The Forest For the Trees

A  cheerful little Christmas theme  (….?) to get you in the mood.

 (if there was an emoticon with fangs this would be the perfect spot____)

The Forest For the Trees ~

It was always easy pickings at this time of year

he thought

which made his bleared eyes brighten to a lighter shade of mud.

Plenty of cash around for shopping,

for getting the “flash”,

the tallest tree and most electric lights.

As he wandered in that forest of cut pines

propped and priced to hook the buyer he reminded himself…

You smile at them, offer to carry the tree,

the heavy parcels

(they like that)

keeps them from getting needles and pine sap on their designer jackets.

Easy pickings;




smaller items dipped from bags,

all ready to be turned into… enough.

Whats enough?

The price of a bottle.

Or two bottles maybe? ‘Tis the season and all that..

He laughed without much humor and stumble-shuffled towards the gates

The gates….

but they were nowhere in sight

He turned

turned again.

What the…

no opening, no fence.

Only trees far as the eye could see…

Can’t see the forest for the trees he chuckled nervously,

his feet slowing because they already knew what his brain wouldn’t accept.

He was somehow lost in the forest

an impossible forest

an unkind



Thicker and darker the trees leaned in greedily

as the wind spun the dusting of snow in small devils around his feet

and dimly he heard someone



Heart failing him, he closed his eyes and waited.

This time of year

it’s always –

they’re always –

 easy pickings…


About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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