For some reason Christmas has seemed to be a bit more of a thing for me this year, I don’t really know why, it never has in the past, even with it being Dad’s birthday.
I mean it’s nothing new, it wasn’t like it suddenly occurred to us, “Holy Cow!!! Beck, Nick, Mom (when you were still here with us in all your Mom “Oh Bloody Hell you three!!” glory way that I so miss did we suddenly realize that Dad was born on Christmas day and after we’ve raised a glass to him every holiday get together for going on almost 30 years now at whatever table we were sitting at?
From a Christmas Kitten new poem prompt response and that really cute Beck, Nick and Steve kitten time in a house shared to new other poem responses to prompts from new friends to that third year reminder of a Christmas cat song, to even remembering that one of my tunes of Stevie and Tommy and Billy was set at Christmas.
But I found myself being myself being all Christmasy for some reason, and that is not per usual.
Anyway, I thought to then to finish it up and put a holiday furtive bow on this Christmas something that was a bit out of the blue and a stream of conscious thing here, however much making some edits along the way could be considered stream of conscious …
Christmas Remembered (a furtive bow)
One more for the season seems right
after revelry was bought in times nigh
again
of
preps and reps, you got this says coach
in uniform colored practice of reds and greens and sometimes golds
for team
in gifts from under crowns
tall and short
his number is one
the first
with beasts and straw
and tell all draws
from wide and far
to see all seems right
no crows to caw
crow
just yet
to pick, click, pick, click, pick, click, pick apart in pieces
and lay blame
to color this time of maybe’d holiday magic
any shame
even gifts
in how it should
be
in greens and yellows and talks of kings
I well wish you
you well wish me
but glory or egg
who came more joyful first
does it matter for
I just want a day
to put this all away
Immediately
and though I can’t quite see
from here
I know there is a star I was told of old
to look to
for
that lights us all into some same fold
of stories on Christmas nights told
but who am I to expect
suspect
wants
like taught the best
known
like I sage upon a stage of a new age
all to just go away
I pray
immediately
from pews of glory and stories and songs of old
from pompous robes in colors of reds and greens and golds on altars
with sashes and smoke
and families across pews fold with daughters who had a feather of blonde hair
Oh my, how could anything be that fair
sung high
that told
and I damned myself at the thought of a kiss
I fear I may be old and just tire
of this old now
and stories
I remember that I just want to put away
immediately
frankenberrysattic.com 