My final #poem, this time on the occasion of #xmas itself …
Have a safe and good one if you can, and even if it’s not possible, believe in good in ways I never could … and therefore never did.
"this thing called xmas / that child of light"
xmas time
is rhyming slang
for longtime loves
and things so fine
that rarely get
an airing right
and never mean
we hold quite tight
a loved one cool
and then again
without some broken
unvoiced when
the meaning of it
all right once
being fun and toys
and coloured bright
and such delights
of pleasured heights
and valleys and tales
of snowed-in dales
which so often mean
we miss the best
and simply sense
these memories of the rest
but in truth what's real
ain't what we live
but actually what
we may one day relive
because facts and data
really aren't the mater
of seeing what's real
about being good humans
and although we feel
when things unreel
that frames per second
are where it's at
in fine reality
our deep humanity
lies in what remains
when the day does not
and when in our darkest
nights of all
we reencounter
what always befell
all people on earth
of goodly disposition
whatever their faiths
and even when
they found themselves
firmly up against
the ideas that wrench
and sometimes wreak
like heavy teak
or maybe oak
of sad times historical
stained as when
we then all awoke
to morning-time
when all was cold
and white and lined
with wrinkled cheek
and kisses brushed
and lips that touched
and eyes that shone
for it's not
when we die
that everything is gone
but simply this other time
when none of us
remember what it was like
to be that child
who loved the light ...
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