Christ Massed

I haven’t written a Christmas poem since Saturnalia 2014.

This one came to me over the last month.
Don’t get me wrong—I love Christmastime . . .
but there is something OFF with Xmas in Ameri©a™ these days

Children drugged with truthless tales . . .
Unwise men embrace their treasure;
Algorithms urge the sales
In malls devoid of merry measure.

Plastic sparkles in the air;
Automotive ads turn festive . . .
Forced good nature everywhere
Makes the shopping crowds grow restive.

Corporate greed spins altruistic
Hyping goods, suppressing Christ.
Our Yuletide is their big statistic
Oversold and underpriced.

Secular beribboned fluff:
Peace, Goodwill . . .  but don’t say God !
And heaven knows you’ve had enough;
Just download the app—acquire the mod.

Coca-Colaed, Disneyfied
You’re wrapping paper for their fire;
Eggnogged, Santa-ed, thrown aside
While Babel’s flames roar ever higher.

The godlessness shines right on through
Where Christmas lyrics die, unheard.
The Yule-log and the sparks that flew
Expire in embers long unstirred.

The old usurper carting toys
And Chinese knock-offs in his sled
Sets off a lot of empty noise:
Insanity in green and red.

The lurker leers and hauls his bag
(jolly antichrist distraction)
While flying Bishop Nicholas’ flag:
A winter psi-ops covert action.

Only message left: go drink!
And may your cup o’erflow with cheer
Before you risk to start to think
Yourself and God right out of here.

Hallmark haloes, bygone kitsch
enwreaths the memory of the years,
Kindling maudlin sadness which
wells up in melancholy tears

For Christian culture (rest in peace)
Long-corrupted by dollar signs;
For fa la la and fattened geese
And holly midst the ivy vines;

For Dickens’ gospel of the season
Anglican angelic ghosts
Pushing us beyond unreason
Toward the future’s spectral hosts;

For folklore now reduced to ash
Commercial blow-outs, dirty snow;
For Saturnalian urge to smash
the store-front windows where they show;

For useless manger figurines
Passed down from some more faithful time;
For hallowed and nostalgic scenes
No longer worth a Roman dime.

 

 

 

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Seasonal Disco: Glad Tidings

BONEY M live at Kremlin:
M E R R Y  CHRIST M A S  !

The ONLY reasonable conclusion: Russian Collusion

Oh my Lord / You sent your son to save us
Oh my Lord / Your very self you gave us
Oh my Lord / That sin may not enslave us
And love may reign once more
Oh my Lord / when in the crib they found him
Oh my Lord / A golden halo crowned him
Oh my Lord / They gathered all around him To see him and adore… 
Oh my Lord with the child’s adoration
Oh my Lord there came great jubilation
Oh my Lordand full of admiration,
t
hey realized what they had (until the sun falls from the sky)
Oh my Lord (oh praise the Lord) They had begun to doubt you
Oh my Lord (He is the truth forever) What did they know about you
Oh my Lord (so praise the Lord) but they were lost without you
They needed you so bad (His light is shining on us all)
Oh my Lord (so praise the Lordwith the child’s adoration
Oh my Lord (he is a personation) there came great jubilation
Oh my Lord (so praise the Lord) and full of admiration,
t
hey realized what they had (until the sun falls from the sky)

Oh my Lord (oh praise the Lord) you sent your son to save us
Oh my Lord (this day will live forever) Your very self you gave us
Oh my Lord (so praise the Lord) that sin may not enslave us
And love may reign once more…

But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost:
In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds
of them which believe not,
lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ,
who is the image of God, should shine unto them.

 For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord;
and ourselves your servants for Jesus’ sake.

 For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

II Corinthians 4:3-6  [KJV]

Angelic Angles on the Nativity

 

 

Once in royal David’s city,
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her Baby,
In a manger for His bed:
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ, her little Child.

He came down to earth from heaven,
Who is God and Lord of all,
And His shelter was a stable,
And His cradle was a stall:
With the poor, and mean, and lowly,
Lived on earth our Savior holy.

For He is our childhood’s pattern;
Day by day, like us, He grew;
He was little, weak, and helpless,
Tears and smiles, like us He knew;
And He cares when we are sad,
And he shares when we are glad.

And our eyes at last shall see Him,
Through His own redeeming love;
For that Child so dear and gentle,
Is our Lord in heaven above:
And He leads His children on,
To the place where He is gone.

🎄 Mithras Invites You to Saturnalia

Tauroctony

As concerning therefore the eating of those things that are offered in sacrifice unto idols,
we know that an idol is nothing in the world, and that there is none other God but one.
For though there be that are called gods, whether in heaven or in earth,
(as there be gods many, and lords many,)
But to us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are all things,
and we in him; and one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are all things, and we by him.
I Corinthians 8  [KJV]

Roll a Yule log on the fire
and let the mystery-cult inspire.
What Persians, Gauls, and Romans knew
could teach us all a thing or two
about midwinter celebrations
warming frigid Northern nations.

The Phrygian cap he used to wear,
holly entwined with evergreens
still linger in our current year
recalling dim pre-Christian scenes.
Some strange vestigial rites remain:
The specter of the Lydian Bishop.
No bull – but reindeer pull his train
spreading love, inspiring worship
mixed with Nordic pageantry,
barbaric sensuality,
and glimmers of Medieval night;
His season beckons, burning bright.
In England’s prim polyphony
voices call across the centuries
no remnant of tauroctony
resurrecting pagan memories.
Drunks and rebels hum the tunes –
they lift the cup, they cast the runes
participating unawares
in Eleusinian affairs
like office parties, trees in houses:
timeless ritual that rouses
peace and love – goodwill to men.
(is it so diabolic then?)
Ghosts of Roman soldiers laugh:
the sun-god wears a funny hat.
His bull was just a golden calf
that grew up sacrificially fat.

Who cares when Christ was born, or where –
the point is: God appeared on earth
to set the record straight, lay bare
unwelcome truth: the second birth.
A new religion superseded
what had been before. It needed
rituals to syncretize
(no drastic sin, in heaven’s eyes).
Why rail against it? What is wrong
with festive fare and holy song?
You think you can set back the clock?
destroy the sun or banish God?
Why agitate the Shepherd’s flock;
in vain you would restrain His rod…
Since Christ is all in all why bother
searching out old gods to smother?
Who denies He rules the ages
mocks your idols, stumps the sages?

And so you are without excuse
for finding reasons to be mad –
committing holy child-abuse
and making mother Mary sad.
Why fight the vibe, why square the wheel?
No point in Scrooging up the deal.
Just kiss beneath God’s mistletoe
and let the blessed season flow.