Rob Dyer*

catch the moment
scattered presents telling truths
and quiet Love speaking
to a World of misguided reasoning, poised
to ignore and accept in seasonal warmth

yes, cooler winds will return, chilling
theatrical playpens around the Global stage
and right will have to wait another year
but for a moment, the faces will be the same
alien eyes will not see disparity
my dog will not be bigger than yours
and instant forgiveness can hold the beast at bay

perhaps a trend can be broken
and Christmas Year will find its way
All Hate Day can be the new order, victorious
ruinations can be gifted in a single event,
eliminating the need for disingenuous Love

and wouldn’t Madison Avenue thank us all,
as we truly could not get enough

I think I will surrender the folly of New Year’s Resolutions
and try a Year of New resolutions, each day a chance
to rid an ill-placed notion or drop a slanted catchphrase
maybe see things your way one day and deliver a pizza
to Domino’s

no sense kidding myself with another diet plan
sure to be abused by the third quarter of the Super Bowl
let’s go for it all
one massive set up for failure, as kind thoughts
upon sweet dreams
collide
into an impossibility of being
more than I know I can ever be

I don’t mind carrying the extra weight

some days are better
than others that aren’t
but Christmas just sucks

the money
the lies
you know you don’t like Uncle Bill
then why are you hugging him ? get real !!!

and your sadness about not getting anything… screw you !!!

you should be thankful you ARE !!!
did you REALLY get anyone anything that matters ?
Oh yea… WHAT ??? A watch… woohoo
a new toy… China thanks you

how about something with potential… like… a GUN !!!
you know… where you can have an impact… be remembered… HA !

what did you get last year ? HUH ?

Don’t recall… sounds like you didn’t get what you wanted !!!!
Oh, and what did you give ??? I bet you remember what and more so, how much it cost !

ok, ok… so I’m an asshole, right ?

walk to the mirror
DON’T LOOK AWAY, DAMN IT

now, question your every deed this past year
think hard and long and true

can you remember ?
the tip you picked up off a counter
the guy you cut off that morning
flipping the bird to that old lady
not showing up for your kid’s game
calling your wife a whore
telling your husband you were at the mall, when you were… ???
forging your time card at work

oh, enough you say ?
fair enough then… I’ll stop
heck, it’s Christmas time

Merry Christmas… now go out and enjoy yourself at those parties everybody’s having… maybe print this and bring it with you for laughs… get all snookered up and drive home…. maybe you can help someone else have a Christmas they can remember… for all the wrong reasons.

I had the weather channel on
for an hour and I feel
like every memory I hold is
anvil heavy, every tear
flowing across Interstate 10,
every bad day I owned, is
day one for the unaware

survivors have rights, unpaid
freedom charged against the horrors

my tongue is black
tomorrow will never come
and your best dream is
swirling in a gutter of disbelief

it looks like rain

I’m a horologist
of sorts
my interest in time wanders from trepidation
to abject repulsion
fearing ineptitude in understanding it
only compounded by my hatred observing its hungry maw
but clocks are innocents, simple faces of man’s vanity
as if the need to pace one’s self could have a purpose

I’ve felt this way for quite a while
how long
I certainly do not care to know

I mean, to know time
requires admitting my folly
and well, I don’t have time for that

there are no seasons for me
days
like torn pages of a dark novella
repeat the story line
a tired hero staring,
in search of the villain in his head

yet, as I indulge in a bowl of warm bread pudding,
I somehow am taken by a tinge of Christmas
my memory bank stepping around time bombs
and settling on smiles once bestowed to me,
as I ripped through wrapping
and peered into the hearts of the few who Loved me

the Scrooge in my soul pardons himself
and you’ve caught me believing in Santa one more time

they do tricks, you know?
the magicians and poets
the artists and makers of song
juggling tongues like lost heroes
begging you to find their way home
forgiving yesterday for tearing the veil away
for uncovering the layers where loss denies truth
where we met and corrupted the night’s dream

they remind you to drown while breathing
to forget while you care, carelessly
rendering their concerns for us all
and we…HA, we…as if there is a collective heart
beating the clock back under a bastard moon
left out for salvation, left alone for surrender,
left for the Lover’s to die under

and we
cringe in disbelief at the poignant points
thrust in our souls with words, with sight-lines,
with stringed apathy and trumpeted joyfulness
with clever mirrors tracing yellow bricks we’ve ridden
in back seats left bloodied by our imprinted minds

they do these tricks for us, fearlessly
knowing… the joke’s on them
for in every pause, in every stoic stanza,
in every aborted rhythm they dispense
the truth creeps through, a fiendish bitch
calling them out, calling them wrong,
calling them to court and to account
for being guilty
as only a judge can be

she felt vulnerable
so why scream naked

he demanded vision
so why gouge his eyes

they pardoned the past
so why celebrate then

why would a dying man
slit his own throat

for the pow of it all
for the change
the liberation

for an unspoken ism, left out in the bold
for Victory
for art or Love or maybe…for the magic of it all
the Madness of it all

for that certain fracture of time to heal
or to explode a chasm of indifference
for a soft-souled warehouseman to breathe

for a D flat solo under a tin horn moon
for the snap of a snare
the clap of a heart
for the going rate of freedom

for a sapling to spread open
for the taste of generosity
or for a lane change

or maybe…
just for the blood of it all

she shops like I imagine
with venom dripping from Prada
assertively filling her basket with dreams
with invisible powders and voodoo spells
aromas to erase the stench of the day
as if entering the malodorous haze of home
can mask her race to the exit zone

so I follow her down the aisles
the produce mocking her, daring her
canned goods, the symbolism aches to her
frozen desserts…she tears up
knowing how cold it is to be
as she lingers a bit too long before running
to her rescue in bath and beauty
where lilac bubbles flood her senses

but she checked out long ago, long before
longing took over her days, yet she knows
there’s a price to pay before leaving
the candy…
ahhh, they strategically place the candy
on your way out…next to the batteries

bubbles and batteries
that’s all she needs