The Meaning - Part Two (Poetry)

It isn’t the parcels, the tinsel, the holly
the crackers — the joke-telling try ’n be jolly.
It isn’t the turkey, the pies or the cake
or the face we put on for the family’s sake —
the goodwill we wear like our best tempered coat
is disguise for the fact how it gets on our goat.

Too much stress — all the noise — all that bustle and scurry
the pressure — the credit card shock and the worry
the demands on the energy we haven’t got
all for those who don’t care much (as likely as not)
but we mustn’t be cynical — all must be done
in the seasonal spirit of teeth-gritting fun.

Caught up in the tide — choice of flounder or swim
grown glad of excuses we let the flood in
and go where it takes us — float this way and that
join in with old songs, wear a cheap paper hat
despite reservations — unsettling fears
that something’s been lost in the passage of years.

But we must think of others — we mustn’t be mean
these twelve days of Christmas a time to be seen
rejoicing along with the clap-happy crowd
gone bright-eyed with fever and carolling loud
of Jesus the newborn — a manger his bed
just words in the hymn books their meaning near-dead.

The holly is pagan — the tinsel is new
the truth’s weary ghost passing silently through
and it touches so softly it’s easily lost
in the flurry of commerce — the half-hidden cost
leaves the spirit insolvent and aching to know
both the value of love and the magic of snow.