He by the fire
And I all folded up
under Tartan holding mug of dark hot piping black
Designing gifts of love
And I can see the yellow,house
Through window pane
And wonder
How you multiply a batch of baked and make it fill up all the cracks
And holes of days throughout the three
six
five
when quietly we live across, beside
Angled on this street so quiet
How do we add enough to make up for lost words
A silence living in the quiet days and nights on quiet
Street, we chose, they chose
A peaceful avenue of still
Which spice can shake out love come down
And fill a heart up full to overflowing
And say I love my neighbor, golden
As myself
Its not the dozens from the oven’s
heat
Its simply love of Christ poured out
And empty handed we could go and take
A batch of baked up
served up
cooked up
Christmas Love
And when the days that roll around
and cause a heart to spill
resolve
and resolutely
make a list
of all that will be different
in the year
the one
found when the page
is
turned
and
twenty thirteen
has a way of making all things
new
a wish can roll right off the heart
as I stare at the house
yellow through my pane
that I would deliver
Christmas Love
On all the days
Not simply one
To all the doors
not simply mine
that
sit in wait
for Christmas Love
Come down
All year
Round
Delivered Daily
not just sprinkled in one batch
no, love come down all year round
I stare at yellow through my windowpane
*****************************************************
Joining Amber at The Run A Muck for her concrete word prompts. The Spice Of Love was written out of the word prompt cinnamon.
I so enjoyed your take on the cinnamon — the shape of this poem, its cadence, it’s heart. Thankful for your reflections that not only prepare for Christmas, but are really meditations on the advent/coming of the rest of the year. ‘Tis good to expand the heart of Christmas to our own and to all the other days, that we would be people of Christmas all year.
“I baked something and took it to the neighbors,” turned into pure poetry and outpouring of love. Enjoy your writing – the style in your heart expressed through your words. Our neighbors don’t have a yellow roof, but we’ll be sharing some cookies with them, too. Loved the inspiration – thanks.
I can feel every moment of this. Some people are poets and you, my friend, are among them. Love this reflection and the heart that goes into and comes out of it.