Silent Night - Shakespeare's Monkeys

Silent Night

A baby lies in stable bed,
no halo shining round its head;
no stockman ushers in his sheep
to bleat a newborn god to sleep.
But if by chance they did -- what then?
Why start this bloody mess again?
It's not a poet's fusty phlegm
that slouches near to Bethlehem,
but man alone. Not birth but bombs
the something which the wrong way comes.

No turkey yields cremated meat
Upon these plates, no merry feet
shall measure gaily down this hall
while in the meadow, snowflakes fall.
No gifts are strewn beneath the tree --
no tree at all, just cold debris
and death. Who brought that fellow here
to desecrate this time of cheer?
The wind, a wail, the baby's last
and Christmas spirit slithers past.

Stephan Anstey -

There is something oddly comforting to me about a slithering Christmas spirit - even if it's disheartening on the whole

Leanne Hanson -

Yeah... preachy and annoying but I thought I should write something. Probably not the best motivation for writing, when all's said and done. Straight onto the site, this one, and might just come straight back off when I sober up. After I get drunk first. I had no excuse at the time.

Paradiso, Tracey -

Reading this was a powerful lesson for me in the evocative power of words. The title immediately evokes a certain expectation; that the poem is the complete opposite of that expectation causes a physical push-pull inside me. From a purely intellecual standpoint, I love the original take on the day. From a deeply imbedded emotional perspective, it's a read that lands on the psyche and causes me to say out loud, "Oof."

Colleen Sperry -

I really enjoy this Leanne.. I have read it over and over .. I love your word usage, creating pictures for me that make me grin...

Leanne Hanson -

I can't take loads of credit for the word usage I'm afraid, I've borrowed shamelessly from Yeats (The Second Coming, one of my favourites -- "and what rough beast, its hour come round at last/ slouches toward Bethlehem to be born"), Shakespeare ("something wicked this way comes"), Dickens' ghost of Christmas past and a bazillion Christmas carols. I am a wanton plagiarist