#political #poetry
Dispatch from the Front
Christmas is coming,
but I see no geese getting fat
and no stockings hung by the chimney,
with or without care.
Dispatch from the Front
Christmas is coming,
but I see no geese getting fat
and no stockings hung by the chimney,
with or without care.
The Spirit of Goodwill
does not traverse the land.
Instead the Spectre of Poverty
walks abroad, gaunt and grey;
eyesockets blind, ears deaf
to the cries of the needy.
does not traverse the land.
Instead the Spectre of Poverty
walks abroad, gaunt and grey;
eyesockets blind, ears deaf
to the cries of the needy.
It is a cold hard season:
carolsingers frozen in the snow,
leaving only the howling of the wind
serenading those in need of comfort.
carolsingers frozen in the snow,
leaving only the howling of the wind
serenading those in need of comfort.
Doors are locked and windows shuttered,
and in the churches only paupers sit,
praying for nothing but some hours of warmth,
some interruption in the steadfast bitter weather.
and in the churches only paupers sit,
praying for nothing but some hours of warmth,
some interruption in the steadfast bitter weather.
Where is Wenceslaus with his welcome gifts?
He sits in prison with his page,
charged with fostering dependency,
while peasants in their dwellings
despair of all relief.
He sits in prison with his page,
charged with fostering dependency,
while peasants in their dwellings
despair of all relief.
"Hark the Herald" echoes round the world,
sung not by angels but by diplomats
delivering ultima ratio in unctuous pouches
trimmed with razorblades and bones,
while the only things jingling
are the coins with which goodwill
is bought and sold.
sung not by angels but by diplomats
delivering ultima ratio in unctuous pouches
trimmed with razorblades and bones,
while the only things jingling
are the coins with which goodwill
is bought and sold.
There is no peace on earth.
The Prince of Peace has been deposed, and in his place,
dark Santas with no need of reindeer-powered sleighs
sit huddled deep within warm bunkers playing video games,
delivering unwrapped holiday surprises
to those who do not celebrate the season.
The Prince of Peace has been deposed, and in his place,
dark Santas with no need of reindeer-powered sleighs
sit huddled deep within warm bunkers playing video games,
delivering unwrapped holiday surprises
to those who do not celebrate the season.
So rest ye merry, gentlemen,
let nothing you dismay
as the Wassail Bowl is passed
within the halls of power,
and the rest of us whisper
"Libera nos a malo"
to a god refusing to be born
into this world.
© 2014 RC deWinter
Published in Literary Yard, October 2018
let nothing you dismay
as the Wassail Bowl is passed
within the halls of power,
and the rest of us whisper
"Libera nos a malo"
to a god refusing to be born
into this world.
© 2014 RC deWinter
Published in Literary Yard, October 2018
Look you when this was written - 2014 - and here we are.
The universe spoke a lot of truth to me that dry.
You can read my #poem "Dispatch from the Front" along with others online anytime here:
literaryyard.com/2018/10/03/thi…
The universe spoke a lot of truth to me that dry.
You can read my #poem "Dispatch from the Front" along with others online anytime here:
literaryyard.com/2018/10/03/thi…
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