I have been writing Christmas poems and using them as my personal greeting card for each of the last fifteen (15) years.  I know we are in the middle of January and the holidays are well behind us, but I'd like to share a few of my recent Christmas poems, as well as two new verses that deal with common holiday themes.
     The first is from Christmas 2008, although the scene described in the poem actually occurred one year earlier, Christmas Day 2007.

December 25th

6:30 a.m.

 

What more is there to ask

of one winter morning

than the company of

a thankful cardinal

feasting upon a gift

of sunflower seeds left

atop the Christmas snow

as you sip your coffee?

 

 

     The next is from Christmas 2010.  Everything described in the poem can actually be found in a Christmas Card catalogue for that year.

 

 

Christmas Cards

 

 

There are angels, of course: cherubim, seraphim,

arch- and others surely representative of

nine angelic levels; smiling newborns swaddled

in mangers; star-filled skies (one brighter than the rest);

crowded nativity scenes; hands folded in prayer;

candles, bibles, churches.

                                          As for the secular:

Christmas trees and snowmen; cookies, gifts, and Santas

(for what would Christmas be without a few Santas?);

poinsettias and wreaths of holly and ivy;

songbirds, rabbits, deer, mice, raccoons, and polar bears;

horse- and reindeer drawn sleighs; stone and covered bridges,

all leading to and from snow covered villages,

forests of pine, and home.

                                          Among these, though, I've yet

to find the perfect card for you, and so I send

them all.  Merry Christmas.

 

 

     This is from Christmas 2011.

 

Christmas Guests

 

My first holiday guest arrives

wearing red overcoat and hat,

resembling someone familiar.

Snow built and round, standing in my

winter white yard, he will remain

longer than that unseen old man

who visits in the late hours

of December the twenty fourth.

 

 

     And most recently:

 

 

June 25th

 

Dawn whispers in cool breeze,

softly sighing away

summer's close, clinging air;

refreshing break of day,

and singing from somewhere

in my evergreen trees.

 

Cascading strands of light

adorn a fragrant pine.

Perching one branch: scarlet

in good voice and design

for winter card not yet

boxed.  I begin to write,

 

thinking, perhaps, you may

(of wishes you'll receive)

warmly embrace these few

lines some December eve.

Christmas greetings to you

from half a year away.

     If you buy a real Christmas Tree then you most likely go to the same tree farm or tree lot every year.  This poem came to me after a friend told me the man for whom he had sold trees for years was closing shop.  Sorry, but not everything about the holidays is always merry.

The Caretaker of Christmas Trees

 

The caretaker of Christmas trees

took one last look at forty years,

walked through the door of memories,

then hung a sign and turned his keys

one final time, while near-

 

by, the shadows of Christmas Eve

hid one old man adorned in red.

Drying his tears on one fur sleeve,

he turned that none would see him grieve,

and not a word was said.

 

 

     Finally, some thoughts on the new year.  Despite this poem, however, I reserve the right to say "I told you so" when the new year turns out to be worse than the old one.

 

To January 1st

 

Snow, falling overnight as stardust sand

in an hourglass sky, settles at dawn

as fresh parchment upon the earth beneath.

Soon, an opening line of ink footprints

reveals a story that will wind its way

through twelve chapters, ending when autumn winds,

having swept reams of aging, yellowed words

beyond the page's edge, blow winter's breath

again on remnants of the dying year,

transforming stardust sand to empty sheets

of white on which some poet will tread first,

much as today was begun "Snow, falling..."

 

     Until next time...

 

 

 



 



WELCOME!

    "Enter freely and of your own free will," as was encouraged by a certain pale faced nobleman back in 1897.  If you know who he was, congratulations.  If not, do your research and then read the book.  There are worse ways to pass the time, and few better.
     Now that you are here you are probably wondering "Why 'The Last Dinosaur?' "  Quite simply, I have been avoiding this use of technology for as long as it has existed.  Time was, I proudly referred to myself as a Luddite, refusing to join the rest of the world in its excitement over what seemed to be daily innovations in our rush to achieve the inevitable conclusions of our most foreboding science fiction.  But the old ways always die, and the beginning of the end came with cell phones and a "family plan" which, of course, included me.  I convinced myself that this would be the end of my advancement and held out for a number of years.  Then, several months ago, an author who is quite familiar with the new trends in publishing advised me to do three things:  create a blog, join the Facebook revolution, and get on Twitter, all of which would provide others access to my poetry; access which is difficult to obtain through old fashioned, traditional publishing methods.  So, after months of careful consideration, the last dinosaur has created (with much assistance from his daughter) a blog.  But write this down wherever you write things down - there will be no Facebook or Twitter.  That way lies madness.
     So, welcome, and I hope to offer something to you through the poems which will appear shortly.  It is my intention to update this space on a regular basis, hopefully weekly, but no promises.   I will, of course, read thoroughly any and all comments and, soon, include an email address for any correspondence.  Until then...