Christmas smelled of burning coal when I was very small,
Curled beneath the eiderdown, shadows licked the wall.
A torch sat by the bedside, insurance just in case.
On Christmas eve, in fervent hope, to catch sight of his face.
Christmas smelt of spices rich, upon a Christmas Eve.
When darkness fell, and flames were lit, their festive scents I’d breathe
For this was where the magic was, when he'd be here quite soon.
A bell, a thump, a cloud of smoke; inside the living room.
I'd picture him amongst the stars, a map within his hands.
He’d plan his route with chimney pots as satnavs in each land
Wrapped in furs and jingling bells to sound his swooping flight
Pockets full of tasty treats grabbed for this long long night.
His cheeky rounded cheeks and his bristly fluffy beard,
His soft and round red tummy, never shrinking year on year.
In my childhood, Santa had no socks from Tk Maxx,
He didn't carry iphones and hair straighteners in his sacks.
He took delight in filling socks with oranges and sweeties.
And no-one mentioned tooth decay or early diabetes!
He ate enough mince pies to keep weightwatchers very rich,
But I could never see his tummy, pop a single stitch.
And if he drank the auburn whiskey nestled on each plate
Would Santa not be very drunk? Or least of all quite late?
Would he not muddle every present on each waiting hearth?
Creating chaos in his fluster. That would make me laugh.!
Perhaps this year he’ll go all hygge and mooch in his pyjamas
Leave the reindeer nuzzling hay and fly to the Bahamas
Hunker down with ready meals and strange but tasty gin
Watch the same old movies loudly, not let neighbours in.
For times can change for everyone, and sometimes we get tired
He has so much to do each year, despite the fakes he hires.
So maybe he can franchise, find a warehouse in each town,
And make TV appearances when funds are running down.
As crumbs are found, I hear the sound, of children young and old
Believing every detail, from the festive tales we’re told
Just close your eyes, remember all the feels of Christmas eve,
And how this world can still produce, some magic from its sleeve.
He'll maybe just decide to see the ones who see him too.
For magic only happens if you first believe in you.
However, he still does it, whether Amazon or sleigh
Keep back your inner grinch, keep things jolly for one day
Nothing truly wonderful can ever be explained.
Santa lives in all of us and needn’t ever change
Hang your hat on someone good, you might just be surprised,
And maybe you'll wake up to find a bite from your mince pie.
Liz
A very Merry Christmas from us at Liz at The Beach Hut xxx !
Artist and maker, bringer of creativity, positivity and a safe and inspiring environment, enabling makers to develop their creativity and confidence. Overcoming the challenge of disability and challenges to encourage others to grow and develop through art and craft in a safe and nurturing space. Love Art, Love Liz at the Beach Hut XXX
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