Oh darling plans! No sooner does the day come but ye fall so flat I'm having a ball, yet have nothing.
Who Snapped or Popped My Bubble?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLVI)
Tis Christmas Eve, folk bustling 'round from hence,
Last minute shopping on th'agenda, frail
As my not buying aught, nary gifts' detail
Below our tree, just lights for amb'ance, whence
It seems sufficient, no? Oh vain pretense!
Dredge mem'ries frae my childhood to avail,
As if, whilst now is of the moment's tale
A dream, a thought stripped of its essence' sense.
Craft refried beans; serve omelet, porridge fer
Our breakfast, or'nge juice with't; yes, eggnog too
Cuz Nash'nal Eggnog Day is here in tour,
The stollen rich where I've not time to do
It justice, but who cares? What have we? Stir
The thought, yet tis a dream. LORD, I need You.
24Dec24a
Pity these stanzas covertly hid the fun I was having since when I went to scribble, fun buried itself until I began typing them up, then fun danced a jig. Go figure.
Joyeux Noel Was, Yet T'ain't
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLVII)
I lived all month for this, had fun t'avail
The vain thought, lit the tree like such pretense
Was grand, and tis, 'cept now it's here, ah, whence?
Was it that moment where I realized (frail
As what?) folk shopping late? Or that detail
Of hymns what snapped the bubble til intents
Lo, breathed their last, and facts rose up from thence
To gall me with what, eh, that I lack bail?
Oh, kinda like, "just let me dream, though's poor,
Nor waken me, cuz nothing here will do."
And somehow in the search for what as t'were,
I lost the vision, to be dropped here to
Face up to empty hours none else bestir,
Thy Scriptures all my comfort: I need You.
24Dec24b
...except Thou givst them.[You can bop your head to the music while driving, and slap your thigh, just do not bump the stick next to your leg....hahaha.]
Gifts Were Far Better As A Dream
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXLVIII)
They prolly thought that I wuz drunk as whence?
But, traffic sluggish, I cracked jokes t'avail,
Then turned to bopping 'long the weary trail
To Christmas music, like t'was tops for sense,
Til on the highway; and I guess tis thence
The little things wherein no grandeur'd hail
Which trick the hours out with sheer charm's detail
Until we do know joy; and's no pretense.
He teases me from dawn past dusk, and we're
What siblings ever were; and's all we knew,
(Except the skirmish here and there in tour)
This hol' day not what folk swore, it is true,
Yet somehow perfect as tis, now all's poor,
Thou, LORD, our dwelling place: we wait on You.
24Dec24c
-
Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 25th, 2024 18:19
- Comment from author about the poem: So, having taught us there is NO Santa, maybe that's why we always opened the gifts Christmas Eve. Either way, I was having too much fun, if you can make sense of these. Enjoy?!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, GenXer Shamrocker ☘️
Offline)
Comments5
All the rush and turmoil of the season portrayed in these poems. Lovely
But myths express a deeper truth. Santa may be more real than we realize. Because something does not exist does not mean it is not rooted in the fabric of our being.
Ooh! That's quite an assessment. Thank you for your fascinating comment.
Tremedous work.
Thank you very much, Sir!
No need to go figure .. I like em just as they lay here all warm n inviting .. and a good time was had by all .. Neville 👍😎👍
Yay! Thank you very much, Sir!
Wonderful traditions (mostly 🤣) fill our wonderful hearts no matter how they play out in our individual lives. A wonderful expression of the holidays in your world my friend and that, right there, brings a big ol' smile to my otherwise serious face. Thank you for that and I hope your Christmas was filled with lots of joy and hope and peace and LOVE. Those things can't be delivered in bags or on sleighs...but they certainly can be delivered! Many blessings to you, Cheeky! 🌹👏
Thank you, thank you VERY much dear Tristan!
You are welcome my friend!
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