The great poet Walt Whitman, I’m sure you heard of him, knew nothing but miracles…and that’s the reason he didn’t know what grass was.
But tonight we have everyone gathered around at my father’s house, by everyone I mean my brothers, I, father, Milton the cat, and figments of my overactive imagination. So, here we are, all gathered together on Christmas Eve on this nearly magical occasion. I am going to ignore everybody for the time being, and write a poem.
staring down at the Christmas lights
you can see life ain’t black and white
Okay, so that’s a line.
We pass the presents around, making way for the futures
Okay, so that’s a line.
Can’t you hear the Christmas bells and whistles.
That’s another line. I’m on a rule.
I don’t really feel like finishing anything with these lines today. I’m starting to realize that this is my favorite way to write, though…starting with stray lines and then weaving them together.
Thanks for reading, and have a merry Christmas! I’ll be seeing you later.
The Monkey Prodigy 
psst… roll. You’re on a roll, you know, like the sub shop.
no i’m on a rule and i have to adhere to that rule as strictly as possible.
okay, okay. Your game, your rolls.
Reblogged this on The Dad Poet and commented:
Four days later, I bring you a glimpse into a few moments of Christmas Eve at our house, through the eyes of my youngest son. He’s got a knack for intriguing lines and word-play, and you’ll enjoy how he schools me in the comment section.
If unfinished…an Excellent poem Micah…I hope I have your name right ?..but y’know..at my age..I can just plead gaga on names ! Keep writing though..you seem to have a flair for it !
Thanks, Kitty!