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children are born

parents lie

while Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny,
the Tooth Fairy, Punxsutawney Phil,
Uncle Sam, Father Time, Belsnickel,
Hanukkah Harry, Jack Frost, Gryla,
the Kitchen God, Cupid and
the Great Pumpkin
are passed out on
their barstools

and Krampus
stands alone
in the dim light
and pours himself
a shot and a beer
and calls them
a cab ride home.
ConnectHook Dec 2017
Children drugged with truthless tales . . .
Unwise men embrace their treasure;
Algorithms urge the sales
In malls devoid of merry measure.

Plastic sparkles in the air;
Automotive ads turn festive . . .
Forced good nature everywhere
Makes the shopping crowds grow restive.

Corporate greed spins altruistic
Hyping goods, suppressing Christ.
Our Yuletide is their big statistic
Oversold and underpriced.

Secular beribboned fluff:
Peace, Goodwill . . .  but don't say God !
And heaven knows you've had enough;
Just download the app—acquire the mod.

Coca-Colaed, Disneyfied
You're wrapping paper for their fire;
Eggnogged, Santa-ed, thrown aside
While Babel's flames roar ever higher.

The godlessness shines right on through
Where Christmas lyrics die, unheard.
The Yule-log and the sparks that flew
Expire in embers long unstirred.

The old usurper carting toys
And Chinese knock-offs in his sled
Sets off a lot of empty noise:
Insanity in green and red.

The lurker leers and hauls his bag
(jolly antichrist distraction)
While flying Bishop Nicholas' flag:
A winter psy-ops covert action.

Only message left: go drink!
And may your cup o'erflow with cheer
Before you risk to start to think
Yourself and God right out of here.

Hallmark haloes, bygone kitsch
enwreaths the memory of the years,
Kindling maudlin sadness which
wells up in melancholy tears

For Christian culture (rest in peace)
Long-corrupted by dollar signs;
For fa la la and fattened geese
And holly midst the ivy vines;

For Dickens' gospel of the season
Anglican angelic ghosts
Pushing us beyond unreason
Toward the future's spectral hosts;

For folklore now reduced to ash
Commercial blow-outs, ***** snow;
For Saturnalian urge to smash
the store-front windows where they show;

For useless manger figurines
Passed down from some more faithful time;
For hallowed and nostalgic scenes
No longer worth a Roman dime.
I still love Christmas but its ongoing commercial secularization by corporate globalists makes me retch (into my mulled wine).

Nonetheless, like Scrooge, I intend to keep Christmas well.
By the way, that's Merry CHRISTmas.
(No Christ, NO CHRISTMAS)

https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2017/12/19/christ-massed/
Francie Lynch Apr 2017
I've warapped,
With much consternation,
My years in you,
Without hesitation.
I adorned myself
With framed sheep skins,
Kept your eyes glittering,
To be more appealing.
You pressed your nose
Against the shop window,
Longing for the man
In the red suit.
I forgot about the ribbons,
You misplaced the bows.
I lied to some Santa,
Many years ago.
He wasn’t fat and jolly.
He was muscular and calm.
He didn’t have a white, fluffy beard or a bright red suit.
Instead, he had a goatee with little white straglers,
And instead of the thick, red and white coat and hat,
He wore blue pajama pants and an old white t-shirt.

From my room, I heard rustling sounds, sounds similar to paper crumbling.
I heard feet, trying to tip-toe across the living room.
I heard kind voices.
It had to be him! It just had to!
I jumped out of bed to meet him with excitement.
My six year old self felt the need to give into my childish curiousity.
Quiet as a mouse, I stepped lightly to my hiding spot.
Did I want to meet him? Am I ready?

Hiding behind the hallway entrance, I peeked over the doorway.
There he was! Santa Claus!
I had laid my eyes on Santa Claus, just as I believed I would.

Instead of rushing out to greet him,
I chose to stay hidden.
Santa was wrapping mine and my brother’s Christmas presents.
My eyes saw him roll out sheets of wrapping paper – as shiny as sleek gold.
He placed pretty, ruby red bows on each of our gifts – each so ornate in their own natures.

Santa was such a giving man…
That’s why I’d make sure he’d get his favorite cookies!
I was told by my father that chocolate chip cookies were Santa’s favorite.
Santa gently placed each of our presents under the tree with ease.
At that moment, he stood up, looking at our tree, focusing on our star at the top.
He was smiling.
He stared at it for a good minute, like a man who had found serenity.

I had been thrilled to see my gifts…
The idea of opening them overran my heart with so much giddy excitement.
Yet, Santa was happy with giving me gifts.
Who gives Santa gifts?

A second voice came from the kitchen.
It was my mother’s!
“Don’t forget to eat the cookies!”
Mom knows Santa?
Confusion filled my little head.

I could not fathom the truth.
Then it hit me!
My dad is Santa Claus!
His signature changes for just one night!
And his favorite cookie is chocolate chip too!!
AND he knows exactly what I want for Christmas!

Without making a sound, I tip-toed back to my bed.
I closed my eyes, and smiled.
My dad is Santa Claus.


I had known Santa my whole life.
He may not have been Santa to the whole planet,
But he was my Santa.
Dad always showed our family the magic of Christmas,
And as all of us got older… toys grew to be of less importance in my desires.
I eventually desired electronics and nicer clothes.
But as I grew up… all I’d want for Christmas was for him to stick around for another Christmas.
As every year passed, he grew more tired and weak,
But he never stopped giving.
He was also Santa to numerous individuals.
Giving is a lifestyle, and that was his.
My dad was my Santa Claus.
Santa in the true sense,
Spreading the love of giving to others till his last day.
Sam Haidan Nov 2014
Where's the big man in the red suit,
Who brought me gifts for no reason?
Even if it was just on one night of the year.

Where's the man who occasionally sprinkled,
Golden dust on my eyes,
To make sure I didn't get too many nightmares?

Where's the ******* fairy,
Who made it all worthwhile,
Even when life knocked the teeth right out of my jaw?

It's ironic but I need them,
More now than I did then.

— The End —