The New Winter's Morning

The New Winter’s Morning

A crackling branch below a tree, where the snow is not too deep,

A friendly tread, in the thick of the forest, where even silence sleeps.

In the quiet of a silvery morning, as the last star winks at the sun,

A round silhouette, etched in sparkling snow, is flitting about in fun.

A baritone chuckle and a flash of red, in powder snow up to his knees,

Something or someone has come back to life, where the deepest snows blanket the trees.

Then a single shrill whistle, before the song of the first morning bird,

And, the “flufflings” of snow, and the “hufflings” of breaths, on the edge of the wild is heard.

Soon, the shakings of frosty coats, and rattling of  many an antler,

And, harnesses cinched, soft bells jingling, mutterings and quiet banter.

Finally, lifting, and sailing up above the trees, in a roar of laughter so strong,

A herald’s joy, in flight toward Christmas, in Heaven’s Glad Tidings and Song.

Santa's Birth

Santa’s Birth

‘Cross the River of Diamonds, behind the bright moon,

beyond the flaming oceans of the morning sun,

O’ertop the rising chorus of the Seraphim’s tune,

Where the crystal loom sings, and time has been spun.

Here, in one brilliant moment, joy sang out a ruby red note,

A cheeky smile flashed out on high,

Heaven’s scribe paused from what he wrote,

The teary-eyed mother abandoned her sigh.

Then, the quick and powerful word,

Etched in lightening and in thunder,

What was visible and unheard,

Into visible rollicking wonder.

Turning, twirling, swaying merry circles,

Sweeping, dipping, bowing, oh so low,

Reds and greens, deep burgundy and purples,

Soaring, reaching , beyond the highest bow.

Drinking in the wandering laughter,

Basking in the noonday rays,

Meandering in the Ever After,

Feasting on Eternal Days.

One Christmas Eve

                                       One Christmas Eve

Clouds in smouldering foment , enraging the dark boiling skies,

Foretold in any moment , all Hell would break loose in our eyes.

 An old farmer hurried the last herds in, to their mangers with all of the rest,

His daughter soothing the noisy din, her small brother clutching her dress.

    

 It was Christmas Eve, but like no other, the brewing weather forecast,

In dense and heavy smother, we hoped the barn door would last.

From the barn, passed the pen, through the gate, to the house,

We leaned straight into the wind,

Dodging tumbleweeds, in britches, bonnet and blouse, we prayed we’d make it back in.

      Cracking open the front door, a dust devil tore by,

In his whistling dervish dance,

Ma reached for the Bible, on the mantle hard by,

Before we fell for his demonic trance.

He spun backwards, as Ma read the story,  a stunned, reeling, servant of sin.

Fearing the fire and rainbow glory of the one spurned at Bethlehem’s Inn.

Then out and away he wildly flew, through the window’s billowing curtain,

Back to his dammed ,tormented, tortured crew, this we knew for certain.

The winds grew still, the drapes fell back,

into silence deep and low,

Quietly, gently, creeping over the night,

came downy feathers of snow.

In shear weariness of heart and soul, we collapsed in a cold tired sweat,

Our spirits were sinking into hellish holes, and we had not seen the end of it yet.

A wretched slumber overwhelmed us all ,as we shriveled into deepest dark sleeps,

We all slipped down into Satan’s ball, where the ten horned dragon creeps.

There his seven heads vomit out fire, at the woman clothed in stars, sun and moon,

This was no slumberland, no dream of desire, no dance with the silvery spoon.

Yet, even as the nightmare began, like the parting of a black sea,

Struck the trident of Michael,

with his angels in hand, unmasking the ageless tree.

Now drooping with glorious fruit, 

A horror turned into wonder,

To the music of the silver flute,

and a majestic distant thunder.

Then swirling, twirling, into rich red leaves,

Circling the green and the white,

Came the untamed joy whom nobody sees,
His great antlered team in full flight.

Whirling downward under that tree,

Like a distant gentle thunder,

From riding those winds so wild and free,

In Bethlehem’s full wonder.

Th Christmas Messanger

                              THE CHRISTMAS MESSENGER

By The North gate of Heaven,  the round cherub sat, tossing the cherry wood in,

he fed the great furnace of the bright northern fires which boomed out a long lonely din

“Gabriel, smabriel, woopteedoo whoop, is no sculpture of marble, but a pillar of poop!

He blares his big trumpet, ho rooty toot tooty, 

with his nose in the air just so snooty, snoot, snooty!”

The cherub rumbled, and tumbled, and grumbled away, till his firelight rosy-red cheeks, splashed tears of his sorrow, down the sides of the oven, in down- streaming bubbling creeks.

The spattering and sputtering wide rivers of desire, in such sighings, and heavings, soon drowned out the fire.

Soon the cold crept in, the flowing rivulets froze, and the sniffling cherub grew a cherry red nose.

“Hoh! Hoh! Hoh! that smarts!” he said shaking his pate, 

when a great voice echoed ‘round that cold northern gate.

“Nicholas, has your jealousy of Gabriel been so worth this folly, 

you once were so rollicking, merry, and jolly.”

The Cherub hopped to his feet with his hands in his back,

whistling nervously, ‘Simpleton Jack.’

“So you wish, like Gabriel, to bear good tidings,

winding down through earth winds, in soaring and glidings.”

“Oh, everlasting master,” and with sparkling eye, added, 

“I could do it far faster.”

“Faster than Gabriel , the great messenger angel?”

“Certainly,” answered the cherub, coyly grinning his ‘angle’.

“I would charge down through the clouds with great breathless speeds, if you lend me the chariots and heavenly steeds.”

“My boy, you shall race winter clouds stormy and wild, but you’ll bear your graces on behalf of the Child. 

And so, a new messenger took old Gabriel’s place,

with a red cherry nose and a bright cherub face.

                     1.When   Santa   Came   To   Town

The flocks slept in silence on the brow of the hill,

while the shepherds were snoring long after their fill.

A descending white star cracked open the sky,

with such force a young shepherd boy quivered, then cried.

“Don’t cry,” boomed a voice, “shed all nightly fears!”

A red sash that swept upwards was drying his tears.

Out stepped a red robe, trimmed in white furry lace,

and a white-bearded, apple-cheeked, sun-ripened face.

The blinding starlight slowly dimmed in his eye,

while the young shepherd boy shed his fear with a sigh.

“Who are you?”yawned the boy, with his mouth opened wide.”

“A messenger charged with an endless night ride.

But, no longer shall I steer the star-chambered sea,

I’m now summoned to sail your night wild and free.” 

He whistled, out sprang his great team wreathed in fire,

twelve white-winged stallions enflamed with desire.

One leap to his chariot, one crack of the whip,

one white blinding moment, resumed his long trip.

Never again to descend in sweet Bethlehem’s sight,

still he drives his great team every cold Christmas night.

Just You and Me

Just You and Me

I’ve sat beside windows lit on fire,

And winged my flight through pure desire.

Passions, flung this way and that,

as screechings of the midnight cat.

But, I cannot see, I cannot see,

like Polyphemos, lost, hard by the Sea.

I listen for the morning hour,

peeling backward my soul to scour.

It seems hopeless, and my friends are all lost,

At such great cost.

It makes me weep myself to sleep,

Yet, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

So, when I wake,

My friends to take,

Close to his heart, not to forsake.

For, I have heard , in shining hours,

That near four rivers, of antediluvian flowers,

That once we walked , hand in hand,

Before our pride sunk through the sand.

We took sweet breath,

Long before death.

And, in that moment, by the Crystal Sea,

We wept in joy, just you and me.

We sang and sang, to bells that rang,

And , it was long before a fang sunk in our necks,

And , life reduced to lifeless wrecks.

       For this blessed grace, for you and me,

For this blessed grace, hard by the Sea.

That, we’ll just sit and sit, under that Tree,

And, weep in joy,

Just you and me.