Ok, back to the December poem, a few posts ago, I was reading some other bloggers posts (it does rhymes sometimes), and found them to be madly in love with December. So what is so magical about December. I've spend 26 Decembers in this world and this is my 27th. The most recent December 'event' that I remember of is last years Tsunami. So, does December marks the end of all things bad and then comes January with all things good. Unless you have a bad hangover of all the parties ( and if you're me, of all those staying home watching TV) then the statement is true. December is the end. Calvin and Hobbes ended in December 1995. What am I blaberring you might ask. I don't know either. I just wanted to write a poem of December. Let's just say, this post before the poem is a Mad mans ramblings to the world because he's hungry, it's raining out there, the uni's on holiday so no restaurants are open, and he got nearly locked in the library moments ago. Enough of all this, I cant write good stuff, the stuff like those travel writers (who some I think never even go to the places they write of), or the stuff in those most frequented blogs, those warm flashbacks, when they had their puppy dogs and ice cream fairs. Of those first kisses and tree climbing. I might write all this one day, but not today.
So here goes, the poem is of December, the month. 3 things that remind me of December is, the December Monsoon which is real, the girl named December, whom is fictional, and also my December Fireflies poem published last December and made into a superhit song by Daymoon. And so, I dedicate this poem to all men and women who preach of this sinister December romantisizing cult's teachings. As if I don't have enough enemies. Amour!
****** a poetic origin ******
December, Your Name
Wanting and never letting go,
Sometimes warming the world around,
Waiting and never to forget,
Of this cascading December thoughts.
Just as bright, the tiny sparks,
Scattered around terrestrial, amazingly,
Just that ones that flashes,
Floating parallel to your eyes.
December monsoon liberated from the sky,
Floating in quantum moments, in symmetry,
The first few invasions, painfully cold,
Then the wet soul, feels the warmth.
Monsoon showers the green, to grey,
Tender hearts, sourcing silent warmth,
Sometimes the feeling announces,
The welcoming of the stranger soul.
Arranging a wooden window, open,
Inside in distance, our time,
Outside a land, boundaries perfected,
The rain, the blue droplets, stole December.
Giant trees stand proud, ageless,
Against the monsoon, and the high clouds,
Wanderers noticing the lower leaves and branches,
Held warm and dry, by invisible umbrellas.
When I held you, in touch and love,
Along the bastions of moments, ours,
When you questioned, our loneliness,
Answered the rain, such songs are rare.
Should the thought be enough, with you,
Such of us together with her,
December, resting her head on my shoulders,
Called us talking until the endless end.
The Northern winds, crossing in fear,
Occasionally blowing a few crystal droplets,
Those invading droplets, cooling the classic day,
This monsoon December, remembered.
So I described of you, the month December,
When I enjoy the December Monsoon,
And wrote of the girl named December,
When the circle ends, there flourishes life.