Tag Archives: Christmas

High Road Haiku-ing and Happy New Year!

The weekend between the ending of one year and the beginning of another.  By calendar.  The light softly returns. Three clementines shrivel in their bowl and my brother hooks up to a sodium IV.  I buy a $10 ristra from a truck in Chimayo and later coconut/carrot cake interlude with coffee and friends on the High Road to Taos.

Today laundry and quietude and a Sunday drive to Madrid where all roads end at the Mine Shaft after a wee bit of shopping.  A friend visiting from New York via Alaska and Afghanistan finds boots for buying that are very custom cool –while I choose the Silver Margarita.  Cheers.  and thank you and sometimes life is all about food.  Tamales wrapped in corn husks with deep red chile and kobe beef burgers with green chile on top.

Salty hand-cut fries and conversation before the music. Oh! Christmas Eve habanero hot fudge with real vanilla ice cream.  Holiday soup drop in before or after the Farolito Canyon Road walkabout and champagne/eggnog cheer meeting the family of friends.  A cocoa log for sharing from a red plate, chicken mole and more red than white.  Wine.  Saturday Santa mission through the Jemez and a first trip to Mu Du noodles — certainly not a last. Fantastic flavors in generous white bowl warm sake in ceramic cups.  Then another.  Coconut lime sorbet so fully satiated. Laughter and talk of travel and Land Rovers and everyone moving to Santa Fe. Longing and lasting and listing and poetry on the horizon.  There is merriment and change and the full moon risen and waning.   And here’s to haiku-ing on the High Road, haiku-ing on paper napkins and happy New Year haiku-ing all those roads we may travel down in 2013.  To that place where dreams are discovered.  Friends and food and fools are we.  With a little blues on the side.  Harmonica happiness to all.


Ode to Sugar Nymph

 Cake on the High Road

Truchas? Trampas? Penasco!

Too much white frosting

–Mike Burwell (and friends)


Corona Mine Shaft Blues

Mandolin haiku

Sunday shot of Tequila

sings me yesterday

–Brenda Roper (and friends)

Brenda is currently one of six writers and artists living in the oldest artist colony on Canyon Road.  Studio visits welcome by appointment.  Happy New Year!!

Posted in Blog, Poetry, Travel Also tagged , , |

Merry Christmas card & Happy Holidays –!

BELIEVE in possible. . .window
Christmas tree in store white
magic lights do glow and outside
a snow angel or two.  Jingle bell
the cathedral rings long. Then try
the road less traveled by. . .
 HAPPY Holidays jingle JINgLE
solstice sweet holy Hallejulah
JOY to fire light the world on
and fly our singing hearts oh!
wings of peace away fly away to
territory untethered. . .cloud
snow star memory tear whisper
kiss kind friendship into a New Year!
Peace and bliss and possible. . .

Merry Christmas & JOYful

ode to snowflakes

tree lights song. . .
all the stockings are hung by the
Chimney with care. . .ice skates,
brick cardboard fire place hot
cocoa and orange memory. Santa 
cookies sugar and icing. Nuts in
a bowl for cracking.  A box of
chocolates.  Poke.  A carrot for
Rudolph up on the rooftop and sing
Frosty the Snowman and Dickens. . .
it’s a Wonderful Life White Christmas
–peace on earth goodwill toward men

and woman.  Sweet clementines


In the bathtub on Saturday it comes to me a calling for wilderness.  A sojourn walkabout drive all the way to South America across many borders.  Across the portrayed realities of gunman and drama and fear.  Into the possible the unknown the joyful abundance of challenge and shift and belief.  To experience the tides as they rush in than out.  Toe heart rushing through and away and over flowing the river floods and bleeds no bandage thick enough to sustain the violence say push push believe drive go open up gratitude kind truth like a Hallmark Card.  Put down our weapons of mass destruction drone nuclear cold war pharmaceutical economy and help the butcher’s son the widow’s daughter.  Make room for those who need.  And that is all of us.  All.  Sweet juice dribble down our cheeks over our lips to love.


Brenda Roper is one of 6 writers and artists currently living in the oldest artist colony on Canyon Road in Santa Fe.   Her work forthcoming in Cirque the Solstice Issue #7.

Posted in Blog, Brenda Roper, Poetry Also tagged , , |

First BIG snow and a walkabout. . .

Sunday brought the first BIG snow of the season to Santa Fe — 5+ inches and the roads are ridiculous but before I ventured out by car today I ventured out by big boots, warm hat, sunglasses and camera.  A tourist on a walkabout of her own neighborhood.  The historic Eastside:  Canyon, Gormley Lane, Acequia Madre, Garcia Street and back to her lovely abode at El Zaguan where free firewood was being gifted (thank you). Here are a few favorites. . .


sit with a rose perfect and pink. . .ode to biking or a patriotic Christmas red and green

Not my door but classic –Santa Fe stylin. . .

Ristas, ride, welcome, relax with a cup of coffee —

Namaste –!

Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, Happy Our lady of Guadalupe Feast Day and other solstice celebrations in these days of little light.  Go into the light of your own hearts.  Go well.  Celebrate. Go with fire and grace.  Go with intention.  Do good.  Cheers!!


Brenda is one of six artist and writers in residence currently residing at El Zaguan.  Please stop by 545 Canyon Road for the annual Holiday Exhibit on view most weekdays 10 – 4pm and Saturdays noon to 4 o’clock.  Her work is also on display at the Rio Grande Arts Feast Day exhibition honoring Our Lady of Guadalupe at the Lucky Bean Cafe in the Sanbusco Market in Santa Fe.  Opening Wednesday December 12th from 6 to 8pm.  Through January 6, 2013.

Posted in Studio Art Also tagged , , , , , , |

Company, Christmas & Connections

sayulitawallI don’t want to write about the weather but that is where I begin then delete.  Weather.  Really?  A horoscope recently said to talk about something besides the weather and the weekend.  Our superficial social skills so limited.  Yes.  And this week I receive an email from a friend of long ago who asks “do you remember hitchhiking to my wedding. . .?”  I do.  I slept with a boy without protection.  No visible consequence.  Young and foolish and midwest wholesome  in my 20 something joy of  ecstatically alive– and/or equally lost.  Either way it makes me happy to be in touch again. 

That summer in Estes Park (1977) the first time my world cracked open.  Fry me an egg.  Dancing at the 3.2 bar, hiking until I could finally breathe, up to the very top of Longs Peak just to exhale.  But I didn’t know then, and we never do. . .  The 2nd time my world cracked open came much later (1998) and the greater the pain.  The grander the enlightenment.  And so that struggle continues and I am waiting for the 3rd.  Three’s a charm and all that. 

And from one connection comes another and it is this whose words punch the day with arrogance and honesty –political and comical– a drift in the universe.  Hi Tom.  Writer.  Somehow I thought something had happened to you.  Suicide? — so even more thrilling to find you alive, writing by a big fireplace with a small fire.  Sipping port.  

I want to be THAT smart.  To articulate. Words. To make fiction and fact and not matter the difference if it gets the point across.  The mood.  The moment. Encapsulates.  And maybe I am in some secret place in my heart.  Where I can discern the past imperfect and give an example, and quote poetry from poets that matter (and all poets matter), and belt out a song and play the guitar and dance in red boots.  Really — because nobody cares anyway.  Everyone is either self-absorbed head down texting their neighbor or playing a video game.  We live in the age of communication but all I hear is chatter.  Or nothing at all.   The nothing at all really pisses me off.  C’mon.  Be nice didn’t your mother teach you anything?

I am suddenly warm all over instead of invisible here on the hamster wheel going round and round in the same day job with the same dynamic as one year ago, as two years ago and why is it still so hard to STOP.   To simply stop going round, get off, open the door, walk out, say my good-bye, cash the check, believe another door will open.  Immediately.  Already waiting. Patiently.  Thank you.  Soon.  The universe is shifting. 

A year ago I met my biological father for the first time (well the first time in the context of his being my father).  Long story.  Joyful heart and all that.  A good thing.  And with this comes 9 siblings.  Two already gone.  I make art about it.  Write about it.  And this week I write to them.  Hello and Merry Christmas and hope our paths will cross.  How does one begin these relationships? –much like when born I suppose.  With baby steps and one word at a time.  With childlike discovery and trial and error and risk. On this note I give thanks for family and the unlocking of family secrets and the joyful spirit of Christmas and those mantras we manifest every December:  Peace on Earth and Happy New Year which in some sad way is no different than talking about the weather and the weekend.  Sorry, feeling a wee bit cynical but only a temporary state of mind.

peacechristmasSo if anything has been said in this rambling it is to get off that goddam wheel and push open the door to the rest of your life.  My life. To walk outside and catch the closest star and celebrate the voice that is yours. Out loud.  Be naked —oh that scares me.  Exposure.  So much safer in the realm of invisible. Be grateful for company and connections and Christmas.  Especially those friendships that founded you and were there when your world cracked open the very first time.  And the second. And so forth.  As far as Peace on Earth. . .never give up. 


Posted in Free Writings Also tagged , |