"For Those Who Believe'

 

" For Those Who Believe"

Greg Budig 2020

Colored lights 

illuminate the cold

winter darkness. 

Hung from doorways,

welcoming and warm. 

All along streets that

are all too familiar. 

Strings of lights 

color the air. 

The snow has steadily 

been falling as we 

travel like wisemen.

An atmosphere of 

light and color

now fills the air.

We walk through the

glow still searching

for Christmas. 

The feeling of an 

inner child wells 

up from deep inside.

Listening for the 

sound of far off bells.

The old and jaded 

can just stay  home!

This is the night for 

those who believe. 

Passing the church

down the street

around the corner.

The voices inside gently

sing "Silent Night".

It flows through

the bell tower,

through the snow

up to heaven.

Walking through the

air that glows red 

and green, you look

deeper into the

sacred dark night.

Eyes still searching 

for a magical sleigh, 

You remember when

you once heard it's bells. 

Seems we are always 

searching for lighted 

houses down each street.  

For a chance to see if

the magic is still alive.

Hold onto the memories

that the season brings.

Hold onto that piece

of your heart. 

The End 

"Black and White Days"

 

"Black and White Days"

Greg Budig 2020

I sometimes wonder 

about these black 

and white days. 

Days of forgotten 

ambitions.  You 

thought you could 

get something done. 

But you were wrong. 

Starting with the 

most basic ideals. 

Trying to get back 

on track again. 

 At least clean up 

last nights dishes, 

or put away weeks 

of clean clothes. 

But the black and 

white days can 

be persistent,

even after you

said that things 

would be okay. 

You still find yourself 

staring into space. 

Feeling so stranded on 

these black and white days. 

Wishing you could just 

simply explain. You 

know what you want, 

but lose your grip on 

the reason. Sleeping 

and still wide awake. 

Someday they'll be 

over and you won't 

need excuses. You won't 

have to feel tired all 

the time. The black and 

white days will then be a 

memory. The black and 

white days will be gone. 

The End 

"Ode to Thanksgiving"

 "Ode to Thanksgiving"

Greg Budig 2020

The November cold is 

held at bay inside 

these cozy plaster walls. 

Morning comes early

as preparations begin. 

In the predawn darkness 

the kitchen lights are 

all turned on. 

Necks and gizzards 

slowly simmer. Their 

flavors deepen as they 

bubble on the stove.

Aromatics stewed on 

the small back burner.  

Scenting the house 

with onions and sage. 

Comforting smells. 

Familiar and warm.

A connection of 

memory and time.

Of onion, garlic, 

butter and celery.

The rich smell of roast 

turkey fills the air. 

Sturdy pots and pans

well worn in service. 

Speckled roasters and

casseroles handed 

down through time. 

Vegetables roasting on 

foil lined sheet pans. 

Brussels sprouts, carrots 

butter and thyme. 

Windows have steamed.

The potatoes are boiling.

Soon to be mashed with

butter and cream. 

Fresh stock has been 

used in the dressing and

gravy.  The pumpkin pies 

wait until late afternoon.

Such are the traditions 

of preparing the banquet. 

The tasting and seasoning 

with a little touch of wine.

Of chopping and mincing 

and basting and stirring. 

Of sharing with family 

on Thanksgiving day. 

The End 

"November Reflections"

 

"November Reflection"

Greg Budig 2020

Blue and grey 

above me.

Thin clouds wisp 

like old lace curtains 

stretched across the 

pale November sky. 

They settle softly 

on the muted 

brown landscape. 

The ground is 

tinged by yesterday's 

snow that flurried 

lightly in the afternoon. 

The trees have long 

given up their autumn 

leaves that now lay 

dead upon the ground. 

Everything has been 

touched by frost. 

The trees, the air, 

the sky.  Lakes 

have taken a thin

smooth glare. Frozen 

mirrors that thicken

through the night. 

A time of quiet. 

A time of peace. 

Preparing myself 

for the winter snows.

A time to remember 

all we have lost. 

A time to hope for 

all we might gain. 

The End 

"These Walls"

 

"These Walls"

Greg Budig 2020

Memories live in the 

walls of old houses. 

Familiar smells and 

comfortable chairs. 

Finding your spot at

the little kid's table. 

Knowing where all 

the candy is hid.

Many times this road 

has been traveled. 

Over the river and 

through the woods. 

A child's anticipation 

cannot be measured. 

Of seeing family and

being surrounded by love. 

In summer grandma's 

garden explodes into color. 

Orange and yellow. 

Purple and red. 

In winter the Christmas 

tree glows in the corner.

Warm smells from the 

oven, hot coffee and rolls. 

These walls are filled 

with childlike laughter.

And the screaming and 

chaos that ensues. 

The soft low murmur 

of morning conversation. 

Scattered children sleep

blissfully until noon. 

Gathering to celebrate. 

Gathering to grieve.

Laughing at

grandpa's old jokes.

These walls have heard

the passing of time.

These walls hold the 

essence of our lives. 

The End 

"Had Enough"

  

"Had Enough"

Greg Budig 2020

I have no 

more words 

They all have 

been taken. 

I am empty 

of thought. 

I am tired. 

I've had enough. 

Had enough 

heartbreak. 

Had enough 

of great loss.

Had enough of

 thinking inside. 

 I've had enough 

making excuses. 

I am not alone 

 being empty.

I am not the only 

one to feel pain. 

Why should I cry 

useless thoughts.

My struggle is no 

greater than yours. 

I have looked 

in the darkness

for maybe too 

many times. 

Sadness can 

inspire you 

for only 

so long. 

I have no 

more words. 

Nothing left 

to be said. 

I wait for the 

darkness to pass. 

But for now 

I've had enough. 

The End 

"Be Free"

 "Be Free"

Greg Budig 2020

You carried me

before I was born.

You nourished me, 

you gave me my life. 

You went through the 

pain only a mother 

could bare. You brought 

me into this world. 

You guided us the 

best that you could. 

We learned lessons 

from you and from dad. 

When we made our 

mistakes you scolded us. 

But you would forever 

hold our hands in your heart. 

I now hold your hand 

after you passed away.

You simply fell asleep,

you were gone. 

So much of life had 

taken a toll on you. 

It was time to let 

go and be free. 

I will not go through life 

as a motherless child. 

I have a mother and 

she always will be. 

I mourn for her passing. 

I thank her for my life. 

And I will always hold 

her hand in my heart. 

The End