After the Feast

Twelfth Night, the fir tree end-up in a bin

Awaiting there garbage men, needles provoking

A green rebellion at this signal disposition;

The feast all done.

 

All things receded normal; ‘normal’ being polite

Procrastination, for a Christmas never come

Only the presents and the fireworks showed

The mighty dinners the frantic party rolls;

They came

 

It may have been indeed there was no stable

Nor manger, nor three wisemen, shepherds, child,

No Mary, Joseph, Anna, Simeon;

No Elsinore

 

No prince, no play; the history’s brittle, shivers,

Cannot stand up against pied blandishings,

Fat garnished, maladroit misapprobations,

Against the Christmas signs

 

Lately deceased, nor mourners to lay wreaths

Folk writhe instead, turn plastic shapes, swerve iterations,

Disturbances, distempers; ragbag music shoves them round,

Offsets presence of mind

 

Their annual surfeit-prandial celebrations

Plumb into groin and gut needs exponentially

Throngs regardless cohabit in cheap intemperance

Blank off entirely sentience and the day

 

Here for a season remembrance is controverted

Like Lotos Eaters or amnesiacs

Anonymous, where wassails jaunt and skip

And knowing not forwhy

 

Back now to normal fallen, to a normative dysfunction

The regular junkets, jollies, binge-along weekends,

Deliberately taken blindfold, here is no defence;

Witness unwinds,

 

Mishap haunts revelries; undoing selves to harms

No means might cultivate the heart’s Chief Comforter

Prevented to ventures higher, haply to aspire

To events, and advents, marvellously more worthy

 

Swine roll in muck, no difference know than we

Per se know aught of our forsaken souls

Obtain no consolation; absurd of occupation

Aground on shoals

 

I pity, I do not disdain, nor patronise them,

Their twilit travails parenthetically

Consign, embracket, cache between birth and death;

A pretty pass

 

Their fazed infatuate procrastinations,

Orphaned, bereaved; their definitive outright loss;

Redemption breathes free as light, Lord, let there be

Fields white for harvest; the labourers set-to

 

You can also find this article at our metanomalies blog: https://steemit.com/poetry/@matthew.raymer/after-the-feast

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