White Christmas

Some years passed
since that first
February flurry;

yet, I still find
novelty in every
fall of snowflake.

They float into place
onto roof tops
and naked branches

and into our hair:
little and white
and nonchalant.

Like children praying
in God's mathematics,
I stick my tongue out.

Eyes closed, I trust
in the intangible
niceness of every taste



rediscovered.



Copyright 2010 by T.J. Blackburn

Snellville

1.

You said you need
half an hour.

So, I wait for you.

2.

Outside your house,
I watch stars—countless stars—
appear in August sky.
They shine like candles
left on windowsills to guide
the homeward bound.

3.

I assign seconds to distant suns, play connect-the-dots with time
till stars over Snellville: I am here, writing poetry in my head.

I am here.

4.

[Question:]
Are those stars the possibilities never actuated
into reality, pitied by the gods, rescued only to be
cast amongst the light year vastness?

5.

[Answer:]
We are Orion chasing the daughters of Atlas!
To pursue those stars
is to explore the subtle meanings
of happiness.





Copyright 2004, 2010 by T. J. Blackburn

Preface

If I pour
my heart
my soul
myself
into these words,
will the accumulation
of my work
become the embodiment
of how I feel
and thus
keep you here?

Will these
little
pieces
of me
speak sincere
from the heart
of the heart,
and of the matters
it holds dear?

Or will these parts
when taken whole
within
your hands
your eyes
yourself
betray my intentions
and abandon these
emotions I have for you
to die misunderstood,
a volume
of inaudible
I-love-you's
lost to
the noise
of words
left unused?






Copyright 2004, 2010 by T.J. Blackburn