Auld Forsooks
Resolutions and undertakings,
Be they minor or sweeping,
Should not be a source of trembling
If we find we can’t achieve.
If resolutions are for the making,
Instead of for the keeping.
Well, that’s fine ! A post-December fling,
A moment to believe.
When resolutions are for the breaking,
Let them go – no weeping !
And never start remembering
Their loss on New Year’s Eve.
From Mighty Acorns…
As a child, I’d wander Hundred Acre Wood
On the pages made from paper from its trees.
I heard that they chopped it down right where it stood
Because the bears were eating all the bees.
But I later learned that it never had grown at all,
There was no-such place, it was all just make-believe,
Or some said that it did in the pencil and the scrawl
Of the author who had plucked it out of his sleeve.
Pooh wouldn’t care, of course,
He knew the woods he knew –
But he isn’t here to ponder
Where his fav’rite forest grew.
I heard some people claim it lives within,
That we carry it, us all, inside our minds.
But since we can’t agree on where our common thoughts begin,
Then the woods we’re thinking of are diff’rent kinds.
And some say it simply is a real wood in Surrey
Which has only undergone a change of name.
But others say an inspiration source is far too blurry
To be ever thought as all-one-and-the-same.
Pooh wouldn’t care, of course,
The trees were just the trees –
But he isn’t here to wander-off
To put me at my ease.
The Seeing at Seahaven
On day ten-nine-oh-nine,
As Truman walks out to his car –
He’s nearly brained by a falling star.
Oh, don’t sweat, he’s fine.
Though isn’t it mysterious
That the star is named as Sirius ?
In his bubble life,
With its flat Earth and crystal dome,
The sky is shining just like home.
His perfect town and perfect wife
Has skies like ours outside the show,
That’s just as true – not that he’d know.
So what constellations, then ?
They could be any patterns really,
He’ll accept them all sincerely.
But then they’d have to pen a brand new textbook,
For the sake of one –
Why fight what’s there, when said and done ?
They still don’t need to wheel –
Just string them to the roof with ropes.
And best to not stock telescopes.
The fake can still be real.
I just hope that he likes to gaze,
Or else they shine in vain these days.
Truman’s catchphraase has always bugged me. He says “Incase I don’t see you, good afternoon, good evening, and good night.” But far more powerful, I think, if he said “Incase you don’t see me, good afternoon, good evening and good night.”” Or even “…good afternoon, good evening, and goodbye.”
Salty Moulters
Sea monkeys aren’t monkeys,
Never will they be –
They don’t live in the trees
And they don’t live in the sea.
These brine shrimps are no chimps,
They’re bugs with jointed limbs –
Such fascinating little imps,
Or tiny specks who swim.
There’s plenty fun invertebrates,
But these are pretty scant –
If you want pets that resonate,
You’re better off with ants.
Funky, shrunky monkeys,
Who are oh-so very wee –
They’re glorious, but also junk,
As dinky as a flea.
Holy Innocents
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.
Making Peace with Tinsel
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 !
Carol of the Songs
God rest ye, good King Wenseslas,
Who watches flocks by night.
Sweet silver bells and figgy pudding,
All is calm, all is bright.
Frosty wind made moan
To the running of the fa-la-la-la.
The lily-white boys, let us adore him,
Following yonder star.
Good master and good mistress,
Sing that glorious song of old –
The silent stars go by, on high,
To touch their harps of gold.
Once in royal, two turtle doves,
I saw three ships among the hay.
So hark the herald, deck the halls,
In a one-horse open sleigh.
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.
Taxing Travels
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…
Away in Gehenna
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…
