StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XI, No. LI

The wind is racing through the passageways,
Swaying magnolias as it goes;
Here, at ground zero, we're chilled to the bone,
It's Christmastime at the Pentagon.

There are riots once more in Russia,
Students demonstrate raucously in Great Britain;
Here, across the river, the First Lady and the kids
Switch on our nation's Christmas tree.

The snow floats lightly, sticking to the ground,
Cardinals search industriously for evening seeds,
Red on white in the empty center courtyard,
It's Christmastide inside the Pentagon.

If I were ever to burn the Holy Qur'an,
The Christian Bible, The American Flag,
My sin would be much less grievous
Than if I set fire to the U. S. Constitution,
The English Magna Carta, or, even more so,
Anglo-Roman Common Law. The rights of Mankind
To Life, to Liberty, to the Pursuit of Happiness
Without needless government oppression or
Arbitrary restrictions are worth more than
Any religious tract or national banner.

Chessnuts moldering on the grocery stand,
Pine needles falling on the floor,
The air filled with ads for sweaters and iPads,
Another Christmas in Obamaland.

Lines of people out of work,
Children starving in the streets,
The Republicans and the Democrats
Arguing who is best to lead.

Poinsettias wilting on every street corner,
Santas begging for alms and bread,
Families and their homes in foreclosure,
Merry Christmas, Mr. President.

Mohamed Osman Mohamud,
Faisal Shazhad, Farooque Ahmed,
Hosam Smadi, and other bombers:
I will not stereotype, I will not profile,
But there's nary an Irishman
Or an Italian in the bunch, not even
A rich young heiress of a media empire.
I will not stereotype, I will not profile.
Blow up a Christmas celebration,
Set off a car bomb in Times Square,
Attack a rush hour subway station,
Bring down a skyscraper in Dallas:
I will not stereotype, I will not profile.
A state of war exists as surely as
The South took arms against Abe Lincoln,
As surely as Japan bombed Pearl Harbor,
As sure as North Korea invaded the South,
Subsidized by the Chinese and the Russians.
But I will not stereotype, I will not profile,
Allahu Akbar, God is great, Jesus loves us,
I will turn the other cheek until there's
No flesh on my yellowed shattered bones
And I'm blinded by cataract and age,
Unable to identify my ever persistent enemy.

Before I die, I want everything,
Hear confirmation that life exists on other worlds,
Write the Great American Novel without a whale,
Become as good at my craft as
Shakespeare, Whitman, and Sappho,
Read all three volumes of Twain's autobiography,
Witness a cure for arthritis and this pain in my back,
Understand the first moments of the universe
And what might have come before, solve the
Mysteries of gene expression and the human genome,
Spend my life waking up in the morning beside Sharon,
And celebrate my 200th Birthday with friends and family.
After I am dead, I don't give a damn;  before then
I have miles to go before that moment I cannot imagine,
And things to do before I sleep at last.

Here's to the new year, arbitrary division as it is,
All fresh and untarnished expectations
Without the rude awakening of life.

The days are fully uncounted,
The months have yet to unfold,
The year is without diminution,
Our hopes naively young.

So here's to the new year, whenever it occurs,
May your highway be straight and well paved.
And your crashes only minor disasters.

What child is this who lays his head
On Mary's lap, on Mary's breast?
For I have loved thee for so long
Delighting in your company.
Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.

Bless the mistress of this house,
Likewise the master too,
And all the little children
That round the table go,
Ding dong ding dong,
Bye, bye, lully. lullay.

The holly bears a blossom as white as lilly flower,
The holly bears a berry as red as any blood,
The forester and the huter keep them from the does,
Nay, my nay, hyt shall not be I wys,
Non signet und seid froh!
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.

Come all ye fair and faithful ladies,
Be careful how you court young men,
They're like a star on a summer's morning,
They'll first appear and then they're gone.
Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.

Christianity would crucify me,
Islam wage bloody Jihad,
Jews try to logic me into humble submission;
God, however, doesn't seem to give a damn
Whether I believe in Him or He in Me,
Our paths never cross and I have other
Explanations that calm me in the chaos.

I would believe, but I do not,
Cannot without sacrificing the very soul
That religion claims as heaven's own;
I have a different path, equally valid
As any creation myth: if there is a god,
And the polls would suggest otherwise,
I will be saved by my consistency
And my commitment to unravelling
The intricacies of human existence.

I wear no scarf upon my head
Or see any reason
To hide my femaleness
From the world I live in,
Allah knows, and I know,
And if you still have problems
With me, look away:
It's not your sin after all.

No matter what you call your winter holiday,
It's a time for family and friendships
And spending warm nights with the one you love,
Remembering those who are no longer here,
Children who are away in distant cities,
Bits and pieces of childhood celebrations
Brought back to life and tears.

There is a moment on Christmas Eve:
The tree is still lit, the room is dark,
The children are fast asleep in their beds
And all the presents are safely under the tree;
Sitting on the sofa, listening to the silence,
I remember my own Christmas mornings
And my children, now grown, tearing open
Their presents, logs burning in the fireplace
-- All lost in times past as I reluctantly age.