The light looks different
When the sun disappears early
Behind gray winter clouds.
There's a feeling with how
Vivid the earth looks.
It's a particular sight
That makes me think
The day is transitioning
Into night an hour before
The sun is supposed to set.
A bare Christmas tree
Waits to be hauled away.
Christmas decorations are put
Away on the last day of the year.
The lights will shine bright
On the houses outside
When the clock strikes midnight
Before being brought down
In the new year.
The fire resets itself
Shortly after turning on.
The house is quiet as
I write this poem.
I'm the only human home.
The dog is sleeping
In the front room
On the couch in front
Of the Christmas Tree.
One cat is in the basement,
Probably lying on a garbage bag
Filled with decorative bears.
The other cat is in my room,
Sleeping on a striped
Red and white towel.
He's recovering from a
Month filled with dogs
That wanted to play.
He didn't see it
The same way.
The paths I walked along in summer
Are now muddy from fallen snow.
Autumn leaves stick around in early winter.
The cold air freezes rain.
It's hard to breathe when I can see my breath.
I stay inside, wearing fuzzy socks and warm sweatpants.
My cardigan has pockets big enough to hold my Kindle.
The books I read inspire my writing.
I finally wrote the poem that had been
On my mind for several days.
I didn't know what I wanted it to be
Until it unfolded underneath my fingertips.
The art of creation, forming something out of nothing.
Using words to mold a story not yet told.
To see how things evolve with the seasons
Through a poet's point of view.
Some nights, I look up towards
The sky as the sun is setting
And I'll see a masterpiece
In front of me.
Gigantic clouds reflecting the sun,
smaller ones not in the way of light.
A reminder of how small we are
Compared to the sky above.
It's one of those nights
Where a beautiful picture
Doesn't do it justice.
I knock on all the wood in the room,hoping this is a step in the right direction.I look down and reality splits into two,a new spin on something I know all too well. I throw my phone onto a counter,thinking I'll forget about it for a while. I try to avoid screens, instead I try to read.There I sit until words splitand closing one eye no longer suffices.I lie down, covering my eyes,not sure if I'm telling the truth or a lie,that this is a part of the process to feeling fine.
While this pandemic has foiled
A lot of plans this year,
One thing it didn't mess with was
The annual Christmas Tree hunt.
Every year for the last sixteen years,
My family and some family friends have
Wandered into the woods in search of
The perfect Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.
Normally, when we go on this adventure,
My lungs don't do so well.
However, thanks to quarantine and walking so much,
I could walk up and down hills with more ease.
It didn't take too long to find our trees.
Afterwards, we had a picnic in the woods.
We discussed how crazy things are
While breathing in the fresh mountain air.
The moon shines in through my window.
Lighting up a spot on the floor,
Reminds me of an Edward Hopper painting.
I wake from my sleep to let my cat in once more.
My room is a safe space from the visiting dogs
who do not understand why the cat doesn't want to play.
He meows as he walks into my room.
I pick him up and place him on my bed.
He curls up on the old striped towel
And quickly falls asleep.
The neighbors across the street
Have a blue light shining by their door.
I have to sleep on my right side
To not be bothered by it.
While Christmas lights make everything better,
A blue light in the middle of the night isn't it.
I stare at the light on the floor
Before flipping over to face my sleeping cat.
At least someone's content, I think.
The darkness slows down time,
I fall back asleep quicker than I realize.
I started playing Christmas Music in early November.
I listen to it while I write,
I write wherever the music takes me.
I see Christmas lights being put up earlier this year.
We put ours up this weekend,
A reminder of how odd this year has been.
The Christmas spirit brings people comfort.
Comforts have been a necessity when everything
In life remains up in the air.
If you're a polar bear, you see differently.
You see beauty in the ordinary,
Details in the smallest of places,
You visualize instead of problem solve.
You're a poet, writer, artist, painter.
You strive to show your perspective
Through the work you create.
Creating art comes as naturally as breathing.
You can see polar bears around an ice hole.
I am a polar bear.
There were people dancing in the streets
All over the states on Saturday.
A collective sigh of relief was had by those
Who had been filled with anxiety
And fear for the last four years.
Anticipation for normalcy and steadiness,
Instead of divineness and unpredictability
Expanded quickly as music started playing,
And cars started honking.
Crowds gathered with masks on
To cheer for the news that change is coming.
A right to celebrate after a long week
Of staring at screens and refreshing Twitter.
Eagerly waiting for confirmation that indeed
Biden would be our next President.
It's a sign that so many people are ready
For someone who lead for all of us,
Not just those who support him.
The moon shining in through the window,
bright as the sun at noon.
I capture this photo with my phone
that doesn't have night mode.
It looks more like a painting
than an actual photograph.
The colors are muted through the lens
looking into the darkness.
The outline of the room
still appears in tact.
The night sky is lighter,
the mirror is visible.
The line of light on the floor,
a strip of the moon in late October.
The other strip on the wall
above the old-fashioned phone.
A moment of simplicity captured
during a chaotic time in our history.
