I like this. It seems to say a lot about you. It seems you still love Christmas and your family traditions as well as the reason for the season.
You must also be a thrifty person. I don't know anyone who patches up ornaments.
Still, I like that idea. That means you don't go overboard with buying stuff, which again affirms your love of the true meaning of Christmas.
This is rather humorous as well. That line about the "angels ass" is a gem. Introducing the rats I'm sure is unique for Christmas poetry too.
So why not enjoy some of those Christmas spirits you mentioned.
Nice work! 55 words is a tough task to take on but you did fine.
There is a enticing beginning(no pun intended, but then again it is appropriate) and the rest progresses logically.
Even the conclusion is appropriate.
I do have one question: Is it love or lust?
BTW, my wife is an advocate of love at first sight too, and that made me a very happy man.
Actually, I loved it. I've experienced it a few times, watched similar events unfold countless times. The one incorrect line is "Over the bridge we hit eighty nine" Most times we're lucky to go thirty nine even for a few blocks.
Having lived thru what you wrote about I can truly appreciate what you went thru. I am jealous that you were able to put down into words what a harrowing experience it was for you and your family. You did so concisely and also invoked some good humor, which makes me even more envious.
I also got a chuckle from the driver's response to the big red truck. Isn't it wonderful how we New Yorkers can transform docile immigrants into raving lunatics? What a beautiful melting pot NYC truly is. [tic}
Personally, I hope this is not your most memorable happening from your visit to the Big Apple
I guess in this case "beauty is in the nose of the the beholder".
This really kept my attention. The subject wasn't what I expected from the title. Since I love a novel approach this piqued my interest. Each stanza, each rhyme within the stanza advanced the story. It also made a nice progression; left me anticipating more. Each verse ended with a good laugh too.
I also enjoyed that this didn't rely on mere synonyms for BO. You told a story here as well apart from the theme. There is an interesting intro and it flowed nicely and reached a pleasant and diSTINKive conclusion.
Caregiving is a time consuming often thankless chore. I've done it myself for an aging grandfather and my wife did it for a lonely widow neighbor. She actually got paid $500 from her estate after 3+ years of almost daily care. WOW! I appreciate what Diggers wife is experiencing.
Whether this anecdote is factual or not is immaterial. In our era, all persons need to approach their end with dignity. Digger has someone to love him too, that helps. None paid caregivers allow this to happen. OK, enough social commentary.
This story genuinely expresses many facets of dying. There was nothing outstanding about Digger's life, nor his wife's. But both lives mattered. They shared joys and concerns. They made each others life more enriching and worth while. This is not some entertainer on the cover of some tabloid getting top notch paid care; this is Digger, who is just as important to his Maker as the star.
There is great heart in your piece. Great love as well. There is empathy for both persons, not pity. You show the growing frustration in his condition and even manage to display some humor in situations that surely weren't humorous at the time.
Though this opus is concise and doesn't seem to have a standard being, end and plot, to me the way it is written says a whole lot more. This disease is an ongoing process and had no definitive beginning, nor will it have such an end. You stated the wife's emotions and needs wonderfully. As caregiver she too needs care, a moment to breathe, poop out a few minutes, verbalize her frustrations. This you did in a manner that hopefully opens the eyes of readers that have not had such experiences.
One area that does need assistance is the self-deprecation of the wife. This is too extensive for my taste. her beauty is telling in other ways. Nor did I understand the black and gold reference; that is probably too local and not necessary for most of the audience.
You obviously have lived thru some such crisis (or are living thru it) and I wish you well. It is paramount that caregivers get time to vent and need to give some of that care to themselves too. If you are presently living with this take care of yourself please. Digger's wife needs her. We need more heartfelt writings too. Take care
I'm not much on ghosts but this I like, I like. You said a lot in 42 words. One doesn't usually think of ghosts as being lonely. Too many movies and TV portray them entities who came to a premature earthly end. Here, you give them a normal mortal problem.
Two items stand out to me. The first sentence and the last both refer to play. This frames your poem quite nicely. I also love the line:
"After the stars have banished the day."
I must note that using "dark" as a genre may not be appropriate. This is a pleasant opus, enlightening readers that ghosts have emotions too.
Nice work.
Aaah, such a nice, simple thought; spending a little time alone with God. If more folks would be doing that our world would be a better place. The link to the garden of Eden added great support. The knowledge that they recognized God, (even though they wanted to hide) tells me that at least they do spend time with God.
It is obvious you do as well. Whether in prayer like Daniel or with a notebook and pencil like you it seems your time with God has been most beneficial. It all counts, even a walk in silence at the seashore or in the woods marvelling at God's creation.
God's question to Adam, "Where are you?" reminded me of Elijah when he tried to run from God but God still found him, "What are you doing here?" Then later, "the small, still voice", that urged Elijah on.
This is a fine analogy of scripture.
This is very well thought out. The theme is consistent. Plus you hit the nail on the head with how we fail to sit and watch, to take time to notice things.
What I found most striking was, "You see the sky's moods, the sky's color." That really said a lot. The sky is unafraid to show how it is feeling, yet we only seem to notice when it's troubled and dark. But we humans are not only too busy to pay attention to the sky's beauty, but we are too afraid to show our own colors, be they "gold, orange, warm, peaceful" or cloudy, stormy, turbulent.
Matter of fact, that is the only aspect that was missing to me personally. Not every evening is sunlit. There are darker, windier evenings too. The colors and shapes are for someone, somewhere else to see.
A fine work; be proud of this.
I can't figure out if I just like this poem or really like it. It is very touching. I get the sense that you are a very caring person. Not many people would care to delve into the unknown thoughts of unknown people long dead.
Even if nothing monumental occurred in their lives, those lives did matter; they were living people with souls, ambitions, emotions. You express this well.
The fourth stanza bewilders me. In these old photos the people always seem so dour (due to the long exposure times). I'm glad you at least hinted at the polarity of "dark secrets" and painting "bright images". That is what is causing my personal dilemma with your poem. Surely their lives were more colorful than the portraits hint at. I was wondering if perhaps some more colorful imagery might not indicate that. Perhaps something like "life being pastel if not brightly colored; surely life is more than black and white."
Then again, that might ruin the point you were trying to convey. Just a few rambling thoughts, not meant to dismiss your work because otherwise I was very taken by it. I hope you have more such touching poetry as this.
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