cold looking ashes

cold looking ashes
in the midst
of the
cold stones of
the fire ring.
do it - get the
kindling, the old
newspaper, twigs,
dry leaves, something…
they’re NOT cold -
don’t trust your
eyes.

anniversary of our Saviour’s birth

anniversary of our Saviour’s

earthly birth into this world

in myth and flourish richly gilded

generous greed, indulgent mirth -

come now, welcome, with us singing,

with us eat and drink and dance

annually giving to the needing

dead tradition, rich dessert.

softly sleeping moonlit snow

softly sleeping moonlit snow

falls to stillness quietly aglow

sleeping souls’ gifts in a pile

beneath the evergreen and while

sleeping souls dream in their bed

ponder the myths of the spiritually dead

in form on the surface apparently linked

the truth of the Holy God so you think.

(Christmas is not about Santa Claus)