It’s time for yet another session
To inform you about depression.
You may want to say “Just stop!”
Like a psychological traffic cop.
But as any of us who suffer say
“Pal, it just doesn’t work that way.”
This is not some social craze
And it certainly is not a phase.

It is something we suffer through
And you’re lucky if it isn’t you.
It’s worse than any story you read
To have a ***** fight in your head.
There are no praises you can sing.
Something is wrong with everything.
Even the sunniest day looks gray
And you can’t see it another way.

For many of us, it’s a long sad story,
And maybe cerebral instead of gory.
Something has made our life tough.
Maybe we were never good enough,
Or that was the way it all seemed
Before our dreams began to scream.
We can seldom remember back so far
To discover where lie the scars.

There are times when things go well,
But most times it’s a personal hell.
You can’t take joy in the normal things
That might make other’s heart sing.
You find that you have given up hope
You feel you are at the end of your rope.
Sadly, while you sit and pull your hair.
You see you have gotten used to despair.

I know some of you that don’t suffer
This illness want to help a brother
Or sister come beyond this trauma.
But you can’t label our pain as drama.
What you can do to lend a hand to us
Is to listen to us and not abandon us.
What often works is a true confessional
In the hands of a well-trained professional.

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

It’s not enough for you
To have gold water faucets,
Crystal mirrors everywhere
And marble floors in closets
Now you want to play at
Being a savvy politician
Stands for Christian principles
From the *******.

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.

With a changing cast of women
You call your lawful wives.
And you’re the one who wants
To control our very lives?
You utter your vituperation
At poor and the non-Christian.
Is having the world hate you
Part of your final mission?

If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

You also want control of
Our country’s financial hopes.
If we fall for that stupid tale
Then we are a nation of dopes
Because you have bankrupted
More than the Monopoly game
Would allow a toddler to have
And that is quite a shame.

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

No, Mr. T **** please do
What is proper and fitting;
Call up the press and say
That you are finally quitting.
Tell them you were just testing
To see what the others would do.
So, kiss our collective ***** goodbye
And take with you that dumb hairdo.

The current heartthrob,
In a long line of men,
And the goodbye speech
Hearing it all over again.
Said it wasn’t working
And I knew it as well.
Pretending he loved me
For him must have been hell.

By this time in my story
I had learned the ropes.
Neither of us felt we had to
Act like a couple of dopes.
We could divide up the music
The dishes and the clothes.
It didn’t work out this time.
That’s how it always goes.

We picked each other
Because we looked good
And felt things would click
And turn out like they should.
Before long we discovered we
Didn’t have similar dreams.
Two on different tracks together
Is not as easy as it seems.

It happened so many times
I became an expert at it
Because I had no ability
To effectively combat it.
It was love me and leave me
For too long of a time.
As if getting to know each other
Was some kind of a crime.

It would be years before I noticed
How I approached this love task.
They had to guess what I wanted.
It was no good if I had to ask.
That had to figure what I needed
And then they must give it to me.
That was the story every time.
That was my romantic M.O., see?

Today I know it was a stupid game
Like wishing for a dream to come true.
And it didn’t matter one little bit
How many others did the same thing too.
I discovered it wasn’t about good looks
Or some kind of storybook ending.
It’s more like an intense version of us
Becoming friends, our lives blending.

Claus, Santa, the
Is a huge enigma to me
And probably many others
My enigmatized sisters and brothers.
Enigmatized, possibly stigmatized,
It beggars logical thought
All the confusion and pain
This concept has brought.

For over two centuries
Surrounded with mysteries
An alternately jovial and evil guy
Brought bounteous gifts, could fly!
Gave coal to the misbehaving,
Or nothing much at all, saving
All the good stuff for good kids
Who were careful with what they did.

We have read of Saint Nick
And Sinterklaas; take your pick
Of which legend blended with what
To become the guy we were taught
Sneaked down chimneys at night
It you kids didn’t sleep tight.
While this is all very typical
It seems rather biblical.

Claus’s eye is on the sparrow
So we must walk the straight and narrow
Or go down into his big naughty book
And he will ultimately decide to look
Askance at any chance of gifts for you
No matter how much begging you do
Write to his eternal rotund self.
He’s an unforgiving old elf.

And there’s that flying reindeer thing
And the way he’s rumored to go zipping
Around the entire blessed world in one night.
That, to me just never seemed quite right.
It’s bizarre and incredible is exactly what.
Do the reindeer have jet engines in their ****?
And how can one tiny sleight and eight beasts
Tote those thousands of truckloads at least?

No, the whole thing sounds bogus, in its base.
And that whole North Pole/tiny people place
Where they slave on making toys all the year
And thrive on hot chocolate instead of beer?
Elves must be a rather dim gang of workers.
No union leaders? No malingerers? No lurkers?
I have tried for decades, but it doesn’t add up.
There’s too much questionable in this holiday cup.

I’m going back to the idea I thought as a child.
It’s easier to believe and not nearly as wild:
It’s Mom and Dad behind it all, it’s a big lie.
And my final bit of skepticism? I can tell you why.
The kids in my little neighborhood get given
Gifts with no relationship to how they are living.
If all this hogwash were actually true
Bunches of them would get coal too.

Come on Santa Claus,
You’re taking too long.
What’s the holdup?
Is there something wrong?
Is a reindeer sick?
Did the sleigh break down?
Is someone keeping you
In some other town?

This is hard enough,
This waiting all year,
But it’s worse the closer
That Christmas gets near.
We set the cookies out
And a cup of cocoa.
(Munching on it all
Is a definite no-no.)

We hung the stockings
And decorated the tree
So, Santa, what else
Do you want from me?
I’m in bed a bit early
But I can’t get to sleep.
It’s not working when
I try counting sheep.

I know you’re busy, sir,
But this waiting is torture.
I don’t recommend it.
Waiting has no future
As a way to spend time
Before an exciting day.
How is a kid supposed
To get to sleep this way?

I warn you ahead of time,
Mister Claus, dear man,
I’ve got high expectations
And some complicated plans
That involve some bragging
And some envious friends.
So, Santa please get here
And let this agony end!

HANDMADE CHRISTMAS

Do you remember back when
Christmas was making things
Out of stiff colored paper
Like chains of slim paper rings
That were so long we took them
And wrapped the a few times
Around the tree as pretty trim?

We made angels and snowflakes
From something called shirt boards;
Cutouts covered with aluminum foil.
They didn’t need extension cords.
And Mom showed us how to starch
String we dyed. We wrapped it
Around some inflated balloons.
When each dried, we popped it.

We made reindeers and Santas
Our of wooden clothespins
With pipe cleaner antlers or
Cotton beards for Santa’s chin.
Mom dyed an old sheet green
For under the Christmas tree.
Prettier than the store-bought kind
It has always seemed to me.

In school we made Gifts too
Things knitted or made of clay
To give to Mom wrapped up
With great pride on Christmas Day.
And that wrapping paper was
Was all Christmas color tissue.
It was inexpensive to buy, so
Using a lot was not an issue.

Some gifts were appreciated
Some maybe not as much
But in every case, we were
For the most part very touched.
You knew for sure just by looking
What care and love went into
The handmade presents that were
Made totally and especially for you.

Brent Kincaid
12/12/2015

I dreamed I was at work
And everyone was naked but me.
A bunch of naked co-workers
As far as my eyes could see.
They were pointing at me laughing
The moment I walked through the door.
They behaved as they didn’t
Know was clothing was for.

Pointed at my chest area
Right were my ******* would be
And at my crotch as well
And asked me “How do you ***?
All of that material there.
It really must get in your way.
So, what’s the big idea
Why did you come to work that way?”

I mumbled and I stumbled
And bumbled my way to reply.
I told them I really didn’t quite
Understand all of why
They were all naked here, and
I was wearing a lot of clothes.
I finally told them all that
Sometimes this is how it goes.

They started laughing again
And one girl tried to make amends.
She said the pants I had on
Gave me a very cute rear end.
My face turned red, I said thanks.
And some said I was blushing.
I headed back to my desk, trying
Not to look like I was rushing.

I woke up still kind of giggling
And yet had a feeling of unease.
I remembered the embarrassment
Feeling being dressed was a disease.
Usually it’s the reverse, of course.
I am the one walking around bare.
But something in this dream that night
Helped me see some of the meaning there.