Christmas Poem

Momma wants a Christmas poem,
And it’s two days late.
It’s nice being back home
But I never learned date saving.
Deadlines sound morbid
And we all know life goes on.
Just as Christmas future
Becomes Christmas present
Becomes Christmas past
Moving from ghost to ghost.

I hear the Grinch
Rattling Marley’s chains
To the tune of Jingle Bells
On a snowy winter’s night.
Flakes fall gently
Under a single, cratered headlight
Santa flogs reindeer hides
Out of reflexive lunar trances.

And we all get presents
And we all see our family
And we all eat too much
Except all those that don’t.
I’m unsure how to feel
About the do’s and don’ts,
Trading holiday spirit
For holiday solitude.

There’s a mythos here,
A subjectivity,
A joy and a pain.
A deep caring,
Wounded or welcoming,
Only the kind
Christmas can bring.

by Josh Glasson aka Cynical Wordsmith

and Momma is happy

The Walk Home (complete)

Somehow only part of this was posted this morning. Here’s the entire poem. Sorry about that!

Cynical Wordsmith

A young girl walks home
Alone, after midnight.
She stares behind,
Regret mounting,
As the paranoia builds.
She fears the night,
As inevitable as it is.
She fears the possible
And recounts horror stories.

The man in her path
Is a father of three,
He works late to provide.
He loves the night wind
And gazing at the stars.
He is at peace here,
On his nightly starlit walks.
The stillness soothes
A hectic day’s thoughts.

Him looking up,
Her looking back,
The initial contact
And the deafening scream.

Pistols in hand,
And fear pervasive.
Either may decide,
Either will regret.
Would either be wrong
For pulling the trigger?

I honestly don’t know.
I hate to accept it,
But society has instilled
A constant fear
In the populace
And the norms
Are killing more
Everyday.

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