Obedient Ending
By Terry Daniel McDonald
Fate exalts blind obedience.
Hold it and be entranced,
like white moths and spiders,
designed to dance and grasp
beneath a lost horizon,
upon eternal ivory petals.
Loosen the reigns upon the neck of fate.
Radiant dreams fade away,
and stillness, like a lifted chalice,
is the silent entering,
of the undulate, intimate, and fluctuant,
freely lurking presence.
What is it, breathing?
What is this touch?
Our darkness is aware.
A vein pulses, yearns and goads,
to be under the sky,
destroying our teacher there.
This is the winter of body and mind.
A student masters striking a chord,
and arouses the music dwelling deep,
among the rapturous dead,
all designed to stare in silence,
obediently fall asleep.
Vision of Christmas
By Terry Daniel McDonald
A snowflake is falling,
drifting lazily beneath its creator,
A petal blossom from a cloud,
dances gracefully in the wind.
When I think of Christmas,
I imagine crystalized tears of joy,
a cloak in white as a tribute,
to the coming new year.
A single flake joins others,
sheathing the sky in paleness,
A mass like a curtain,
softening all the vistas before me.
My boyhood vision of Christmas,
in coat, scarf, thick beanie and gloves,
the crisp, fresh air as I chase my breaths,
snow fights and snow men and laughter.
A single flake eventually melts,
the fields of white begin fading away,
A snowman slumps into a puddle,
mirroring my regret over what must change.
Christmas will come again, though,
a gift to long for that softens my heart,
when I can rejoin the boy in the field,
to marvel at a snowflake falling.
Traditions, This Time of Year
By Terry Daniel McDonald
It rarely snows in memory, when I remember,
this time of year.
At Grandma’s house with cookies and family,
laughter and presents,
or when, all together, we’d go Caroling.
The giving of ornaments,
this time of year,
was very much a conversation,
how we recognized each other
with our Selections.
On Christmas Eve, too,
this time of year,
assuming we’d travelled south,
one present was chosen,
igniting our passion for Santa.
If you like stockings,
this time of year,
ours of felt and handmade,
mine with a drummer boy,
came out of the Chest.
Elaborate decorating took place,
this time of year,
as Grandma’s country theme and purple,
figurines on shelves and two trees,
one frosted, the other green, came alive.
Every year we came together,
this time of year,
I was reminded of my family,
it’s role and importance,
how we expressed Devotion.
If only it could have lasted,
traditions, this time of year.
But I have youthful memories,
eternal fondness for the bonds of love,
reminding me of what’s possible.
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