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The Eve of the Eve
Christmas Eve would last forever, Or so it would seem like, afterwards. As a kid, of course, wanting it over, And yet, not yet – while it still affords The family gathered, watching the specials And singing the carols, and sipping Dad’s beer. And did we really do any of that ? Well, we did in my memory, every year.
Christmas Eve still lasts forever, As it did last Christmas, all night long – Where we snuggled down with the sofa and sherry, As the radio played an endless song. But I never remember to notice on Christmas Eve, Not till the following day, Which is far too busy to hang around – But at least we get that sweet delay.
Clip-clop, Bump bump, Non-stop. Why are we so keen to jump This almost child, This treasured lump, From out of me ? I’m trying to stay mild, If unclean – But why must we Be on the road at all, So close to my confinement ? To carry safe this precious ball Is the god-ordained assignment Given to each mother Who ever bore another one within. Husband, dear, please, I fear I shall begin To push and squeeze My cheerful load Right here, on this busy road. Husband ? Hah ! That’s a joke. You may be my betrothed, But I kind of broke that bond When I told you I was bound for motherhood. You should have scolded me, Your broody hen, Once you had found-out you were conned, And cast me off, no doubt, As one no-good. But no, you stick around, You’re far too fond, And not like other men. But given that, And the coming brat, Could we not then have wed already ? And claim the marriage bed For our firstborn child ? No – it’s my firstborn alone, Not yours, and that must weigh. I’m the one beguiled, Who must atone for nights astray, Or so they’ll say. Thus could we not have tied the knot, As we intend to, soon enough ? I’ve brought it up, my love, a lot – So how come you forgot ? No, that’s alright, I know why not. You want this over with, And my slate clean, Before you feel you even can Then give your word to me. You want this whole absurdity Behind us, not between, Before you ever plan To ask me for your queen. You never questioned once my story, Grasped your incredulity, As comfort in the news. You’ve never been accusatory, Never voiced your views. That’s why I love you, I suppose, That’s why I chose To tell you all about it – Knowing how you’d never doubt it, Daring you to call me out, As one of those. Ow ! These famous Roman roads Are just another jagged track, Where loads must carry so much baggage On a donkey’s back…
Somewhere, deep in the Abyss, In mid-December – could it be That there exists a little glow of bliss Upon a tree ? I like to think of Lucifer himself As stringing fairy lights, With a tot of mulled wine for his health, And whistling Silent Night.
I bet he hangs up baubles, just like us, And choc’lates from afar. I hope he really makes a fuss When topping with the star. Do the demons gather round as well, As the season is unfurled ?, With a Ding Dong Merrily in Hell, And a Joy to the Underworld…
…why, thank you AI. And a very Daply Merveys to you, too !
Round and round we orbit As the days grow short and chill. But we’ve turned the Winter’s corner, And we’ve started up the hill. We’re close to perihelion, The Cold Moon lights the frost, And the dawn is a chameleon Once Solstice has been crossed.
One Is the circle and Two Is the line and Three Is the trilith and Four Is the sign. The planets and skies Are alive with their play, As the new Sun shall rise On the shortest-long day.
So gather round the sarsens, As we welcome back the Sun, While the druids and the parsons Offer tales on why we’ve spun. We’re close to Heaven’s hinter, As the Dog Star watches over, So let’s raise a toast to Winter And the sleeping of the clover.
One Is the Sun and Two Is the Moon and Three Is the midnight and Four Is the noon. The planets and wives Are all dancing away, Yet the dawn still arrives On the shortest-long day.
I’ve always been disappointed with Stonehenge, in the same way that I’m disappointed with a ruined castle – forever second-rate compared with the grandeur it once possessed. With Stonehenge, we really need to build a new one nearby to show it at its best.
A new god is stalking the wintertime solstice, He knows who you are, he’s checking his list. For Greenland and Finland, a new holy war – And pilgrimage grottos in every large store.
So want, children, want – believe in the glamour – Your faith is his power, your wishes his manna. So buy, parents, buy, dash yonder and hither – He’ll lift not a finger, yet always deliver.
This anonymous drawing may be showing (though it’s not definite) the postumous hanging of the psychpoth Cromwell in 1660. Personally, I wish he had been banged up for life in the same cell as the psychopath Stewart.
Wassail to the Puritan
Merry Christmas, Olly Cromwell, Of the English Taliban – You humourless and hypocritic man. A busybody straight from Hell, A spiter of all jollity – A hero, then a hater of equality. Here’s a Christmas toast To the man who gave us back our kings – You failed, you worthless sod – I hope that stings. What England needed most right then Was tolerance and peace And years of sharing many Christmas geese.
We should not ask How the fairy lights Have grown so tangled In their box. We should not reach For blaming fairies, Inbetween Their stealing socks. It is not magic, Cosmic karma, Nor some plot Or hand of Fate – It’s just mundane And simple physics, Where small movements Escalate. Someone, someday, Someone else, Will write a thesis On the thing – And we shall chuckle As we calmly Counterwind The errant string. Watch some telly, Play the wireless, Call our fam’lies, While it’s done – But do not worry Why the job exists, That’s just how Quantums spun.
Inbetween the nights out and the office drinks, I need a night at home – To veg in front a Christmas movie, Snuggled-up beneath the duvet, Catching back my bonhomie Before I conquer Rome. I need a night to stop and think, Not revved-up at a pleasure-dome.
So best leave all the dancing To the fairy lights tonight, Just put the kettle on And grab a bite.
But most of all, I need a night to send My endless Christmas cards. To veg in front a pile of twee And snow-filled scenes we’ll never see, And stuff them in and set them free To streets and boulevards. I’ve had a few arrive from friends already – Caught me off my guard.
So curl up with the cat tonight, No need to talk or laugh – Just turn the heating on And run a bath.
Keep eyes on me, I’m going places, Just you see, I’m leaving traces. Mine is one of those faces That keeps popping into view – Who knows where next it graces, But it sure looks somewhere new. So you’ll be seeing me around, Up and down about the town, Floating in a gown, Or running to the races. And if I’ve got you aching In anticipation – don’t get fraught – It’s simply means it’s taking Just a little longer than I thought.
Here comes fame And due attention – Remember my flame, It’s getting a mention. Mine is a claim in ascension, On your lips without your knowing. It’s a name of my own invention, And its eloquence keeps on growing. So you’ll be hearing it around, Standing-out and upwards-bound, Singing-out its sound, In highly-strung suspension. And if I leave you breaking, In exasperation – don’t just mope – It’s simply means it’s taking Just a little longer than I’d hope.
Rhyming Couplets 