Merry Christmas!
Just a week away from the blessed event, and in case I don’t get the opportunity to post something nearer to the day…
Posts tagged ‘Love’
THE PERFECT TREE
On the night before Christmas Eve, Jonas and Amanda picked out the perfect Tree and ran off to track down there Mother. When the excited twins returned, with their beleaguered Mother in toe, it was gone. They searched and searched, but the beautiful Douglas fir was gone.
“But it was right there, cried Amanda. She pointed in despair at the, now, empty space. ”It was perfect”
“Its not the only tree, guys.” Her Mother let out an exasperated sigh. “there are plenty more to choose from here.”
“No, Mom!” Jonas blurted, he was trying hard to bite back the tears. “Dad always said when you find the perfect tree, you’ll know it.”
“Well maybe it wasn’t really the right one, maybe it was the perfect tree for another family “ Mom scanned the rapidly waning selection. “what about this one?” Nope all three shook their heads.
They hunted high and low, but none could match the tree that had been.
Too tall, too scrawny, too this and too that, none could quite measure up, to the vision of perfection that had been just within their grasp.
It was getting late, and the tree guy was glancing anxiously at his watch
Mrs. Graham just smiled and said, “Don’t worry guys, tomorrow is another day,
They left with sinking hearts and tear filled eyes.
As he sat back in his seat, and watched the snow laden streets and festive lights, pass by his window , Jonas’s mind drifted back to happier times. Times long ago before his Daddy had gotten sick, and then gone to be with Great Grandma in heaven.
Dad had loved Christmas so much. Jonas smiled to himself, as he remembered them Sledding together down Gabardine hill, building the perfect snowman, Amanda had borrowed Mom’s old green scarf, and lovingly wrapped it around. His dad hoisted him up on those big strong shoulders, so he could give the snowman a face, and prop Grandpa Joes old fishing hat on top. He remembered his Fathers easy smile, and deep hearty chuckle as they lay in the freshly fallen snow giggling and making, the most ridiculous looking, snow angels.
Then they invariably had a snowball fight. Dad hunkered down behind one crudely made snow fort, while he and his Sister teamed up behind another. Looking back now, he suddenly realized that his father had always let them win. He missed his Dad more than anything in the world.
The thing he and Amanda both held nearest and dearest to their hearts though, at this time of year though, was going with Dad, to choose the Christmas tree.
They would hunt high and low, until they found one that they all agreed upon. It was a tradition, that the Graham family, had stuck to, in Mr Grahams memory; Only now, Jonas realized sadly, their perfect tree was gone.
They pulled in to the driveway, and Mom glanced over her shoulder at the twins. She studied their solemn expressions for a moment, then she said,
“That cant have been the right one, you know, but we’ll find it tomorrow, I promise.” Her smile was warm and reassuring, but Jonas gazed into his Twin Sister’s hazel eyes and realized that she felt as doubtful as he did.
Amanda went to unlock the door for them, while Jonas stayed behind to help Mom carry the shopping in. Jonas was just at the bottom step when he heard his Sister’s Joyous exclamation.
He hurried in to the house.
Amanda had a look of puzzled astonishment on her face, and her wide, hazel eyes were focused on something in the corner of the family room.
Jonas followed her gaze and gasped in amazement. For there it stood in all it’s lustrous, wintry glory,
The perfect Tree.
Promises of things to come
So I’m sitting in the coffee shop, a very well known place, with a warm drink and an everything bagel by my side. The lilting tones of a canned classical guitar wafting around my ears. Just killin’ time and digging the aromatic scent of fresh ground java from some exotic shore.
Outside the rain is pounding down on the sidewalks and street, not a downer just an expected inconvenience, for this Pacific North West, town. My Grandma used to cajole anyone who dared complain about such trivial things, thusly:
“You’re not made of sugar you know! Rain is a blessing from on high!”
Thanks Nanna you are so right.
The friendly chatter of the generally passive patrons is a welcome and comforting relief from the pessimistic pundits on the radio. By their reckoning, civilization is heading the way of the Dodo and cathode ray Telivision sets. I’ll believe that when I see it. Oh wait….never mind.
So why am I here? No not in a metaphysical sense, that’s not where I’m at this morning. No I meant why am I whiling away my morning in this manner? Well let me see.
When my gig at the bakery came to a halt, several years ago, I took on work as the personal minder of a two-year-old boy and his somewhat older sister. They are wonderful kids, and I am finding the whole experience most fulfilling, and emotionally rewarding.
As my beautiful mother likes to remind me,
“Children keep us young at heart and mind.”
She is always spot on, although the whole question of whether I actually ever grew out of my childhood, is still very much up for debate.
Well, anyway, this line of work keeps me quite occupied, those Lego blocks don’t build themselves you know. What with my dressing, cooking, chauffering and playing duties, I have gotten far away from my writing goals, principally being reasonably frequent postings to this blog.
Given my infrequent entries here, It really is small wonder that anyone remains subscribed to me, for which, by the way, I remain eternally grateful.
Sources evade me as I pen these words, but I have read, in many different forums, that writers write, and not every wordsmith has countless empty hours in which to do so.
If it’s something you want or really need to do, make time for it, they cajole me.
That is my intent. A couple of times a week, my little charge spends his mornings at preschool. These are hours that I have, previously frittered away on heaven knows what. Hours, some of which I intend, henceforth, to repurpose for writing.
I dare not make bold promises here, but it is my aim to post something weekly from now on.
💟 I love you all for hanging in there for me.
Keep hope in your hearts and a smile close to your lips,
~CLIFFY
The Scent of Summer
I loved the scent of summer in the August air
on our stroll along that lonely stretch of sand
So young were we, unfettered, and without a care.
The future was wide open and unplanned
We thought ourselves invincible, unerring,
Young lovers we, so vibrant and alive.
No concept yet of lessons we were learning,
Nor the basic tools we needed to survive
As life and all its woes came in to view,
we wondered where our carefree days had gone
But our love, it was the lasting kind, and so it grew
We took our licks, yet still we soldiered on
Throughout it all we toiled, and were happy
Life got sweeter still as hurdles cleared
We were building for a future, for a family,
And year by blessed year perfection neared
On looking back I wouldn’t change a single thing,
I was happy for each new dawn to arrive.
As time flew quickly by, as if, on guilded wing
We proudly watched our children grow and thrive.
I love the scent of summer in the August breeze
As we gaze upon this lovely stretch of land
Silver in our hair and Grandkids on our knees
We bless the fading sunlight, hand in hand.
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AGE
Age
life is passing, swiftly, by.
No time for, apprehensive, fools.
You’ll feel, sometimes, like asking why,
but that’s not in the rules.
Changes mock us, line and hue,
not all for good, not all so sweet.
New age values leave us blue.
We’re, fast, becoming obsolete.
There’s value in maturity
a lifetime of moments, of merits earned.
No not just, old age, security
but knowledge, we’ve lived, we’ve loved, we’ve learned.
Holly Molly
“An idle mind seems to make for an idle imagination, in my experience. If you want something done, entrust it to a busy person. If you want innovation ask an active thinker.” – I’m not sure who originated this line of thought, perhaps you can let me know, in the comments, but the wording came from somewhere inside my noggin 🙂
Desperate to bump my writers slump, I finally decided to hop in the car, and go for a ride. I combined my errands, with a bizzare scavenger hunt. My quest? A voyage of discovery, or at the very least, inspiration.
Maybe I should have tuned in to Chopin instead of the Country Western station, ’cause this here poem seems to be cryin’ out for a twangy guitar riff and a Hank Williams impersonator, but at least I managed to write something, right? 😉
Anyway……
HOLY MOLLY.
Holy Molly, I’m over the moon!
My baby just told me she’ll be home, real soon.
There’s a jig in my step and i can’t erase,
This foolish grin, plastered, over my face.
That might seem needy, but its been a while,
We’ll be laughing it up and partying in style.
So, plan a parade, strike up the band.
I got me a ring, ‘gonna ask for her hand.
I’m no gourmet, but I rustle some eats.
Don my best rags and polish my cleats.
Halfway convinced that this aint no big deal,
I pose for the mirror and practise my spiel.
When she walks through the door though, she isn’t alone.
This dude is a, tall, swarthy, George Clooney clone.
A cousin? A brother? I, silently, pray!
Then she smiles and caresses her tall fiance.
©2016 – Clifton J. Lewis
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Lonely Road
Driving late, on a lonely road
Just roaming, lost and weary
I think about us, well, the used-to-be us.
and our new past, so damned dreary!
Landmarks along this grainy lane
Pass by my gaze unbidden
I can’t change the channel, can’t look away
The images won’t stay hidden.
Sign posts scream out silently
Hazzards ahead, don’t go there
I can’t turn back though, I never can.
There’s a new path out of here, somewhere.
But there never is, just our tainted past
and the hurt that won’t ever heal.
So, I’m driving late, on this lonely road,
a ghost behind the wheel.
LOVE HAS DIED TONIGHT
He, walked out on his wife that night,
he didn’t need another fight
Did it, really, matter who was right?
Why had things gone so wrong?
She sat defeated on the floor,
she’d thought their love, worth fighting for.
What good was living anymore?
She cried the whole night long
Gradually his anger died,
replaced with emptiness inside.
He tossed away his foolish pride,
and raced home to make things right.
He gazed into her lifeless stare,
the empty pill pot lying there.
A crumpled note, upon the chair,
said “Love has died tonight”
Love
Love is not a tangible thing
not a midsummer’s night, Nor a month
in spring
Love is not a stroll in the rain
not a sonnet, not even a brief
refrain
Love’s not a jewel, nor radiant gem
not a velvet rose petal, or thorny
stem
Love is a yearning, a longing inside
an emotional ocean as deep as its
wide
Love’s a sensation, a feeling of bliss
the lasting impression of a
sweet tender kiss
Its knowing that the someone, who
waits for you,
despite all temptations, will always
be true!
Cliff's Notes 
Written
on September 2, 2016