Taste of Christmas Future

Taste of Christmas Future                            JJS      18Dec2015
I look out and swallow back the nostalgia
that rises as the shadow of the moon casts
it’s bleakness over the scene.
Clouds swirl like ancient whirlpools with the last glimpse of the sun
reflecting into the depths of the earth below the slow-mo drifts
and I too reflect as the shadows deepen before my eyes.
The scene, as grey as used snow,
a dusty surface shrinking to the narrow horizon
as if foreshortened by my reality.
The egg-shell domes, corrugated, wrinkled with taunting marks,
sit bleakly waiting, inhabiting an almost empty space.

This home, my hearth, no longer valid as a place
and yet from here we wait on mystery, await a face
that somehow sets the spirit free
while the Earth draws us with its sapphire blues of
ever-changing shades.
Those muddled waves of land that crease with mountainside,
the despoiled desert hands that creep into the fertile greenery
of water-lines and estuary but also glint, reflecting the solar miles of viticulture.
And the black cities that burst out at night like shards of radiation,
their streams of light the synapse of a sentient world.

So I wait, we wait, for the promised gifts of life, long delayed.
I am watching for the last star to come our way,
a burning arc to split the clouds,
cleave the grey mass that storms over half our world.

I look down and swallow back the nostalgia
as the curling fingers soften my hand,
softly pull and seek a thumb to suckle on.
The new-baby eyes reassure me, protect me as we wait,
as all around me wait,
for the first colony ship to Mars.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s