My daughter, along
with some twenty others,
has chosen to be an angel.
I'm with you, Max, I long
to be a grass-fed ass
up north here in West Irondequoit,
New York. (current temp: 21 F.)
Cheers,
Jerry
Carols, 2003, Melbourne
[with season's greetings to both Poetryetc & PoetryEspresso]
In the name of community
and Christmas festivity
we¹ve been letter-
boxed by our local Inter-
Church Council. Carols,
Candlelight and Nativity.
In the warm south this means
al fresco, en-plein-air, in the park.
At the summer solstice
it¹s bedtime before dark.
Come early, six-thirty
for food and good fun.
While sausages sizzle
Boroondara Brass
will serenade the grass
where the little boys tussle.
Hocking Stuart fireworks
are promised. Hockings!
Estate agents extraordinaire!
I see a set-piece manger
glowing: position! position!
A coup for the inter-church council
draw-card feature supreme
is Stunt Rider Dave Russell.
Dave! On your gleaming machine!
Since children are Oencouraged to dress
as a nativity character¹,
Dave has a choice, I guess,
of highflying Star of Wonder,
or camel-mounted magus.
I fancy myself as a grass-fed ass,
while the massed might
of the Boroondara Brass
pound out 'Silent NightS'
We poets in our youth
begin in gladness,
but thereof come in the end
despondency and Christmas.
But night will fall,
there may be stars,
and children will hold candles
Ofor peaceSfor peace¹.
- Max Richards
North Balwyn, Melbourne 19 December 2003
|