Herry Christmas, AI, from some of the reddest redbreasts I’ve ever seen.
Never Three on a Card
Every Christmas, I get a warm glow From a handful of cards with the robins’ hello – They’re sometimes alone, and they’re sometimes a pair, But a third one is nowhere – cos as we all know A flock of the robins is strictly no-go. But what is this latest the postladies bear ? One robin, two robins, three robins…? Whoa…! But how can the senders so brazenly dare ?, Depicting the moment before the first blow – As the beak and the claw will leave no love to spare, As they battle to mate and to overthrow. But no ! They swear they’ve taken care To only show what’s really there. In Winter, it seems, the robins bestow A happier temper, content to share – For outside of breeding, they treat all fair, And frolic together in goodwill and snow.
Chilly, but still not frosty, Gloomy, but still not snug – The first door may be open, But we’ve yet to feel the tug. Oh sure, the shops accost us, But the season’s still a trudge, And the choc’late that we’re hoping for Is still a plain old fudge.
The first door that we entered Is still twenty-three away – There’s three weeks and-a-bit to go Before the final day. Yet her image is surrendered, And her countdown has begun – Though there’s precious little chance of snow, Just a gen’ral lack of sun.
Yet the double doors are looming As we open each one new – And ev’ry day, another string of lights Slips into view. The month is slowly blooming As the windows open wide – And once they’ve all revealed their sights, There’s nowhere left to hide.
Hush, little one, Don’t stir, don’t cry. Do you hear the soldiers passing by ? Do you hear the garrison Over the wall ? Tonight is their Winter free-for-all.
Little one, they have strange gods within We hear their tales, we hear their din. Tonight is a festival to one – Saturn, I think – a night of fun. And I saw Pilate come to behold – He was dressed in finest red and gold. And joining him, tonight at least, Was good King Herod, up for the feast.
Hush, little one, Don’t cry, don’t stir, I hear the tension, bitter as myrrh. I hear our rabbis, Hear their priests – Tonight, let’s hope they only feast.
Little one, we have a stranger pact In Jerusalem, where neither act To antagonise the delicate peace – But one year soon, all that may cease. And I saw Pilate, watching me – Waiting to see what it is I’ll be. And I saw Herod, watching you, Waiting to see what it is you’ll do.
Hush, little one, Don’t fret tonight, They sound too drunken for a fight. Perhaps their gods shall treat us kind, And leave just love and peace behind.
Even a cynical atheist Can relish this time of year, When even a jobsworth makes a fist Of spreading a little cheer, And people are up for feeling good, And letting quarrels slide – So even I agree, we should Have a Merry Christmastide !
I may think it over-commercial, And quite insincere at heart, But it’s all-so-universal With the whole world taking part. And the vague hope it arouses We can vaguely hope will stay – So even this sceptic espouses To a Merry Christmas Day !
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.
Rhyming Couplets 