On a starry winter night

Hot wine in the advent market

Cinnamon lingers in the air

Ginseng leaves tapered by snow

on a starry winter night

Decorated trees in a corner in each house

Behind every boot follows a snowy trail

shadows melting in the inner city

on a starry winter night

Eyelids bejewelled with Icicles

Thick socks and warm scarfs everywhere

tete-á-tete in an open furnace

on a starry winter night

snowflakes plastered on windowsill

Carollers forging through the snow

Eggnog and jolly cheers

on a starry winter night

Only thing I love about Christmas

That one song and roasted chestnuts

bingeing Home alone till I dose asleep

on a starry winter night

Presence

Breath in. 5…4…3…2…one I saw a nix sitting on a branch of a fig tree, dipping her toes into the stream of water below her. creating ripples that waned and faded. She looked sad on this beautiful Armenian night, perhaps it was the shadow she carried that whispered chaos in her mind.

Breath out. 1…2..3.4 five, every living creature has a mind, and is therefore equally important. The Owl on the spitz of the old fig was not more relevant than the Nix, and my life is worth the same as hers. I wondered if she could have been sad because the presence of the moon on this night was divine and she wished she could bottle up the milky way and the falling stars, or she wasn’t mindful enough to realise she was more than the feelings she allowed to overwhelm her thoughts;

the state if mind where she wanted the night to schatter into broken shards, prick her skin so she could feel her life force… or anything really. swallow her whole and drop her off the face of the earth.

She couldn’t speak stillness to the old fig, or reach out to touch the elusive moon. The lines between her reality and her reflection were blurred by a spurring internal conflict that could be solved by a drop of presence.

On this beautiful Armenian night I crouched next to her and told her to live in the moment, exactly how it was, listening to her heart beat, not wanting more or expecting less. Every day nature weaves a balance of subtle miracles before our ever dreaming eyes. If we’re lucky, our hearts can capture every butterfly smile our irises have yet to see.

Reverie of an Insomniac

A shot of moonshine

Every night before bed

With Mr. Eddy or Tigger

My head rests on lilac feathers

A plethora of stars revolve my crown

picture perfect is mundane, so I’ve been told.

 

 

 

Too frequently  my eyes droop

So I pry them open

The night  raves by

A shot of vodka or honey

…..or whatever

I imagine counting sheeps

’till my breath steadies

yet time deepens further

 

 

The wishy-washy wondering mind takes center stage

The physicists of the relative law knew it better

The only thing standing between human

And reprogrammable telomers

Flying automobiles of the future

An overpopulated earth ‘coz liberals outlawed abortion

Remains the vitality of time

A tide that never ends

 

 

Again I’m up

A goblet of bourbon or diazepam

Whichever numbs  quicker

For  a nanosecond or a day

Letting darkness have its way

Delivering me to the gate of an unrealistic muse

 

Six more hours of paralysis

Just another flinching terror

disguised as pure bliss

In all this chaos I forgot to add

counting time works better than sheeps