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;;:tn:;;

 

 home alone christmas--

unwrapping that pack

of juicy fruit gum

 


an ass, an ox
the three wise men--
manger in a cardboard box

 

 

 

throughout the long night

snow falls

with nary a sound

 

 

 

 

La Meta

The Gulf? Oh, well, the smell of that expanse of water ... the warmth of it, its salinity, the lay of the light from December skies intense yet waning. It's hard to describe, the distances benign.

I fear I am of the wrong latitude. A certain listlessness might overtake me if I were to linger on that scene.


the Christmas catch,
dumped on the deck to flop and kick,
they writhe in this heat

salesman

photo: Michael Larkin; St. Paul



Nakashian O'Neill comes to mind ... Downtown St. Paul, prominently, at 5th and St. Peter, to be precise. Met a gent there, of slight build and an impeccable taste, with that truly apparent Designer's bent. Could this have been Mr. O'Neill of the refined and inquiring eye?

I'd arrived before Christmas in search of blown glass ornaments for the tree. A year or three along and we'd struck up a banter of sorts, after my initial appearance in muddy work togs, like most thereafter, at the end of a day laboring in some new tenant space high aloft some tall building or other that dotted the precipitous skyline.

Once, our conversation having jogged some memory, he went into the back and after a moment's rummaging returned promptly to produce some near forgotten treasures. Bavarian pieces, he'd purchased them on a trip to the Continent, as he graciously explained, with glass elaborations in floral design delicate as a first Confession.

i have them still, a set of three, and 300 or so other pieces from various origins, all fine glass, collected over a lifetime.

One Hell of a salesman, O'Neill ...




a merry jingle
From the street front door ...
fresh snow is falling

nary a sound

 

 

 

throughout the long night

snow falls

with nary a sound

God Jul

     so very long ago
    in language meant for a child
     I hear their voices,
      a tang of green walnuts
       the depth of red clay





 

 Merry Christmas from Haiku Bandit Society

. . . ain't nothin' goin' on!"

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Christmas eve -
the little corner store
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