With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore
T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the flat
Not a creature was stirring, no mouse, dog or cat.
No stockings were hung by the chimney with care
No children to hope for St Nicholas there
The adults were lying awake in their beds
While cold dreams of loneliness danced in their heads
Overwhelmed by all manner of circumstance crap
Turned their backs on each other and tried hard to nap
Ignoring the sound from outside – such a clatter
Whether burglars or vandals; it just didn’t matter
But an unwieldy comment released in a flash
Let a maelstrom of grief come unleashed in a crash
Even the moon heard that riled pair let go
Waking neighbours above and the neighbours below
When what to my wandering mind should appear
But so many ways out of this misery here
With a run to the press: don’t be seen – just be quick
I know I won’t drink so much I end up sick
So rapid and quietly that bottle it came
Taking one shot, then two, for oblivion’s gain
Now family! Now Friends! Yes I made this decision
To go back on my word in one swift, chugged recision
For as much as life’s driving me straight up the wall
I’ve not yet (quite) just run away from it all
For as leaves which before the wild hurricane fly
Sometimes meet with an obstacle, crash, burn and die
YES, to the alcohol once more I flew
Risking censure and doubtless some ‘judging me’, too
So before you go rubbing my face in your proof
That your way is better, let me tell you some Truth
Life’s shit and don’t seem to be turning around
In spite of the prayers and support that abound
I’m tired of it all, from my head to my foot
Of how so much seems to be really Kaput
And I know you might say that you’ve so got my back
But the rot has set in and I’m starting to crack
My eyes lost their sparkles. No dimples; no merry
No way to quick-fix this – no magical fairy
I wish that there was any way we could know
But there isn’t, so on into mis’ry we go
The stump of my hopes is now buried in grief
Shattered and wounded beyond all belief
In a vile play ‘most worthy of Machiavelli
My nights inflict dreams of a big baby belly
All roundy and chubby with babe in good health
And I smile when I dream it in spite of myself
Yet the loss upon waking I soon learned to dread
And the tears, as these dreams seem to mess with my head
I’m trying to hold it together at work
And find ways to be Thankful and not be a jerk
But it’s such a hard struggle, and now I disclose
That I’m tired of the swamping of endless new lows
My walk’s lost its bounce and my song’s lost its whistle
All the time I’m aware of the ‘crap new meds’ missile
So this Christmas I’m plunged in the darkest of night
‘Cause it’s timed for two months and the end is in sight.
but I couldn’t find a thing.
It’s not like Im made outta rubber.
or my tail is a great big spring.
A tigger contacted me this week
with a gift of the hard wired heart.
she’s not a killer tigger-
gratitude’s her art
She expressed a heartfelt fondness
for her friends across the net,
with lovely words for each of us-
none that we’ll forget
My word makes her giggle.
I’ll just keep saying “schnookered,”
cuz I don’t tempt no tiggers
They can go off like pressure cookers!
Thank you Lizzi…
That photo above is Lizzi the Considerer…yeah she dresses like that all the time! No really, she does! Well anyway, Lizzi had a brilliant idea to make a blogger award that is dedicated to those special contacts in our lives who are more than just internet acquaintances…but rather have become friends and confidants and people we wouldn’t want to be without. She calls the process by which this happens as hardwiring your heart…thus the award … The Hard-Wired Heart…
I would like to pass this award on the Jean at Snap Out of it Jean! There’s Beading to be Done!
Jean has been a faithful follower of both Rewritten and The Well Tempered Bards, which is all well and good but Jean is real. She’s real in the genuine fashion, she’s real talented (check out her jewelry!) , she’s real earthy, she’s a really great mom, she’s real kind and creative, she’s really in love and loving and any other positive adjective I can come up with… Jean has a spirit that draws you in. She is giving of herself and her family follows in those footsteps. Jean is the mother of some very special guys who deal with the challenges of autism…I have yet to see a parent who is more proud than she is of her sons. Unfortunately Jean has had a very tough time since the sudden death of her son Robert. She keeps his memory alive in her writing and photos and the lessons she has learned through his life and her loss.
Additionally, Jean loves Skip…need I say more… I mean really…need I?
So thank you Lizzi. Thank you, Jean. I am honored to have met you both and to be able to call you friends.
(Jean, best news? Ya just have to accept … no funny requirements …just keep being you! xo zoe)
***The award will be displayed with a companion post on Rewritten! HOOPLA! Right next to my Golden Side Boob Award! (that Lizzi is a genius!)
This thing began as jest; I never meant
For any store to be set by our merriment
Yet on we went, both eager for our fun
This fantasy less easily undone
Those honeyed words poured easily from our heads
But only words – no changes to our beds
And no harm done – yet inklings of these lies
Some corner of my knavish heart despise
Forsooth they do make mockery of my vow
Those promises signed: “Eternity, from now.”
“Thee only” “No man shall tear asunder”
But for mine eyes, so many hold such wonder
I sit entrenched, untouched and so alone
Attention’s spotlight thrills me to the bone
I bask in those diversions whom I find
As still hands ere belie my wandering mind.
there are no answers.