Every Christmas I love to ask for a word from Santa. Sometimes I have to go scouting, but this time I found him with ease at our bank, where he was ringing the bell of an old-fashioned fire truck—specifically, an American Legion Orville Jackson Post 127. My children both asked him for a teacup chihuahua. “How many teacup chihuahuas?” Santa asked. “One to share?” They consulted in whispers. “Two.”
This week’s poem was partly inspired by a conversation I had with my sister-in-law, who observed that pregnant women are sort of like Santa: belly-full and good to lay our wishes on.
Happy new year!
The Stranger: Santa
The Word: Jolly
The poem I wrote:
Mom! she calls
and a thousand of us
look up.
We who have joined
the jolly order
bound in the
symmetry of a name
can almost imagine
what it is like
to be Santa.
The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.
December 26, 2019 at 11:19 am
I remember being
of the Jolly Order
Almost a lifetime ago now
belly full of new life
most days I felt jolly
and full
almost like Santa
for the world
Later I too would look up
when the palindromic name was called
many times relieved to see
it wasn’t I who was needed
This year celebrating Christmas
without that young life
all of my daughters in their own life
the first time in 30 years
Christmas Day without my daughters
Text from my youngest daughter
in hotel in DC, with 18 in-laws
tells me of grandmother-in-law
with cancer
house overheated
Text from middle daughter
in India with boyfriend
she looks happy, face gleaming
in her white Air India pjs
We try to FaceTime
but internet connection isn’t good
maybe tomorrow
Text from oldest daughter
she’s working in women’s prison
“Merry Christmas” she proclaims
“2 U 2” I respond
I open small gifts
walk the frosted paths by river
ham, peas and mashed potatoes for dinner
drive to see fancy lights,
one house choreographed with music
Another Christmas
come and gone.
December 26, 2019 at 11:54 am
Maybe this isn’t the jolly you had in mind………..
Parkinson Christmas
My own face…
no longer cooperates,
has joined the resistance
that first claimed my shaking hand
and told me its plan
for my humiliation.
I play the ’69 Nixon,
Using all my B-52s
bombing, burning,
losing the unwinable war.
Even peace with honor
is out of reach.
I wonder,
Why is my mouth open
and drooling, with
Christmas jolly drowning
in each small puddle?
Are these the days I’ll long for,
in a year
when subtle is the word
I no longer use or hear?
December 26, 2019 at 12:14 pm
Wow Kevin! thanks for sharing. All different stages of life. Kudos to you for finding Christmas jolly in yours.
January 1, 2020 at 2:55 pm
Toast
Jolly time is over.
Let’s chew on our repast.
The year and decade in rear view.
Newer questions to be asked.
It’s a brand-new year
Like some untrammeled snow
Just waiting to be spoiled,
We’re giving it a go.
Our tabula is rasa
It’s not like we’ve any choice
But take a moment, feel the calm
Before the storm is given voice.
Peace on Earth to All
Goodwill to Men and Women,
Intersexes, In-betweens;
All of us are Human.
Good Luck to Everyone!
You know we’re going to need it.
Here comes the Sturm und Drang
Demanding that we feed it.
Here’s to New Beginnings,
Our 2020 Visions,
Wagged by 2020 Hindsight,
Here’s to good decisions!
Not that we’ll be making them.
Often, they’re forsaken
Road forks puncture tires,
Deflated and forsaken.
Marching bravely on,
Limping to tomorrow,
Stiff upper lips are smiling
Belying inner sorrow.
C’mon, are you with me?
Onward through the mist.
What happens to us next
Can, surely, not be missed.
Let us tip our glasses,
Join in salutation,
Fortune favors bravery.
It’s a celebration!
Have a Better New Year, Y’all!