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So, this is Christmas?
So, what is Christmas, and why do I care?
Is there really joy and peace anywhere?
My parents were atheists, and yet we lit trees.
They gave us presents intended to please.
Our family knew Jesus was born in June.
But no one cared that we celebrated too soon.
For my Papa, it was all about music, especially Handel’s.
Mother found her joy while lighting the candles.
Carolers were never considered noisome pestilence.
No bibles needed, as harmony was their only testament.
My parents are gone now, but Christmas lives on.
Some open gifts on the eve, and others at dawn.
So, what does it mean, and why do I care?
Cynically, commercialism is everywhere.
Only, 5 more days; then 4, 3, 2, one.
Everyone got their shopping done?
Is it really? “All about the economy, Stupid!”
Or when under the mistletoe, is it Cupid?
Truth be told, it is only whatever you do.
There is no need for saviors, there’s only you.
Help a neighbor, and yes, do have fun.
Pay it forward and you will have won.
Merry Christmas.
Is Christmas this or is Christmas that?
Is, this Christmas?
100 million deliveries,
and a hundred-million more to go.
Amazon thrives, while the Amazon dies.
FedEx goes nonstop, as America shops.
Santa turns brown, for UPS ground.
Cameras at the front door watching.
Grinch’s at the front door stealing.
What is this revealing?
In a brick-and-mortar store,
A customer decides to roar!
The cashier can take no more.
Customer-service takes a call.
The voice is not friendly;
aggravated by the stall.
Zuckerberg keeps us friends.
Naughty or nice, those popup ads are the price.
Many invade on every device.
After work parties, galore.
Alcohol is the score.
Drivers, driving tipsy.
Anger comes down the chimney.
Poisonous words are spoke.
Love goes up in smoke.
In a parking lot, one driver steals a spot from another.
Angry words are exchanged—but—this time no guns are drawn.
Peace on earth my brother?
STOP!
Or is this Christmas?
A grandfather finishes a dollhouse.
A granddaughter opens it with her imagination.
They are as one for a time.
Old friends get together.
They catch up,
and not just about the weather.
Lovers make time.
They express their gratitude for each other.
They stay in the moment.
At eighty, a woman’s legs are tired.
A White Christmas covers her walkways.
A neighbor, not hired, clears the snow for her.
Homeless and alone, as too many are,
volunteers provide some food and comfort.
They give more, than the Christmas Star.
A tired worker parks the delivery truck.
Passing by, a stranger stops and gives thanks.
The hot cup of coffee is not a prank.
In the supermarket, the next in line is smiling.
“How’s your day going this time of year? You look tired my dear.”
The answer comes, as the question was sincere.
In a parking lot, a courteous driver waves, and waits for another.
Friendly greetings are shared.
Peace on earth my Brother!
So, this could be Christmas.
The Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
Home and alone for Christmas, as are many more.
Some who have just chosen to shut their door.
And others who have no doors to close, or friends to open them.
In parks, in tents, under bridges, and beneath structures less secure,
many solitary humans wait for nothing, and struggle to endure.
Others still, may have shelter from the storm, but no solace in their heart.
There are lovers choosing separation, and those forced to be apart.
The first year of a great loss, this is perhaps the hardest time for all.
Too soon to focus on joyful memories, and too close to the fall.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
Home and alone for Christmas, as are many more.
Some who have just chosen to shut their door.
And others who have no doors to close, or friends to open them.
I think I will wrap myself warmly, find a stranger, and bring them gifts:
my time and me.
December 24, 2019 3:06 P.M. Found my stranger
Drove past him twice,
on the way to the supermarket,
and on the way back.
Didn’t see his sign on the way there,
and only read it after passing back by.
“[IN DESPERATION: Please help if you can]”
A block away I stopped my car,
grabbed a few bucks from the visor,
and walked back to meet my stranger.
He was surrounded by canvas bags,
some more worn than others,
but all had definitely traveled.
I said, “Hello,” and handed him three bucks.
I was thanked with handshake and smile.
“Steve,” he said. “Bless you.”
“I’ve been homeless myself,” I told him.
“Doesn’t it suck?” Steve piped back.
He talked some of his life’s journeys.
I listened; fisherman, farmer, fryer, framer and more.
I asked him what was next.
He said he was hitching north.
There might be a friend who could take him in.
We said our goodbyes,
and as I walked back to the car,
I heard him shout, “God Bless You!”
No, God Bless You, my Stranger,
I thought!
Merry Christmas to All and to All, have a loving night!
