Tag Archives: december

dear december 2014 (tall stars and sparkling trees)

Dear mountain mosquito melody-
Dear spongy expiring peppermint tea cake-
Dear last day of the year-
Dear statements like pages in a magazine you might flip through-
Dear December 2014-

The day after Christmas is all tags and names and half written lists strewn across the table with some thick coil or ribbon untied in every corner of your heart and mind. I try to bundle the year- to pack up the pile of mornings- to close the box on a solid idea I can stamp a clear label on and send on its way. The gifts of the year are hushed, collected, burnished with past efforts and future inspirations. What you hold onto is the present.

The last day of the year ends with a country bonfire- with tall stars and sparkling trees on the side of the mountain I’ve called home for the last few years. The bright trails drifting up beyond the ceiling of stars are better than fireworks. I let the the conversation around me warm my cheeks well past three in the morning. I watch as a young man named Leif prods and shakes off sparks into the darkness. His face reminds me of a young Vincent Van Gogh. I feel good about meeting him on such a starry night. As the year closes, I am reminded that we are lucky to have each other to influence and inflame each other forward. Ezra Pound wrote in a letter to Harriet Monroe “My problem is to keep alive a certain group of advancing poets, to set the arts in their rightful place as the acknowledged guide and lamp of civilization.” I continue to hear these broad announcements that our modern years are full of darkness- but I am hopeful because I still see a light in people. It’s there. And I believe we can still help each other keep the fire alive and keep it bright.


Here is the last poem I wrote in 2014-

Epilogue of Sundays:

the home haircut of ideas, the morning was discussed
the loose wiring of ambitions, that befriender of genius
waiting on a weekend electrician for Ezra’s lamp
a cagey dawn in episodic tantrums that squarely passed

so you think you can write poetry, in your latest craze
illuminate sunsets and blasphemy and science and haze
lay bare obscurities to satisfy the erudite
out of Homer lots and home garages, romance the dendrite

with the last volt and pixel and the bright stain in your cheek
helping fireflies escape their mason jars can take the whole week
as whatever light you are chasing leaves no sign to stop
the last offer can be left open on the modern desktop



love and sparks into the darkness,

straw :









hot infant bright spark of a kindling birth
on a starlit night amidst sin on earth
in a poor pagan pinch of salty time
past a modern ritual lost in rhyme
of god’s dark decrees for a kingdom bright
for your near escape from an endless night
where you swore to abandon your wicked ways
you swore it forever on innocent days
as if inside a dream of straw and gold
we only dreamt before we grew too old
where fanatic salvation set us free
with tart knowledge from a defiant tree
in a jungle dense of mystery missed
on the face creation so feverently kissed

Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·

baste stitch :









december strays away, yarn to splinter
room to room, embroidery and crochet
sunlight unwinds Dante, west from winter
a decorated past, paper mâché
sugar plum out of luck, you seek and hide
rummaging to spare one crown for a king
apparitions you couldn’t pin aside
in craft drawers, while a mother is birthing
a decoupage, spools of eternity
carols, apparel, round saviours and stars
seamless in pattern, you could not pull free
from calendars that pulled a thread of scars
day after day, hand-stitched and brow-knitting
tailored, timeless and strangely befitting

Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·