Come holidays, entertain the idea of perfection.
Serve it platters with tasty bits and give it your
comfy chair. Invite the reality of beauty; she brings
gift baskets with those tiny bottles of booze you never
think of buying for yourself and the kinds of jam you
love to sink your teeth into. Toast happiness, for he
too is a guest of honour, and he has rich friends:
mirth, merriment, wonder, surprise. And when
abundance, who caters these events for free, has fed
the hearts and bellies of all, seek out that love seat
in the corner beside the beeswax candelabra where the
quiet guest sits alone, saving a space for you. Put your
feet up, crack one more of those tiny bottles—no one
will care—and nestle deep into the open arms of peace.
© Elaine Stirling, 2011
Gavriel's Muse said:
Who could serve the table better than you! Refreshing poem within the storm where I am 😉
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elainestirling said:
Thanks, G. I catch glimpses of the edges of it and in fact, fought my way through wind and snow this morning to pursue my own “storm”. Sending you finest wishes of the season.
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paperplane said:
“quiet guest sits alone…nestle deep into the open arms of peace.”
Amazing, how you have taken yourself out of the chaos of the festivities, and observed the peaceful moment.
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elainestirling said:
And how rewarding it is, paperplane, to meet a kindred soul in the peace of this poetic moment. Thank you for being here and for your kind comment. Best of the season to you, dear friend.
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