In the midst of the tinsel scrum
with most calendar doors feathered open
sometimes a melancholy still calls.
The fevered peaks of nativity plays
or the constant electric anticipation
of just what is in that box
can give way to a sudden sigh
in Christmas blue.

Never more distraught
than when parents dared
to have a night out near Christmas.
Complete desolation at their betrayal
was quickly assuaged by nana,
babysitting like a boss,
with a steady stream of treats
and staying up late to watch
Dempsey and Makepeace

Have we got enough batteries?
Because what I’m hoping for from Santa
requires at least four of the fat ones
plus four of the thin ones for the remote?
And remember last year when he forgot?
And I cried? For hours?
So, have we got enough?
Mum’s face suggests
that more than batteries are drained.

Cupboards filling up
with stuff we can’t touch
like industrial sacks of dry roasted peanuts
and biscuits for cheese, specifically.
Seems this season of excess
begins with an interminable exercise in restraint,
where even one mince pie is missed.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                      Waiting for the Messiah Someplace Else

     Motel: Rabbi, we've been waiting for the Messiah all our lives.
     Wouldn't now be a good time for him to come?

      Rabbi: I guess we'll have to wait someplace else.

                                   -Fiddler on the Roof

And so we wait, here where we are, the time
Marked off by calends and by candlelight
Four Gospels in a ring of holy fire
Before the Altar, and before the Throne

The Magi journey through space and time
Our journey is in waiting for a star
To shine upon us all, and lead us to
The Temple where all waiting finally ends

Beside an Altar of repose in a Stable
A cradle of wood from Eden and the Ark

Dragged grumbling to go visiting
Pat and Sue’s house
(mum and dad have friends?!)
whose kids are the “same sort of age”
as if that helps.
Then finding not only do they have
a massive, four lane Scalextric,
their tree has actual chocolate on it!
Or, it did have.

A slight huff descends at today’s candy cane pic.
Those abstract blues,
lost along with childhood,
of time moving way too slowly.
Still a whole week of school to go,
stretching vast like an ice shelf,
with only a hint of impossibly brilliant things
in the far, far distance

Today, the opened door  
loosed sharp memory,
someone missing from the rituals,
the glitter bright edges of the season
showed that they can catch,
draw tears,
with only long years
returning the absent love

The picture for ten mirrors my debut role:
Innkeeper.
Granted, a step up from shepherd
or heaven forbid, a cloud,
but in hindsight, lustily singing
about being an opportunistic
slum landlord
seems an artistic risk

For a time the doors are flicked open
and forgot
in a rush to dress, cram breakfast
and sing ad infinitum
(to the great delight of my brother, I’m sure)
the final rehearsals for the Christmas play
make days thrum by