Flame the Next

{There is hope.

Synicism is welcome, 

but not allowed to take over...

Remember

that within you 

(metaphorically, of course ;))  

are shadows

created by the lights

that exist

within the same space.

We have it in us to love -

just as much as

we have it in us to do much worse - 

All is not lost...

Thankful for being created with potential...

for you too

are able to love.

Merry Christmas :),

- C} 

Born into dawn,
Born into dark -
          under threat of certain death...
     Dark 
     always 
     returns.
Creator 
     becomes the created.
     Again and again.

All is not lost.

Born into love,
Born into light -
     into arms 
          raised and made 
          strong by love
          in days gone by -
     arms 
          strengthened to 
          hold and
          love the next.
     Light 
     always
     returns.
Creator 
     learns love from the created.
     Again and again.

All is not lost.

Sun and moon
          in sync with our 
          souls of 
          various gray...
     Neither one 
          nor the other:
Dark and Light 
     continue their dance.
     Again and again.

All is not lost.

Break of day
     (as always)
               bursting forth
     with rays
               from our hearts - 
     to raise 
               the Light
     to raise 
               from the Dark.

All is not lost.

Born to raise
God;
     light ushered into 
     darkness:
          welcomed by a candle
          already 
          lit.

All is not lost..
     
     For 
          we must remember:
          we proved 
          we could love, before 
          we stooped to kill.

Again and again.

Light preceeded 
     light.
Cycle:
     flame the next 
          flame.

All is not lost.

Freely Bound

{A letter to Christmas,

To a type of Christmas that only sees the shallow joy of the twinkle and advent lights,

and the brightly coloured packages,

shining in their glory on a holiday morning.

If you are amoung those who choose to celebrate such a day
in whatever way
you do -

remember the dark,

know the dark,

acknowledge it...

For we cannot be warmed by the light,

the gifts,

the hope,

unless we know why we need 
the light,
the gifts,
the hope...
Unless we know why we need

to sacrifice,

to remember

others over ourselves.

Give the gift of light this Christmas:

the deep light: yourself...

To those in the dark,
To us all,

- C}

Freely Bound

Freely bound:
    this gift -
                   my life -
              free of charge...
                   given at high cost.
Born a refugee;
    free to be unfree -
              I give
         the gold of you over me -
              for we are all refugee.

Freely
born...

All I want for Christmas is you
    and thirty-three boxes in the various shapes, prices, and sizes of your heart -
         the tags removed, but their worth
              logged and filed in the accounting department of my mind.
    These gifts, freely bound and boxed in love.

I sold my soul to the company store
    for you, I bought the song
    for you, to freely listen to
         the message,
                   warning us to not buy and sell our
                                                 souls (worth more than gold);
                   file it in the ethics department of your
                                                 minds (worth more than gold).

Gold, mined by the bent-over backs
    under the white man’s burden and
         shipped back home
              - home - where the heart (worth more than gold) is -
         straightened and bent
              back, round the circle
                   of iron and love, refined by the fires of hell to
                        fit around her finger:
         symbol of our love type -
              like our blood type -
                   tainted by the blood of the miners glimmering round
                        our wedding bands;
                             freely bound -
                             their sinful hands bound
                             by the sinful bands on our hands -
                                                                                   unfree.
Freely                 
unfree...

Hold on.
Cling.
Let go,
but still know...

Bound
         in community.
    We are all “refugee.”
    ‘mi casa es su casa’ -
         but knock three times
              and whisper the pass code:
                   free to enter
and find refuge -                         
unless you are “refugee.”

Freely
bound...

Come one, come all,
    except for you,
                            and you,
                                          and you...
        Wrap Jesus in a box under the tree -
borders for a refugee -
boxed and bound.
Spirits bordered and controlled -
souls worth more than gold
must flee -
forced to be free,
(gracias)
but do not find rest around our tree...
 
Yes...
What a nice story,
a baby
refugee
in poverty.

    Free 
to be a refugee:
                   You are welcome.
                                                This gift,
                                                             free of charge,                                                                                     at high cost.
Born unfree,
we are born refugee.

Freely
refugee.
              
         From 
Name to 
Number,
                   free to wander
              not there nor here.
Our
Name, bound by language and chance of where she was born
                                                                       a refugee becomes
              Number “fifty thousand three hundred and three” -
                                                                                            or “refugee” - ...lost in the collective departments of our minds...
         Yet, 
we are all "_______."

Merry Christmas to all,
    and to all a good night...
         Cold hearts warmed by the fire -
home 
walling us inside,
          watching you outside:
free to find your bed
                             anywhere -
                                               free from refuge 
anywhere...
    On this winter’s eve
we dream
of dancing sugarplums, 
and the freedom to dance and dream...

Free from the dream of being set free,
(from ourselves).
Free to seek,
to find,
to make
freedom.      
For now,
freely unfree.

Cling,
Let go.
Freely
bound...

My life
    I give to you,
         freely bound,
Born unfree,
    a refugee -
         freely bound -
a gift 
(worth more than gold).

White Bird Seed

{For RogPog...

This Christmas,

sending reminders that

Your Common Family loves you,

 - C}

Round of applause echos in your place...
Your place.

You gorgeous creature,
there is a table
          still silently signalling your name to passersby -
                    some things never change - 
          and a signal waiting for you to sign on to.

White bird seeds scattered each morning
          spread reminders of your chirps... 
     Soon you will peck them up again
               with peckish thanks (eyes
                                                    rolling as the dice in the background, 
                                                         calling you out of line, 
                                                             and back online).

Eyes rolling with a smile,
     "No pennies, girl - 
                    just pumpkin pie - 
          and one more round before I go,
soon to return to the round 
table..." 
     ...
...We are sending out a signal for you to 
          sign onto -
echoing in 
your place;
soon to return.

24 Hours

{for Julia and Carissa...

Together

as life sweeps in and shows us quick glimpses of other worlds that

simultaneously exist along side our own

yet prove to be 

  one in the same, while clearly kept separate. 

Here's to crossing borders together,

both in the past, 

and in years to come...

love you both <3

 - C}

a word sketch

24 hours

Road toll

Giant Deja Vu Girls light the way

And again, road toll

Train peeks through misty curtains,

          sweeping past silhouetted trees through to morning

Road toll

Train shines noisily overhead;

          sparkling in, and weaving through a windy skyline

Girls upside down, holding their own hands

Colourful doll staring into the window seeing better versions of her vibrant self behind the glass

Optical illusion

Black coffee under the golden arches

24 hours

Spare a minute?

Doorman, street cleaner, car drivers, smiling -

          different in type to the boy shot dead while

                    singing his heart out...

                              yet, they are singing the same song

Spare a prayer?

Heels to work shoes, 

          both worn wonderfully well

Crackling radio on her shoulder,

          come to momma.

Sweeping the street

Spare a coin?

Laugh

God bless, God bless you, Boy.