A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS CAROL

I wrote this as an old man whose soul, forever young that it is, can still drink of the happy parts of his childhood.

Then... it was a time of true magic
when the world was small and soft.
It had to be magic, my mind of five
told me: how else could my brothers
and I go to sleep on an ordinary,
dull and quiet night, to awaken in
sheer joy the next morn as though
we had been zapped by a warm
bolt of harmless lightning, setting
our now restless bodies tingling...?

Like racehorses at the gate of magic,
we stood at the top of the stairs,
pulling at whatever patience we
could muster under the admonitions
of Mom and Dad to wait! wait! the
camera must be loaded-- but how
painful to be still when we knew
Children's paradise was only a
stairway away-- and what a
paradise we saw unfolded in
our now unfamiliar living room!

The tree drew our eyes first--
it was big and fat, with its
branches sagging under all
its myriad ornaments: glass
balls, plastic candy canes,
tinsel drooping as though
hung on a weeping willow
and not a proud Blue Spruce.

And hundreds and millions of
colored lights, some blinking,
some staid, making our tree
sparkle like the royal crown
of a giant king-- perhaps for
the King of Toys, for they
were seen in abundance
wherever we looked: trucks
and bikes, and bats and games.
Each brother had his own pile
(we marveled how thoughtful
Santa must be) and we knew in
each stack there were boxes
beautifully wrapped but sans
treasure, hiding only socks
or shirts or perhaps a sweater.

Well, even the jolly fat man
could not be perfect-- still,
he brought magic to our
house every year, overnight
transforming prosaic lives
by wonder, by magic, by love,
and after he went away
when I was an ancient six,
the world grew much bigger
but colder, dull and empty
of that special joy that
can only come to those
children who believe.... 

(c.2016)
 

Reviews

[Lanny]

Such a warm reflective piece of the magic of early childhood contrasted at the end with the hammer of reality and the loss of the innocent belief in such traditional magic. The narrative reflection was a powerful encapsulation of the magic of the kid world, the plowing through the treasures, the disappointment of the discovery of mundane items an anti-magical sort of toxin, yet the joy of discovery of the wonders to be discovered overpowered all else and kept the optimism bright, nicely done!

[Nolo Segundo]

Thanks Lanny, I appreciate it, and am impressed by the rather thorough exegesis (any chance you were an Engish major?)

[Lanny]

I was at one time . . .
All the best,

Lanny

[Cherrie Palmer]

Childhood memories are perfected by time. Wonderful recollection fully dressed and bedazzled.
Thank you for entering this poem in the contest.

[Nolo Segundo]

Thank you for your kind words-- they're most appreciated!

[Orizielle]

Wow. I don't know, this felt so personal and relatable, I guess it kind of took me back to my own childhood. I do wish I could still believe like I did back then. I specially loved the closing lines:

"of that special joy that
can only come to those
children who believe.... "

I loved it all. Great job. Keep writing! Cheers! :D