---

About three miles from town
In a house mold ran down,
Lived a widow, two children, and a faint memory –
They exist on stale bread,
Sleep in shivering dread
That they’ll wake up to angels crowing in the Cock’s stead.
The ice, long past chilling –
Their fire, far past fading –
Our family was hushed
By that night, Christmas Eve.
Yet, young widows hold wonder
While others toss it asunder –
To her, hope for a light
Is all the warmth
That you need.

In their wet wooden box,
Wrapped with thick woolen socks,
She stored treats of all sorts
For a quaint Christmas feast:
One goose stuffed with prunes
(Just an hour from ruin),
Mushroom pirozhki,
Broth biscuits with yeast.
Surprise inspired her children
To feel blessed with what’s given
As they huddled together
That coldest solstice in years.
But behind their faint splendor
Lurked a shadow of danger
That those closer to death
Are keener to feel
And believe.

From the depths of the night
Two eyes watched this sad scene –
The trembling mother
And her sweet, sunken tweens –
Since Christmas Eve magic
Opens worlds yet unseen:
A Shade that was lurking
Past the phase in-between.
He needed a soul
To take the place of his own –
Lost in the dark,
Faced with the unknown.
He’d pluck up a weak child,
The first chilled to the bone;
They would become a phantom
And he’d finally move on.

But the mother had seen
In a feverish dream
An Angel bad tidings of loss did confide
Should she burn extra wood
To cook all their spoiled food
That marked Christmas Eve table
And warmed their insides.
She did so, anyway,
To hold fast this holiday,
To give children their hope,
To give her her peace.
For their food stores ran out
And she knew with no doubt
That this Christmas tonight
Was the last mark of love
That she’d leave.

Now, the Shade crouched close by
In the dark, and he stared
With anger at light
And love that they shared
Despite spiritual woes
And their frostbitten toes –
They clung fast through the spite
Of those unforeseen foes.
Perplexed, he held off
Wondering at his sad state –
As they gave in to coughs
He took on his own hate
That asked, “Oh, what for?
What does Suffering’s store
Offer of value for lies
That help us try to forget
On this night?”

The Shade rose from his spot
To haunt someone else,
For the effect of their hopes
Crushed would crush himself.
But, as he glided by,
A gust of snow flew through him
That reflected the light
That still hid within:
It flashed visions of wonders from former ideas –
Of futures non-existent, of perfected ideals,
Of fantastical lands that filled the children with glee,
Of far-away havens that made the widow feel free.

Then the widow, she saw
Through the lies of their fate;
She grabbed her little ones’ hands,
Prayed it wasn’t too late.
Throwing open the door,
Headlong through the Wastes,
She’d send them towards their futures
With love’s selfless haste.

The Shade couldn’t stand it!
He howled and he moaned –
Pity lost in the creaking
Of what once was a home –
“Better leave fools to die
In the cold, all alone!”
But something long lost
Touched his heart sealed in stone –
Risking his ticket to rest
He followed their path –
The last desperate path –
Where they’d flown.

Bundled to neck
Mother kept winds in check
By guiding her children, guarded in their wool shawl.
About an hour they hiked
As the temperature spiked
Well below freezing, til they slowed to a crawl.
Then the widow, she tumbled!
Her children’s faith crumbled –
Their illusions all broke in that instant of fright.
Snow fell on their shoulders
As their breaths hissed to smolders,
Lost to the echoes of that cold Christmas night.
The Shade could do naught
But wring shapeless hands, fraught
For the fate of the youngest, the boy he must snare.
Death might not be clear,
But he knew it drew near
As the embers went out in that child’s flaming hair

When the cold quick took hold
And shook his wee frame,
The widow lurched forth –
Cried out his name!
And that name rang a bell
Deep within the Shade’s heart
That wasn’t of death
But life gasping to start!
His own existence was little,
Bit more than a dream,
A name long past gone –
But their’s still held a gleam.
He was a spirit long lost
From trailing a star.
What channeled old magic
To flow though old scars
That led to their shack
Like he’d been there before?
Before he knew what had happened,
He swooped down upon them;
A Shade might be lost,
But, until sun lights the frost,
Never count it at cost –
As condemned.

Under thick sheets of sleet,
The family’s defeat
Grew ever so nearer,
Promising eternal sleep.
As the grave starts to call
Under shelter of pall,
Their eyelids responded –
But a flash refused them to fall!

The Shade called forth their dreams –
Snow weaving each seam –
A parade of blue lights
Shining otherworldly beams.
They galloped and soared
In majestic hordes –
Visions I cannot describe
But urge us all to move forward
To grab hold of a life
That we want to live;
To grab hold of a love
That we want to give.
And, as it beckoned the children
With the warmth of its songs,
The widow caressed them –
Grabbed both their hands, pressed them –
With unchilled heart, addressed them –
Then, ever gently,
She pushed them both on.

If you look on this world
For cruelty and sorrow,
For the loss of a loved one,
For futures you’ve missed –
You’ve confined your chances
To a house that is homeless,
For a miracle builds
Something from nothing
Everyday.

When the children were found
On soggy, thawed ground
Surrounded by snow
In the center of town
They hadn’t a clue
Whether it was all true:
Saved by Christmas Eve spirits,
And over Wastes muddled through
Three miles of thick snow
And the harshest wind’s blow
And packs of Gray Wolves
And the town Cock’s hoarse crow.
But, there, in plain view
Warmed by candlelit Yew
They had held onto their futures.
Though nothing was new
A hope had been proven,
Fate’s grasp had been loosened,
And, that moment, they’d chosen
To move on – Spite the tears –
For life is worth living
As something worth giving,
And that concept alone
Is a miracle I
Can believe.

We returned for Mama,
But Mama never found –
Only traces of sky-dust
Dancing ‘cross the ground.
Sis and I got by,
Formed happy families
With warm hearths and homes
And great bright Christmas Trees.
I went back once more,
Prepared for stark Christmas Eve,
And I’m certain I witnessed
Two Shades dance through the trees.
They seemed happy somehow,
Despite being trapped –
But, perhaps, it isn’t that way
When your bare soul has been tapped.

But the miserable say
That our story’s all rough;
That we delusioned false figments
Since our childhood was tough.
Still, I must point out
That dreams have no form
When life is just rot,
Where hope is forlorn.
What builds children from dirt?
Sends rain to the desert?
Heals that which was hurt
By Shades, snow, or time?
Life’s a natural wasteland,
But the warmth of our hands
Proves, on dark Christmas nights,
That something from nothing
Comes to be.

---

---

Christmastime is here again,
but you would hardly guess
if you saw how bare my mall has been
and how barely it is dressed.
As this store’s resident Santa Claus
(his humble ambassador),
my reports to Father Christmas
have really rubbed me sore.
Where did all the spirit go?
Did it vanish into night?
Is it buried under leagues of snow
Or fled beyond our sight?

They set me behind a wall of glass
like a creature in the zoo
too dangerous to hear your wish
or slip down your chimney floo –
impersonal and customary,
more machine than man
as this holiday is regulated
and I lose my biggest fans.

Yes, the children stop believing –
not from fact or reason,
rather from the loss of hope
for a wondrous Yuletide season
filled with laughter, friends, and cheer
nursed by memories
spent in my mall, and halls throughout
where one spies a Christmas Tree.

When all you can expect from Christmas
are presents in the morn,
then what differs the Season of Light
from any day forlorn
when the highlight of your waking hours
is snagging something new
from online or down the street,
failing to fill for feelings true?

Closing time, dim the lights –
the magic now begins!
We’ll whisk away, far from here
escape feeble decorations
to home and hearth and much, much more –
where laughter and life resides
I place a gift for them to find
and watch how love unwinds
when children rise with eager eyes
full of hope and dreams
to not just get a toy or treat
that nearly burst them at the seams.

See, the true vision of every child
is the world Christmas conjures
with its fairy lights and jingle sprites
that spin a sphere so pure
And I see it! after the gifts
they gather round to feast
and tell the tales they’ve kept so long
for this moment to release.
With family and friends alike
the games and play commence
as the sun rises to melt the snow
then melts behind the fence,
the season’s capitulation
ends with songs beside the fire
to ring back out this Christmas Day
for the new year it inspires.

I return to darkened mall alone
yet see not despair upon my brow!
For I know, even in this year,
the present is only now.
The present that this season brings
is not found beneath a spruce,
but in the hope for what next year brings
and re-illuminated truths.

So, whether you hear me by
the last Christmas candlelight,
or the morn to follow, when its passing
conjures misery or spite.
How did the season pass so fast?
Can I hold on ‘til then
when all my childhood hopes and dreams
dwell and glow again?

As I pack up my photo booth
which hardly brightened a soul,
I tell you that to mourn its passing
was never a Yuletide goal.
Decking malls is good and fun,
and you know Christmas is in the heart,
but something new I impart to you:
Christmas is just a start.

The hope for Christmas keeps me alive
and all the world as well;
and if one falls or is cut short?
Well, it’s too early to tell!
The great thing about Christmas
lies in half its name –
if it seems to die one year,
you’ll never see it feign
for Christmas always arrives on time
to lift you from your pain
and remind you what you’ve wished for
since your younger years:
of dreams that float like snowflakes
and a Santa to wipe your tears.

I cannot be that Santa,
but I always will be here
through sleet or snow or thunderstorm
so you don’t have to fear
that this part of your memory –
whispering dreams into my ear –
is one lost hope you can’t count on
upon the coming year.
I leave for now, for colder poles
than the posts in the parking lot,
but I’ll be back again next Christmas, promise!
Riding right with the Christmas you sought.

---

---

I was born to the family Hackaday –
Hosts of the Rockaby Inn –
My only two birthrights, by and by,
Still bring no satisfaction.

We’re a wee little bunker up North
Where the ice blows hard and fast –
I say we, but it’s just weary ole me,
And I pray this solitude last.

But oh! Not so. On Christmas Day
My family flies overhill
To leech on these few stores and rooms,
Then leave long after their fill.

The inconsiderate have a knack for
Abusing hospitality –
Making great messes, noise and great stresses,
Since my pain for their care is free.

So! I conceal my cash in the cellar,
Stuff my sup in the loft,
Hide all my valuable breakable things
Lest I find them next year in their crofts.

I loan my hens to the neighbors,
Nail cupboards and shelves to the floor –
I survey this stone den around me,
Relieved my less won’t be their more.

Ho! Charred logs on the fire.
Ho! Piled flannel and wool.
I’m cozy and comfy, all on my lonesome,
Sipping hot cider, slack on my stool.

I was preparing some meat and potatoes
With nary a wreath on the door –
When snow flew in through my shutters
And rattles my soul to its core.

A freak blizzard! from no rhyme or warning
Buries this Christmas Eve night.
With a howl and a growl and a ghostly scowl,
Hills vanish ‘neath wintery smite.

The night seems alive –
Snow poised to contrive –
Then…

RAP-A-TAT
RAP-A-TAT
RAP

A knock on my door?
Unexpected in this storm.
The wind blows open, and in they come:
Newlyweds, linked arm in arm.

And yet, they’re a couple of tots
With angelic, porcelain faces –
Smiles sparkling like silvery tinsel,
Upon their hair ice leaves faint traces.

The boy bedecked in pearly tux –
The girl, her bridal gown –
They stride up to my lowly stool
And melt my displeased frown.

“Trekking long through icy drifts,
Our smallish stomachs starved,
We sought a place to warm our souls
And found your place in mountain carved.

We’d like to rent a room, dear sir,
To serve our Honeymoon.
We also expect a few holiday games
Since Christmas comes quite soon.”

I tried to break it to them soft,
“For a room, the price is fair.
But, for entertainment, I haven’t the least
Reason to give you that care.”

And then, by Mary, what tears did well
And warm their frozen cheeks;
My head was warmed, in consequence,
As their wails reached piercing peaks.

I pulled out Holly branches
And a game of Tiddlywinks,
Some cards, some whist, some jingly-bells
And some dolls that were starting to stink.

‘Twas the cookies and icing they stuck to,
Cutting dough of various shapes;
Those odd Newlyweds distracted for now,
I started to sneak my escape.

RAP-A-TAT
RAP

What? Again? A new guest barges in –
Or two? I cannot tell which;
Where one human starts the other fast ends –
Feet tangle legs, hair head-pair hitch.

“Sleep, Christmas room save –
Heard Eve kids party…Give!
Hunger, lonely bored beast bed
Ham pie whiskey companions live.”

The amalgamation tumbles in,
Slammed its limbs on the table,
And I, frightened by all this commotion,
Fled outside to my stable.

I whisk in the whiskey by quarts,
Smash all the mashers at hand,
Burn the bangers ever so slightly,
Bake pudding richer than any could stand.

I gave them my meat and potatoes –
That plate was cleared in a sigh –
I pulled out a goose, just one single goose,
And roasted a bit of its thigh.

After grilling a couple of carrots –
The last scrap I planned to supply –
I returned to my stool to ignore them
And pray the night quickly speed by.

But they roared and they pounded the table,
‘Till the children thought it a game;
My wee little cabin was filled with their howling
And I felt I might get a migraine.

RAP.

I barely turn to face the door
When someone beneath me stands,
Their face covered by silver monobrow –
Wringing wrinkles instead of hands.

I cannot tell their gender,
I cannot guess their age,
For they seem composed of one and all
Trapped within a bony cage.

“My lass, I am the Patrimarch,
The head of holidays!
I noticed your place was less festive,
And obliged to come brighten your ways.

You’ve been so dreadfully dreary,
Marked by your lack of decor.
So…here! Let’s light this place up
With Christmas spirit from roof to floor!”

I opened my mouth to protest,
But the gnome wriggled its monobrow –
Out sprung miniature reindeer
Hitched to Santa on jingle-ling plow.

Carrying wreaths and giant garland,
They wrapped my house thrice ‘round-
Then out of the chimney they yanked a fir tree
Cloaked in baubles and cosmic down.

The Patrimarch gave a garbled “Halloo!”
And its branches violently rustled
As a cast of Christmas miscreants
Across my birthrights bustled.

An Abbot of Unreason cheered
This troupe of rabid dwarves
While they scattered my cash and breakable things
And ate all the stuffs in my stores.

A Lord of Misrule led his sprites
In a hearty, ravenous jig –
Scratching the wood all over my loft
And snapping my chairs like twigs.

Fire set their shadows ablaze –
I feel I am going mad!
Patrimarch swirled with the Newlyweds;
The amalgamate sang awful bad.

Buckled down at their party’s center,
Weighed heavy by laughter and glee
That I could not feel or allow
Given my grave responsibility.

Enough! I screamed and erupted!
I flung them all out with my might!
Their tricks and their fun all at my expense
Should not be permitted tonight!

The gust that commenced this nightmare
Flung my shutters and doors open wide
And funneled a vacuum that sucked all my guests
Out the rooms, up the floo, to the sky.

Empty – as before tonight’s chaos –
But now I’ve nothing left
Save divots and claw marks proving it real:
Some demons committed the theft.

Then I awoke, unaware I collapsed –
From the ground I rose to a slump,
Rattled and shook and shocked to the core
By my quarters, reduced to a dump.

The sun shone straight into my eyes –
Christmas burned into my skull –
At least it’s over, no more surprises,
And I can pass into healthier lull.

RAP-A-TAT
RAP-A-TAT
RAP

That final knock opened my house
To my annual guests outside –
Worse than the Newlyweds, sprites, and the gnomes –
Christmas Day; my family’s arrived.

Their bright tacky grins of delight
Flip when they spy my pale form.
I rise, I glide, I fall at their feet
And finally plea for reform:

“I can no longer carry our Christmas;
It’s broke every last straw on my back –
I’m tired and angry and just plain annoyed
And I wish you’d all carry some slack.

I feel like I’ve silently let you
Be happy so long as I’m not –
It’s time I spoke up, and made you all see
That your joy is all mindless rot.

Look ‘round! No food to feast on,
Decorations – all frozen stiff –
The basis for every last holiday spell
Has sunk like my own sorry skiff.

Why have you been so blind to help me?
Do you not care what I have gone through?
Why on Earth would I bother to do this
Of all those blackening feelings are true?”

I was at the ground in a kneel
When a cousin knelt by my side;
She stroked back my hair and held me in hug –
Saying, without fake care or pride:

“We’re sorry our fun is your sorrow,
We’re sorry the burden is tough –
But now that we know what’s been ailing you,
We can contribute what you think’s enough.

Family is built on connections
Told plainly, loud and clear;
Your anxiety needs not drown you out –
If one of us listens, they also hear.

Up, now! There’s no use complaining
When Christmas Day finds your house bare.
Family reduces the struggles of life –
They dissipate as they are shared.

But the point is not to feel hopeless
With others alike in poor lot;
It’s to smile, to lift your clan fellows higher,
Or we’ll not learn the lessons we’re taught.”

Helped to my feet by the uncles,
Driven to town by the aunts,
Shopping spread amongst my countless siblings,
Costs split by grandparents.

In no time at all, my bunker up North
Was far brighter than I could achieve
From the efforts of all my family folk –
Even past Christmases I can’t retrieve.

At the head of the table I carved
The meat and passed it round;
The largest chunk reserved for myself
And toasts raised towards my crown.

Perhaps I exaggerated their part
When I called them bad names in my pain;
By the Christmas tree lit by the fire tonight,
I can swear it’s all left my brain.

After feasting, we unwrapped gifts,
Like a picture painted by all,
With laughter ringing far and near
And I – the jolliest drawl.

As we leave to go out caroling,
My heart full with Hackaday,
I grab my hat and wonder
On the spooks seen yesterday.

Were they spirits sent by Heaven
To bring our misgivings to light?
Or were they a trick of the wind,
And only family can combat their spite?

They were expelled nonetheless, for peace is found
When we fervently, openly seek it –
Easier so through family
And a hopeful Christmas spirit!

---

---

At Great Wolf Lodge most every year
I’ve watched the children come;
With smiles alight like Jingle-Sprites,
Cheeks sparkly sugarplums.
They shriek aloud with Christmas cheer,
Parents close behind,
Who steel their spirits for the wear
That starts with waterslides.
Snowflakes hang from every branch
In plastic canopy –
Fairy lights dangle streams above –
Merry carols ring.
My lodge is bright and festive,
Stuffed wolves topped with hats –
And once the children tucker out
Out spring plush mascots.
They tell a tale of presents
Delivered by Saint Nick,
And then fly snowflakes born of soap
To play a hopeful trick.
These children in their PJs
Dance and sing and jive
Until they’re borne to bed,
Content to be alive.
‘Tis all commercial sham,
But there’s a kiddish charm
Hung with pawprint holly
False icicles fast disarm.

But then the Lodge is twilight
And there’s no one else about
But those stuffed wolves on the mantle
Grinning at trash all o’er the ground.
I commence my nightly duties
Of cleaning up this mess
Left in joyous jubilation
By season-punch-drunk guests.
Alone, I sweep the garbage
Through these hollow, hopeless halls –
Christmas tunes of times gone by
Echo faint against the walls.
But another noise rises here
Past the quiet peaceful den –
A kind of clearing of the throat
Before it might begin.

“Happy Christmas there, old friend,”
A voice harks, sad of mirth,
“Does this Eve find you at peace
As Harmony finds Earth?”
I jolt about in just alarm;
Three o’clock, all in dreams,
Though I wonder I’m not with them
As the voice comes from this scene –
A furnace blazes in the dim,
Next to a towering pine –
But a tree it’s not, just metal frame,
Empty, plain, a fleshless spine.
It’s been that way for many Eves,
And I miss its glorious gown.
But there’s no way to bring it back –
The voice, its courage found:
“I’ve watched you work for twenty years
When the holidays come ‘round…
Though I confess I’m somewhat meek
I now must make a sound.
Your earnest heart has touched me
Down to my coremost ring,
And all my branches are a-flutter
Seeing Christmastime kept clean.
Yet, I fear the Christmas Spirit
Has left your sincere soul,
So I offer you my services
In hopes to make it whole.”

The voice, I finally realize,
Is that tow’ring Christmas Pine
Who darkens up the dim,
A vague shadow of repine.
“And I’ve admired you,
Oh Tannenbaum, you cheery sight
To behold every Christmas Eve
Was a privilege and delight.
But your splendor has far faded,
And your green has gone astray –
Your lights, evaporated,
And ornaments, rolled away.”
The Tree was racked with sighs
And groaned a stiff reply,
“I see it’s reached your notice
How my image yearly dries.
Nostalgia is the water
That keeps my fir coat bright,
But it wears away, my Holiday –
Schisms make it trite.
Schisms ‘tween the mind
And sentimental heart,
Schisms ‘tween the family
Whenever patience smarts.
Schisms ‘tween beliefs
And the hatred they ignite,
Schisms ‘tween the gifts
And charity made light.
Schisms ‘tween remembrance
And the image shattered now,
Schisms ‘tween a mighty tree
And my withered, wired bough…”

My companion trails into the night
As if longing for the past –
Left me thinking on Christmases
Not fit to my caste.
It seems to go with time, I thought,
This cheery Christmas season.
Or perhaps no one to share it with
Is my remorseful reason?
“And yet,” the Christmas Tree exclaims,
Its tone infinitely kind,
“A Schism is so easily bridged
When the gap’s all in your mind.
Don’t let your Christmas Spirit spoil
When what’s before you’s not ideal;
It’s up to your love for the Season
To make your dreams feel real.
The weak in Spirit stay unmoved
By what is doomed at start –
The strong in Spirit find the joy
That’s sometimes spread apart.
So keep that flame of hope alive
As you hold Christmas dear!
The time will be more precious
Than if dismissed as faith unclear.”

I feel the power of a smile
Radiating warmth,
And knew the Tree’s words to be sure
By the Star’s light from the North.
That light shone through a window
And lit upon the pine –
Now bedecked in silver tinsel
And ornaments divine!
Its baubles brightened up the lobby –
Shadows reached the loft –
Chills waltzed through the spiral doors
And rustled needles soft…
I can see its golden ruffles!
I can see its starry crown!
Oh, how merry those strong branches
Wave scarlet streamers down!
Glitter rains from high above
That grand gleaming Yule Pine
To settle sprightly on my brow
And make the world seem fine.
I laughed, by God, I laughed!
Those mem’ries flooded back
Of Christmas on the carpet
With presents in their stack
Under fond familiar faces
Of family, neighbors, friends,
Throughout my years of Christmas cheer
That never seemed to end
Around a marvelous Christmas Tree
Like the Lodge’s, but still my own,
With a sparkling ethereal aura
That remained though I had grown.
Until I lost my way somehow –
But that matters no more
As my heart regains its footing
And my thoughts commence to soar.
I hear the Tree then sweetly sing
About the First Noel
Until the hour of six chimes on
And lifts its Christmas spell.

Christmas Morning! The kids awake
With presents from their rooms –
No nostalgia, no painful tears,
No regretful moans and gloom.
I see the drawn-tight faces
Of veterans like myself
Who lost their Christmas Spirit,
Discarded on the shelf.
They hope for Christmas mem’ries
Like the ones they’ve seen before –
But who can expect what’s happened?
It will only leave them sore.
Your Christmas Pine stands hollow still
When grown from year-old sight;
Deck it with your blessings new!
In hopeful cheer, there’s might!

---

---

In the bright Caffé Concerto,
In a larger part of town,
I sit next to the doorway
And gulp my turkey down.
The wind outside is blowing,
Colder than the Devil’s grin –
And, while I sit here eating,
A candle burns within.

I followed a cute girl
From the train station beyond
Until I lost her at her job
Inside Lululemon.
I followed ‘round her tights
Among Christmas decor,
And now I’ve wandered here
To follow candle poor.

It flickers and it flutters
Upon my tabletop
Every time the doors are opened
I want to tell them, “Stop!”
But it’s not my call to make
To keep busy wicklings lit,
Only to hope it lasts as long
As I at this table sit.

Burn on, little waxwork, Burn!
Decorate yourself in drippings delight,
Bulwarks and buttresses constantly pour
Over heat-blooming stem, bud crimson flower –
The brighter you burn, the shorter you last,
And, though I admire your admirable task,
Cheering you on to brighten the gloom,
I’ll still blow you out when I’m done with my food.

---

---

In Conwy, I had a feast
Of sheepish dumplings,
Bacon-wrapped haddie,
When Huzzah! What dost I hear in the streets
But a parade straight from the dark ages!
With jesters and knights of plastic,
Princesses and papier-mâché dragons,
Marching with torches through the snow
Harking and barking with great gusto
As the crowds followed to and fro
Trying to see which way to go
In the snow.
And when they all gather in the square
To huddle under the Christmas Tree there
That rustic neighborhood holiday treat
Marked us all to join in carols.
“Ding Dong Merrily” – they began –
And I began –
The crowd did not began.
They chattered and swore at the cold,
They giggled with coughing and lolled,
And the knights were simply not projecting
Their voices dissipating in the thickness of air –
As the bored, restless crowd gave up on caroling
And stuck to caterwauling
While I retired to the Pen y Bryn
To celebrate on my own, with a scalding shower
And pretend the event was a glorious Christmas thing.

---

---

Amidst the piney forest
Glazing snow-capped peaks
I seek a frigid rest
Wandering wan for weeks –
Muscles wobble weakly
Throat cracked thin for gin
I stumble headlong down a pass
Into blizzard-stricken glen.

Hark, a din
In darkened den –
There lies the Blind Elk Inn.

Warmth belies that smallish shack
Wherein lodgers feast on stew –
Bundled up in scratchy blankets
Crowded round a chimney flue 
Where a stoat spins on the spit
Crusted in a blackened coat –
The balding host, he tends the bar
To beer bellies further bloat.

I pine a pint of whiskey which
Is served, with eyes all staring fast,
For I am frozen, spirit and skin:
Beard icicles, hands alabast.
“Stranger, where you hail from
In this whirling winter gale?
Don’t you know Yuletide’s the night
Favoring heralds of Hell?

They howl atop Refraction Point,
A prismic cone of ice,
Where all your dreams are crystallized
From failure’s avarice.”
I slurped the stew, a meek
“Farewell.” For that is where I seek
The answer to my darkest wake
Upon that deathly peak.

A fearful dream does call me there
From vitals’ safest haven;
Back I limp ‘midst glazed eyes
Upon that snowfall craven
Which whisks me out beyond that hole
Into a frigid gale
That melds the bite of sleet and snow
Into a pot of hail.

Why I did leave
This Christmas Eve
To be bereaved
Is – 
Through flurry
I naught perceive.

My sleep had dwindled daily
From plagues of evil thoughts
That crammed their shades inside my skull
Until health and humour clots,
But they betrayed a certain remedy
In glimpse of Refraction Point.
See now you why I brave this Hell:
To dream and peace conjoint.

But that beady-eyed bartender
Bussing booze in Blind Elk Inn
Has got me scared for what haunts there,
And doubts fester within.
My courage has been but trouble
And my faith not far from foolish,
And I know, surviving night Noel,
There’s no guarantee a wish.

But ’tis too late –
Snowbank recedes
Conic lake of ice
Glassy, clear, reflective, bare
The bald head of Old Winter himself:
Refraction Point.

Ice scalds my reddened face
Palms peel back their skin
Feet rub raw in rotted wool
But these eyes –
These eyes feel new again
To see those lights on Christmas Night,
A spectrum of colors never seen,
Imbues the blizzard with Zion’s delight.

And those voices, ethereal choir,
Singing with a joy
I’ve never seen or felt on Earth
In a heartfelt, heatfelt blast
That melted gone the swirling snow
From land and sky to brain and toe
In time with an unearthly paintbrush 
Dancing cross the starry canvas
Pulsing in a vocal swell
‘Till throats turn to a brassen croon
Opening celestial wide to man
No matter the gates he built inside –
All are powerless, ice but water
Under the touch of the spectres’
Hearth.

Disregarding the sleek surface –
Spirited along –
I met one of those beings shimmering
Between our world and theirs
Beneath its instrumental brethren –
Extending an arm, caressing my cheek,
Warmth traveling through tendrils
Like mist over a jagged sea
To a frozen shore pliable under
Such delicate pressure.

Midnight lifts angelic chorus
Mouths a-humming, veil of
Electric energy in the crackling
Space reverberating up
From the flat mirror of the peak.
Otherworldly hymn fades –
Ensembled joy dissipates –
But the joy of that encounter
Remains afloat around me.

But what had seized the Blind Elk Inn
In its absent reason?
Taking angels for devils, a song for a howl,
A night for some natural treason.
Wherein they felt hot fire of death
I drank sweet waters of life,
For those who only see that of the Earth
Blindly accept all its strife.

Yet, for me –

Those dreams of fear and anger
Vacated from my mind.
This Christmas tells, on lesser days,
How to live in kind:
Heavy snow that blocks our view
Turns blessing in disguise
If we seek what’s more than us
And listen to the skies.

---

---

Hello, sweet Death,
Where have you been hiding?
I am tired
I am weary
I am weak
Since I lay in abject sadness
Show yourself in morbid gladness –
Come close, sweet Death,
Draw near, draw near.

Come close, sweet Death,
Let me feel your whispers.
They are calming
They are fragrant
They are peace
In this cold asphyxiation
I am warmed by adoration
Take me, sweet Death,
Draw near, draw near.

The love of lilies underground
Broken down by youthful sound
In the air
A spark of lights flies flashing round;
It is said to come in your dream
When it’s time to join that stream
Of the souls
That fill up the night sky,
Twinkling by.
Take me, sweet Death,
Into your tender arms.
You are gentle
You are freeing
You are life
Up beyond this world of madness
Show me to your realm of gladness
Keep me, sweet Death,
Draw near, draw near.

---

---

If you had forgotten
Christmas Eve –
Traditions begotten
On silent leave –
Permit me recall
To your dusty mind
This baggage I haul,
You’ll nowhere else find.

I squat here alone underground, so dark –
A basement built by my hands, so hark!
I’ll tell you whence forth my grievances spark
And render future shortcomings for easier mark.

Up above,
In social construction,
The warring Dove,
Cultural destruction,
Builds its nest
In countless homes:
A restless pest
Rewriting tomes.

The music plaguing the air for stones –
The force of their biting chill breaks bones
As under the crunch a longing heart moans
To futilely mend incomparable loans.

Those stones I count
Comprise the Earth;
Their cheerless mount
Is worthless mirth,
Each moment made
For itself beside –
As they ignorant fade,
I bide, I hide.

I bide for a time in the past, long away,
And every day fall to my knees and pray
That it returns in days ahead for to stay –
But I know such dreams far graven lay.

Children beaming
Cold snow mold
Ornaments gleaming
Arms sweet hold
Warm fire ablaze
Sweet feast delight –
A Star will raise,
Eager for night.

But I remain under cover of tomb, deep below,
Huddled near a pine from which candles glow –
But how long I wait, I grow caring less to know
As my hope with the flames flicker off and out-blow.

---