Hibernation

HIBERNATION

unwind

get wise

get wine

for the HIBERNATION spell

YULE LOG Bûche de Noël, meditate muses

Cozy Cottage Focus inside me, sooty warm

musing the winter glow by a sense of being

on meditation

in candle presences—

thinking therefore I am in

a multitude of tapers always going,

domestic focal point

[Jack be nimble Jack be quick

Jack jump over the candle-stick]

the doorframe posts assiduously black

with the sooty fat of plump store of logs,

accumulation on the postbeams

lignified vascular absorption,

the crackle of the log’s irregularity

is a sign of good luck so

we let loose and party

for winter wisdom via punning

action on reversal, nor the action of punning

but punning by actions for reaction

heartwarming giftgiven circles

of reversal (isn’t a verse just a turn anyway?)

YULE LOG a winter cozy by cottage we celebrate

the shepherd’s pressing store of cheese

stocked up

cottage cheese

the pantry spirits crackle and pop and my place

tho hibernating in Hibernia

at least now free at last from the

summer flames of the rabid dog (to come)—

behind us and before us—

[the burn is slowly deadly, the shadow cast even noxious]

come invited, swell your veins with mead-tree drunk!

the tapers stand like human dolls

as sacrificial substitutions

by pun man as the flame of the brain in vigil

by the nut in the cortex

jump over the candlestick

evergreen miniatures taken indoors to the hall’s focal space

O Xmas Tree

in its context

let it snow sled it now let it snow let it go let it be

tending every separate hearthspace,

is a separate shadow virgin in fire-vigil

with hearty heart and flame on the focus

the flame is inviolable,

stare into its face

as only

Suttir is obviously the Sooty-One, (Coal-Black)

Fire-gazers

to visit the Shining ones who brings willow switches

to whip the naughty backsides bare by fireside of

non-compliant children cooped up circumventing

the sacred yule-log nostalgia

even if given cruel cruel coal in their stockings

as once Little Boy Blue...

[weather outside is frightful,

fire so delightful]

the children’s stockings hung to dry

liminal post frame waxes sooty

in accumulation of swarthy stain

in cozy smoke grease

RESPIRATION

EXPIRATION

INSPIRATION

But what about the lungs with all this

insinuation of inescapable fumes?

what is (but anyway, Feliz Navidad)

io saturnalia!

My Bucolica is a modern reboot of the "eclogue" form originating in Classical Greece and Rome and much rehashed throughout all European literature. It usually comes in the form of a collection of shepherd's songs, dialogues, and stories featuring themes of love/desire, nature/the seasons, death/mortality, and the passing of time. It is often a playground to poeticize the animal world and humankind's relation to it, as well as particulars of the seemingly idyllic life led by simple shepherds and farmers in Arcadia. It is also referred to as bucolic literature. I wrote my Bucolica 2017-2018 in a mix of poetry and prose.