Category: Christmas

Hark ! Our Better Angels Sing

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
angel
Angel on a Christmas Tree by Anna & Michal

Hark !  Our Better Angels Sing

I don’t believe in Jesus, and I don’t believe the Virgin Birth –
But Lord, you know I’m trying hard to find some faith in Peace on Earth.
We’re slowly getting better, but the getting better comes so slow
Yet watch the skies each Christmas Day, and finally you’ll see some snow !
So even though I know, oh Lord, that you aren’t even really there,
I’ll sing the songs and send the cards, and hope the World is free and fair –
And even as we dress the tree, and string the lights, and spark the flame,
Let’s wish you Merry Christmas all the same.

I’m sorry, in a sense, that it has come to this, but there you are…
Or rather, there you aren’t, you see, and neither was the guiding star.
And all those prayers, and all those hymns, and all that guilt we sent your way
Have only stopped a single war, and only for a single day.
Best not to hope in baby-gods, or mistletoe, or helper elves –
Looks like we’re on our own, oh Lord – for God helps those who help themselves !
Yet even as we make mistakes, and even as we take the blame,
We’ll wish you Merry Christmas all the same.

I don’t believe in Jesus, and I don’t believe the Virgin Birth –
But Lord, a hundred thousand other babes are born tonight on Earth.
I don’t believe in miracles, I don’t believe in prophesies –
But Lord, I long for peace tonight, regardless of philosophies.
So even though I know, oh Lord, that you aren’t even really there,
I thought I ought to let you know, and thought I ought to let you care –
And even though I don’t believe that baby Jesus ever came,
I’ll wish you Merry Christmas all the same.

Humbuggrit

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
brown deer
Photo by Sohel Patel on Pexels.com

Humbuggrit

It is easy, far too easy,
At this mawkish time of year,
To call it crass and sleazy,
And commercialised veneer.
Muzak-strewn and wheezy,
And bubble-wrapped and cheesy,
And cuddle-cute and queasy,
And worthy of our smuggest sneer.
But once we’d dowsed the festive ember,
How then would we warm December ?

It is simple, far too simple
At this twinkly time of year
To only see the pimple
On the face of winter cheer –
The self-appointed saviour
And the goon from Scandinavia
Who spy on our behaviour,
Yet who we’re told we should revere.
So kids must don a wimple
On their thoughts, and simper insincere
With innocence of dimple,
And conviction in the flying deer.

There’s very little needs to change,
Just don’t forget that kids are smart –
There’s plenty in this world that’s strange
Without the need for lies to start.
Tell them all the pretty stories,
Tell them that they are just stories,
Tell them thanks to Newton’s glories,
How we know that deer can’t fly.
Tell them that it doesn’t matter –
Love them as they are, reply.
Birds are tiny, deer are fatter,
That’s the price for antler-clatter –
Evolution tells us why,
Despite what stories say.
Robins cannot haul a sleigh,
As deer cannot fill the sky.

Mistlemass

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
round white fruit
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Mistlemass

On winter days, in wood and dene,
I love to see your leaves of green,
And hang a sprig, a magic shoot,
And kiss beneath your poison fruit.
The glory of the mistletoe,
When perched aloft and laced with snow –
Your roots in wood, and never loam,
But on whose bough have you made home ?

This noble tree, of age and might,
Now after winter’s longest night,
Is verdant still, revered with awe,
As hope for yet the coming thaw.
So stands this tree in frozen earth,
Yet evergreen, to herald birth.
Its sap e’er rising through each limb,
A share of which our pest will skim.

And so the shrub upon the branch
Brings wine and feast to winter’s blanche.
Its prey brings strength, so won’t be killed –
Like rings of growth on which to build,
And spreads afar across the sea,
Till greater yet than e’er the tree –
For now our bush has such acclaim
It proudly bears a Latin name.

But lo, the mistle buds a shoot
That like its host has taken root,
With leeching tubers digging in,
A diff’rent plant, but of its kin.
This child shall conquer half the world
With winter blooms of gold unfurled –
And incense sweet their bouquets sow,
And berries bright with stellar glow.

And yet the saps of long ago
Within this parasite still flow
So little changed, it simply thieves
Then decks them out in diff’rent leaves.
So ev’ry living thing must fight
Against all predatory blight,
For even here, we see the grow
Of yet another mistletoe.

But this one’s hued in scarlet bright,
With fur and bristles dense and white –
And though as yet too small to see
Alone, without its parent tree,
So still its roots have bitten deep,
And spreads its seeds while yet we sleep –
In just one night, their airborne ride
Shall leave them by each mantel-side.

The Unnoticed Gift

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
boy touching black and white string light
Photo by Kio on Pexels.com

The Unnoticed Gift

Crackers crack and streamers stream
With gingerbread and clotted cream,
And dancing fairy lights a-glow
Between the carols and the snow
There’s something this year diff’rent, though…

Look, I don’t mean to scare you,
It isn’t something that’s gonna hurt –
I just thought I ought to prepare you,
To keep your eyes and wits alert.
Because you’re growing up, you see –
It can’t be helped, it has to be.

Yeah yeah, it’s all that mushy stuff,
That touchy-feely slushy stuff,
That boring stuff like peace and love –
I guess you’ll find out soon enough.

There comes a time as you grow older
And the snow turns into sleet,
When sprouts have grown a little colder,
And the needles prick your feet –
It isn’t much, just little things
As you become aware, I guess,
Of all the cold the Winter brings,
When tinsel shines a little less.

Don’t worry, there’s still lots of fun –
And presents – when all’s said and done.
I guarantee you’ll have a ball –
I mean, it’s Christmas, after all !
And all that carey-sharey stuff,
Comes nat’rally – it’s not so tough
When you are growing big and tall –
I guess you’ll find out, soon enough.

I wrote this several years ago, so when I say “There’s something this year diff’rent, though…” this isn’t meant as a reference to the bizarre upending that is 2020.

Carol of the Robins

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment

Carol of the Robins

They’re here all year are the robins,
The robins on their rounds,
Out delivering their song.
But we barely see all the robins,
We barely hear their sounds
When they’re lost within the throng.
But on-come the Winter and on-come the cold,
And out-go the fairweather flocks –
But the robins are patient, the robins are bold,
As bright as the frost and as red as the fox.
With a whistle they come,
And they sing out the season
And snow cannot stop them from spreading their cheer.
They sing to each other,
They sing for no reason,
But we only hear them at this time of year.

They’re here all year are the robins,
The robins on their rounds,
Out delivering their post.
We little think of the robins,
Or braving rain and hounds,
Till we need of them the most –
Then on-comes the Winter and on-comes the cold
And on-goes the jumpers and socks,
And we need them to bring us the red and the gold
With the cards and the parcels they push through our box.
With a whistle they come,
And they bring us the season,
And snow cannot stop them from winging it here.
They come when it’s sunny,
They come when it’s freezing,
But we only see them at this time of year.

As I’ve discussed in another poem, robins are territorial and violent birds.  However, they’re also a great source of pleasure to humans.  So much so that Victorian postmen with their red waistcoats were nicknamed robin redbreasts and soon Christmas cards were featuring them in both human and allegorical avian form.

And when I suggest that the robins ‘sing for no reason’, I am fully aware of the many uses that their song serves, but there is increasing evidence that occassionally birds really might just sing for the fun of it.

Tinseltide

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
santa

Tinseltide

Parents, hey ?  But what can we do ?
They’re everso old, but it’s hard to remember.
They talk about Santa as if he were true,
And force us to visit him ev’ry December.
They want it so magic, and find it appalling
When robins are fighting and snowflakes aren’t falling.
And can you believe that they really believe
In such a ridiculous story ?
When even a six-year-old kid can perceive
It’s not just his beard that’s hoary.
But how can we tell them ?   But how can we hush them ?
We cannot dispel them, the heartbreak would crush them.
They joyfully, eagerly, giddily smoulder,
Until they explode on the Eve.
We hope they’ll grow out of it when they get older,
But right now, just let them believe.

They really think gravity’s losing its drag,
It sticks to our feet, but it won’t stick to Santa’s.
They talk about Rudolph as if she’s a stag
When only the does, come December, have antlers:
Now Helga !   Now Freya !   Now Magda and Bretta !
On Ingrid !   On Astrid !   On Dagmar and Greta !
He makes all our toys with his workforce of elves,
And only by sleigh they’re arriving.
But why do they look like the ones on the shelves ?
It sounds like our Santa’s been skiving.
But how can we tell them ?   But how can we plunder ?
We cannot dispel them, their innocent wonder.
They’re joyfully, eagerly, giddily merry,
And thoroughly cute and naive.
So hang up the stockings and leave out the sherry
And once more pretend we believe.

Crimbo in Limbo

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment

Crimbo in Limbo

Strung the lights arounds around the tree,
But only one is three is working –
Somehow feels appropriate.
I mostly ordered gifts online –
Is that still fine ?  Or is that shirking ?
Hope that don’t arrive too late…
Went down to the supermarket,
After dark, it seemed so gloomy,
Stocking up on cheese and beer –
When suddenly it struck me square,
There’s no-one there to rendezvous me –
Only me to feed this year.
But then, I know the family’s only
Down the phone or on the screen,
With cards a-plenty to be mounted.
Chin up, chaps, there’s many worse,
Don’t let this curse be cause for spleen –
There’s always blessings to be counted.

Chrissie Cards

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment

Chrissie Cards

Koala bears in woolly hats,
Emus strutting in the snow
Spruces march across the Outback –
Let it go, Oz, let it go…
I know you’re mostly immigrants
From colder, Northern climes,
But not all cult’ral heritage
Will work in modern times.
Ditch the chimney for a combi,
Lose the furry robes and gloves,
Let the gum replace the holly,
Let the budgies play the doves.
Embrace your new contrariness,
Your world turned upside down –
This Winter masquerade is not
The only game in town.
Santa chilling by the barbie,
Kangaroos to haul the sleigh,
Redback’s guarding Baby Jesus –
Season’s greetings, and g’day.

Gingerbread Dickens

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
christmas cards

Gingerbread Dickens

All these Christmas cards, each year,
These Christmas cards of pristine snow,
With country squires and village geese,
And not a trace of elbow-grease,
With ev’ry lady all a-cheer,
And ev’ry urchin all a-glow,
And all the cosy world at peace,
Forever after, never cease…
Except, it never is – not here –
It never was, of course, we know –
But hey, let fantasy increase
Upon a harmless mantlepiece.

Baubles

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
red blue and green balls
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

Baubles

Heads up, jaws set, eyes fixed – here we go !
Once more unto the tinsel and mistletoe,
Haul out the fairy lights, string up the streamers,
Censor the cynics and pander the dreamers:
For here comes December !  And there goes the quiet:
The balancing budget and sensible diet –
Instead, we get suet and Dickens by snow –
But brace up and take it, cos here we all go !