Silk #Haiku

bird footprints in snow buds haiku

Mist’s grip
trickles from icicles
time floats away

Birds leave footprints
in this powder puff dream
I pinch myself

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Charlie’s Black Christmas

Enough of snow foxes and cute birds… and after a rich thick slice of a Christmas cake disaster, it’s time for a rich thick slice from the other side with this old chestnut.  A very happy holiday celebration/Merry Christmas to all of you lovely, WordPress people and readers everywhere.

gruesome santa

Charlie touched his brown-rimmed glasses knowingly, and his freckles crinkled as he marched down to the garden’s borders.  He loved how delicate and austere it all looked at this time of year but remembered from school how birds and other small creatures found it difficult to find food – he contemplated eking out worms and other treasures just for them.  His smiling eyes were soon agape when he reached the hole in the deep, green hedge his father took pride in.  Charlie decided to follow a walk of unusual footprints leading off to the street, which was paved with gold – Christmas gold.

The huge, blacklead, street lamp shined golden yellow onto a neighbour’s decorative efforts.  They had gone to town with sled, reindeer, Santas and lots of glittering sights and sounds.  His mind was still on the tracks though and the puzzle they presented.  Charlie’s jaw dropped at the magnificence of next door’s sled where he noticed similar sized prints and more right beside their giant Santa with a glowing red and white smile, and which had a pneumatic wave for everyone.

Charlie knelt down and checked under the sled and then inside of it whilst holding onto his specs, moving them up and down in inspection mode, whilst murmuring the occasional ‘aha’, but he could see noting really.  He scratched his head with stiff cold fingers and rubbed his cold red nose, wiping the drips on his new scarf,  saying an apology to Aunt Mildred for the mess.  He clapped his padded hands together before they clasped behind his back and a shudder took him into high-speed detective work.

He decided to sit on its large leather seat to shelter from the snow falling once again.  The sled began to move slightly, making Charlie feel a bit uneasy, but that soon went as he soon became enamoured of the blue-black sky and the twinkling stars above the white dotted sky.  The gentle snowdrops became a whirr.  From out of nowhere, a booming laugh and bells shrilly rang out behind him before sounding all around.  Charlie’s short-lived, nervous excitement was tinged with longings of the warmth of home, his mum, the Christmas tree and just about any familiar things.   But, on the other hand, maybe that was Santa.  Was it Santa?

Charlie’s eyes were drawn to the sled floor and the tiny prints, which had reappeared.  He pushed his glasses onto his nose, pulling back fast when he noticed a small creature on the seat beside him. Charlie smiled at its furry paws though they were dirty and wet with very ragged nails – he was anything but cute.  Charlie’s smile was met with a scraggy, dark face and crooked, menacing teeth that dripped saliva, and which had turned the sled floor, a greenish yellow.  Charlie’s heart sank, together with thoughts that his companion might be a Christmas elf, and so he held onto his red scarf from aunt Mildred and smelled his mum’s mince pies on his glove, which also bore some squished crumbs.

He was pulled out of regret, near tears, with the roar of ‘Santa’s’ instructions to the hideous 6 beasts pulling the sled.  It jolted him. The horrible goblin like creature that now terrified Charlie, turned to ‘Santa’, and with a hyena’s laugh, and to Charlie’s disbelief, it shrieked the words, ‘One more, and we will be done for this evening!’

Charlie, the grotesque elf and ‘Santa’ were carried into the freezing night’s blizzard – bells ringing, gruesome laughter abound.  And Charlie, at least, was never seen again.

So, be good! Lol.

A Tiny Thing

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I’m copying Dorinda Duclos and re posting a Christmas favourite of mine and hijacking the lyrics – influenced by ‘The Little Swallow’ Carol of the Bells composed by Ukrainian composer Mykola Leontovych in 1914-  Re written, and loosely based, this is what I got. дякую (thank you).

Sing little bird,
fly overhead,
rest in the trees’
wavering breeze.

Lift your curtain high at dawn,
let sleep the flickering candle’s yawning.

Tall trees aglow,
clouds full of snow,
laden with light,
black hops on white,
snow flurry sneeze

small feathers freeze.
Fly little bird
lift up and fight,
go little bird

circle the light,
sleep little bird,
soundly tonight.
Try little bird,

lift your wings while you’re still singing
soon the night will warm your dreaming.

Fly little bird
reach for the night,
go little bird,
shy of winter’s light.

Warm your body, melt the snow
for the daylight crisp below.

Go little bird,
sleep little bird,
find the songs you sweetly sing
nestle there ’til winter’s still.

Go little bird,
up to the night,
fly little bird
soundly tonight.

See the moon she’s smiling for you
shivering stars their arms are open too.

So go, little bird,
fly little bird,
high little bird,
hush, little bird.

Soon will come the voices of the morn,
joyous little creature of our dawn.

Go little bird,
fly little bird,
sleep little bird,
twilight is heard.

Go little bird…
go.

Such A Time

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I found a blog not long ago that always inspires me to do…  something,  even if only in a document.  This is not a patch on his work but I wrote.  Thank you Lance Sheridan.  Please visit his amazing writing.

Does winter’s plague
beckon the drowned
who find solace beneath?

Accustomed to the connecting
seasons floating by, they endure
the frowned face stares
tentatively mirroring their own
above taught ice.

Caught in between coldness,
a new age and only a hint
of the smell of warmth
from heads butting on this hard glass
they hurl and shout –

but nothing will reach the surface
till spring time –
a time eagerly awaiting
the scathing torture in their
rambunctious voice –

and not until, after a crack of ice,
thick and headstrong,
all hell is let loose,

if hell, that is, were suddenly,
to become heaven, and spring is reborn.