[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.