Disenchanted Christmas: Two poems

Dismissing the congregation

Moondrops trickle at eventide cool

The air has the charm of a dead leaf

crumbling to dust at the doors of a cafe.

I suppose, no feet will stop to bale off

this imposing wintry cover.

The host cheers the party to tones of autumn

falling arse by arse on the vacant streets

shouting paronomasia,

with the shroud icing speciality of a cool bargain.

Confined to acts of commemoration, a church bell chimes

A street bitch howls, as if in contempt for the conspirators

who having demarcated lines for mass,

now walk like a silent upsurge.

And twigs fallen from the malevolence of winter

lie decomposing,

like the notes of an old virgin convent girl

who once having taught children Christian morals

now walks crooked under the weight of an empty purse.

And I dreaming of being the chief de ceremonie,

edict an early dismissal

to the nodding approbation

The power of my digits changing

each rhythm of season

each whim of man

with insouciant ease

Dispersing the eager flocks

into the voids they came from.

It’s time for Christ

Christmas has arrived

it’s the irruption of spirit

The priests are swearing

by the ever-fluorescent Christ the King

In the Bible that was writ.

Yet, isn’t it too late to go by

age-old customs, in times of hate?

In the blather of sermons

And the politician’s summons

when a plebiscite dawns

in a blarney of cons.

Hear the voices of children

singing the optimism of carols

The legacy they’ve been given

is the poverty of spirit that rolls

on and on, in a callous world

where divide has been unfurled.

Are the gifts meant for those

that deserve or need them? I suppose,

it can’t do much for the three-thirds

of the world who go unheard

War and despotism

threaten liberty and justice

Human-conjured schisms

have wrecked pacifism’s hospice

Can we, therefore, not celebrate like fakes?

It’s time the Christ within us awakes.