in the elevator
> > dog and I, nostrils twitching,
> > leaned towards bulging
> > bags of food, leaned back
> > as pine-tree pongs assailed us,
> > and prickly pine-arms pushed
> > us to the elevator corner.
> > I spoke to a human behind one,
> > smaller than the tree he’d bought.
> > Wonderful custom, he grumbled.
> > Outside town, acres had been
> > clear-felled of these, next year’s
> > crops were in the offing.
> > Have a good one, everyone
> > was saying to everyone.
> > These days, happy for others,
> > I don’t do Christmas.
> > Music, yes, croaking first
> > verses of old carol favorites,
> > leaving the choirs to finish.
> > I wrapped some books, recently
> > smuggled in (unwarranted expense),
> > propped them by our bed
> > at midnight, saying Let’s open
> > our parcels now, then sleep.
> > Bad form. Christmas breakfast,
> > two of us and the dogs,
> > a certain ruefulness.
> > At least we didn’t have a tree.
> > Now I’m walking a dog,
> > our nostrils twitching -
> > superfluous evergreens
> > endanger our outing -
> > wishing the world preferred
> > the artificial everlasting
> > totally kitschy trees that get
> > squeezed back in their box
> > like resolutions briefly
> > on show for the time of year,
> > seeing out the old, seeing in the new.
> > 29 December 2014 / Seattle / Max R