Santa breathed in the cool night air,
Thinking back on the days of old,
Before the polar ice cap started
Melting. When weather was REALLY cold!

"I barely need my heavy jacket,"
Santa said to himself in dismay.
"With all this ice so mushy and slushy,
How will the reindeer pull my sleigh?"

A polar bear came trudging by,
Emaciated and sour in mood.
Shrinking along with the habitat
Was the bear's supply of food.

"Santa," asked the polar bear,
"Do you know what's happening here?
Something very sinister is
Adversely affecting the cryosphere.

"The temperature's rising on land and sea.
I have to say, this isn't nice.
I don't mean to be punny here,
But we are walking on very thin ice."

"Seabirds, too, are leaving," said Santa.
"And so are ice-dependent seals.
Pressure on the ecosystem,
Is making it hard for them to find meals."

Feeling pessimistic, the bear
Wandered off, shaking his head.
Santa muttered, "**** fossil fuels!"
And sloshed his way into his shed.

The once-jolly man started to work
On a project in which he seemed engrossed.
Soon he emerged, carrying
A "For Sale" sign stuck to a post,

Which he placed on his property.
He sighed, "Talk about regrets.
Why the heck didn't I give
More kids chemistry sets?"

- by Bob B (12-20-16)

Wrestling My Father

The scent of gasoline and lanoline lingers
mingled with sweat and Old Spice, menthol
Winston’s from back before you gave them up

for good persist in half-life beneath Vitalis
sheen and Listerine, waves of Bengay radiating
off red hot coals of trapezius muscles seized

inside a white V neck tee from Monkey Wards,
thin cotton canvas worked with small fevered hands,
greedy, slathering claim, leaving myself open to

reversal and the pin, sting of ancient rug burn
still gracing my cheek, palms pressed to face inhaling
what little I can of you by lung full.

Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm

Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest

The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors

His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat

Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight

**

Drag me in, please.
Make me dance the night away.

Push me over the cliff,
so I'll no longer fear the fall.

Take my hand, please, make us both smile.

The world is seldom a happy place,
but I'd rather like to enjoy it with you tonight.

don’t you know? your body
is made of stardust—i see
it glimmering in you.
don’t you know? you are
not too much, you are not
too little, you are an
entire world; you are
mountains, you are trees,
you are the gentle-moving
tides and the soft-curving river,
you are the ever-still lake.
don’t you know? the craters
in your skin are no less
beautiful than the ones that
kiss the moon’s surface.
don’t you know? there are
nebulae inside your chest,
and they glow, they glow,
they glow—you are never
alone in the darkness, love.
don’t you know? the night
sky twinkles along you,
the northern lights oscillate
as you breathe.
don’t you know? don’t you
know? you are beautiful;
you are your own galaxy.

sometimes, it feels like the bath filling up with water,
you lie there and try to relax as it
slowly inches up your thighs and past your slumped shoulders.
or like watching the clock move, watching the day turn on and off-
incoherent, stunned, you try to drown your incapability in apathy
like being strapped to a bed
like being force fed, out of your control in a way that forces you to feel it.

sometimes, it feels like breaking your bones,
a sharp snap you can hear for years when you fall asleep
shooting pain up your spine and straight to your fight-or-flight response
it feels like choking,
it is not slipping in and out, it is violent crashing waves
the tide came in while your eyes were closed
and you're being thrown headfirst against the rocks

sometimes, it feels like keeping a secret,
like holding your tongue, like shy muffled smiles
and pulling misguided threads on your years-old sweaters.
it tastes just like guilt but also a little bit like copper,
almost familiar but with a difference that keeps you up drenched in sweat
it feels like "you did this to yourself" and all you can hear is "it is your fault"

it feels like nothing, sometimes, too.
it feels like emptiness, it feels like 'scared-to-be-touched'
it feels like absolutely hollow,
like knee-**** reactions when people put their hands on you
like your fight-or-flight lever is broken and you're trapped inside of a burning building with flight on your mind against painted-shut windows
it feels a whole lot
like they took the exact definition away from you that day
like you have a bunch of "almost"s
like a puzzle that has been worn through generations, sticky fingers and gluing together corner and middle pieces

it feels like something is missing,
it feels like you do a manual reset of every feeling to try and sew yourself back together,
it feels like someone bent your needle and frayed your thread and you are trying but they took all of your chances away from you

a little bit vague, inexplicable, 'you-had-to-be-there', like everything, like nothing,

like helpless, if you had to give it a title.

Home is the place where all hearts turn
When Christmas comes again

The place that draws you through the fog
The snow the wind and rain

To take your place beside the fire
Wherever it may be

And hope for peace, and good cheer
And gay festivity

Year by year the same old words
Of greetings we repeat

But never seem to tire
When friends and families meet

So rejoice right through to Christmas night
And  over the world's dark shadows
Cast some some heavenly light

Keith Wilson. Windermere, UK 2016

Passed  the  lake  last  evening.
It  looked  dark,dank  and  threatening.
In  the  fast  fading  light.
The  moody  mountains  stood  tall.
With  thick  mist  swirling  across.
In  ghostly  fashion.
A  complete  contrast  to  the  summer  view.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

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