[The prompt a few days ago suggested writing a poem and then reversing the order of the lines. This is what I wrote. Try reading it backwards for a bit of fun.]

Advent calendar village with all doors and windows open

Reblooming Christmas cactus in the middle of the advent wreath

Candles gone, tucked away, burned just slightly lower

Angels on the mantel, more above the mantel

Unmoved by the nativity still life below

Gift bags, box of chocolate truffles, new work gloves

A book or two, no electronics

Under the nativity table

No tree in sight

Several somewhat wilting poinsettias

Poinsettias really are not poisonous

Just early victims of disinformation

If I hear that saccharine sappy ad for donations to some animal charity

One more time, I swear

As I lay on the sofa surrounded by old Christmas

AAARRRHHHGGGG I shall go mad

I might smash mom’s TV

I will spare the neighbors at least

Every decoration so carefully placed a few weeks ago

So enjoyed through celebrations and quiet times

Now somewhat hackneyed, overdone, trite, tiresome

The old year fast fades

No new year yet brightens hope

[I wrote this poem pretty quickly in response to yesterday’s prompt from Two Sylvia’s Press.]

We await their coming each year
Those three old men of wise repute
who traveled far to come near
with Herod’s wrath in close pursuit.

What strange star guided their far search?
What star still guides our belief?
To find God far from any known church
Seek a baby for sin’s relief.

[Life is getting close enough to normal for me to find a little time to have some fun with today’s prompt from Two Sylvias Press.]

The first day of Christmas Santa came
Or the baby Jesus or maybe both
The second day of Christmas relatives left
And we pretended to celebrate Boxing Day
The third day of Christmas we traveled
Not far and just for the day
The fourth day of Christmas we rested
And settled down to enjoy our gifts
The fifth day of Christmas we visited
And laughed as a toddler showed off
The sixth day of Christmas I wrote
This poem thinking it should be tomorrow
The seventh day of Christmas I go
To see The Rise of Skywalker again
The eighth day of Christmas we play
With old friends in a new year
The ninth day of Christmas we rest
And go back to enjoying our gifts
The tenth day of Christmas we continue
Amid aging Christmas decorations still left up
The eleventh day of Christmas we wait
For the end of Christmas coming tomorrow
The twelfth day of Christmas is Epiphany
When wise people end the Christmas season.

Today’s challenge was lines of just seven
It should really have been tomorrow given
Lines of seven on Christmas Day seven
Might be a poet’s kind of heaven.

[As my brain slowly begins to function again, I have an idea for using the pantoum form to retract an earlier belief. This is a rough approximation of what I would like to do. It needs a lot of work and may yet morph into something quite different. Still working with prompts from Two Sylvias Press.]

The Catholic priesthood, I believe,
Dry rots from the inside out
Those doctrinal decrees only deceive
Bar half of humans without doubt

Dry rots from the inside out
Crack open St. Peter’s throne
Bar half of humans without doubt
With women unworthy and alone

Crack open St. Peter’s throne
Allowing women priests cannot save it
With women unworthy and alone
No man nor woman should brave it

Allowing women priests cannot save it
The Catholic priesthood, I believe,
No man nor woman should brave it
Those doctrinal decrees only deceive

[I am afraid this prompt, and my tiredness, brought out the worst in me – at least I hope it is the worst.]

I wore a fedora
To enhance my aura
When I casually went
In the Jaguar for rent
To a movie theater
On a street called Decatur
In old New Orleans
A city of red beans
And rice every Monday
But Never on Someday

What movie did I see
So happily?
I can’t quite remember
Something Something September
Or was it The Rise of Jedi
Or Mary Popeye?
The Return of Skywalker
Or The Victory is Darker?

Enough of this prompt’s foolery
Of meaningless buffoonery

[Written in response to the Christmas Day prompt, in the form suggested by the prompt.]

A warm Advent season, a warm Christmas Day. Birds – and squirrels – flock to the bird feeder outside our dining room window. Our two dogs prowl the deck outside the sliding glass door, ever hopeful for a leftover snack, while someone’s black and white cat sneaks along the porch railing. We gather at table. Mom worries about old age clumsiness. Woody worries about unexpected visitors. Adrienne worries about food too cold or too hot. Philip worries about his toddler eating a purple marker. Andi worries about Philip’s anxieties. Galen worries because he can’t hear very well. Mary Lou worries, just worries, always, as if it is her duty, or her privilege. Everyone happy, if not totally content. Everyone relaxed, if not totally at ease. Everyone pleased, if not totally sure of themselves. We are human, humans, individually and together, gathered on Christmas Day. Family incarnate. Love newborn and everlasting.
Emmanuel, God With Us. Even as I am thankful, I spare a little envy for the animals. For their uncomplicated self-love.

[For the Christmas Eve prompt from Two Sylvias Press]

Friendships start
often
in
good times
easy times
hopeful times
eager times

Friendships fade
often
through
changing times
hard times
sad times
withdrawn times

Friendships deepen
sometimes
through all times
even times
without contact
for years

Then a lunch, maybe,
with hands held
for a moment
remembering
shared private losses
hard choices
disappointments

Friendships deepen
sometimes
through all times
even times
living apart
maybe for years

Visits and phone calls
FaceTime and Skype
virtual shared cuppas
travel together
rejoicing together
laughing together
sorrowing together
crying together
sharing wisdom and folly

Acquaintance, colleague, chum
come and go, start and end
In my life just a few become
a treasured wondrous friend

Why is it so easy to remember
the undone?

Do I ever lie abed,
not even dreaming of sleep

long into a restless night
recounting what I have done?

The presents bought
soon sink

treasures in deep quiet waters
of done

the presents unbought
bob and float

jetsam in stormy seas
of unease

Promises kept, projects finished
duties done, agenda accomplished

These have small space in memory.
Their stay is short, their value small.

But the one undone, ignored,
dreaded, or simply avoided

Ah, such a one glues itself to my soul,
wraps itself around my awareness

toothpicks my sleepless eyes,
treadmills my restless limbs

devil to the god of peace,
demon spawn of conscience.

Procrastination we name it:
“For tomorrow”

As if it were a positive contained thing,
a plan, an eagerly awaited opportunity.

Nonhodie
we should name it

“Not today”
Never today

The done is yesterday
dismissed, discounted

The planned is tomorrow
anticipated, awaited

The deferred is
when?

prolonged, postponed,
protracted, paused

Never today
Procrastinated.

[Another day, another prompt, another attempt at poetry]

Before emojis
Were
Parentheses
Sometimes in bouquets
(((())))
Like a single rose
Rising inside baby’s breath
The fortunate words so wreathed
((((became special))))
— Noticeable —

Before emojis
?????
Especially when paired with !!!
Or repeated
Hinted at emotions
Happiness!!!!
Surprised confusion!?!?

We curse wordlessly
#!@#!
We pause,
We imply intimacies…
We continue &
We connect;
“We quote”
Sometimes we just prevaricate////
Until we come to a full stop.
All without emojis

[Yesterday’s poem never got posted, but I had double the enjoyment – in both the writing of it and in the doing of the topic.]

Egyptian licorice tea
Anticipation begins the pleasure

Fill the electric kettle

While the water comes to boil
Open the cupboard
Take the teabag from the colorful box

Turn to the open shelves
For the favorite mug
The one from Bonnieux

Bonnieux
“Our” hanging village
In the Provençal Luberon mountains
Hills really
Above lavender fields
Villages built on heights for defense
Cascaded down the sides
Over the years, centuries
Bonnieux almost reaching down to the Pons Julien
Built for tramping Roman legions
Now no stranger to cars

The water is boiling
Just a little in the cup
Cradled in my hands as I swish the water
Around and around, warming cup and hands

Dump the warming water
Put the teabag in the cup
Wrap the string once around the handle
Pour in the boiling water
The aroma soothes and revives
Long before the tea is ready to drink

Egyptian licorice tea
Memories of France
Equally comforting