Christmas, 2020
My friends, I kneel here with one knee on
the ground trying to disavow myself
from all that has gone wrong.
I am not a noble man but advocate no misery.
Listen closely to the music;
a language we all understand.
Did Bob Marley have it right or
were his murmurings all wrong?
Listen carefully to his words;
his soul speaks loudly in his songs:
Listen to his dog bark out the word “Courage”.
Do you have any? Let’s see.
Where are we going to from here, now?
Not to pasture, friends, like an over-milked cow.
I’m scrambling now, mister.
Let’s slow the music down a little.
Have to give ease to my ticker.
We must never feel we are at a loss.
Look at the Man-Child; we could call Him boss.
Let’s help Him carry that heavy cross.
We are foolish people, friends.
I hate to say that loud.
Our methods defy all logic.
Don’t we hate to be wrong?
There are secret paths to glory.
You must commit to sacrifice.
No one ever wins it all by a lucky roll of the dice.
Everyone doesn’t gamble, friends.
There is no easy way and even
when you play the proper chord,
people may listen and are often floored,
but if they are clandestine and easily bored,
you’re not making much of a headway.
My friends, I look up at you.
I’ll play my music and sing, giving instruction
through the use of heavenly notes.
Tell me, what does it really mean?
We take from those defenseless.
Conquer the weak and deprived.
Pay attention to our own needs.
Can’t hear what others cry
The angels watching us must
bow their heads and wonder why.
We are not crippled, my friends,
and if you don’t mind I’ll sit down.
My knees are weary and so is my soul.
I think of streets paved with gold.
Then look at myself as a clown.
Did I do or am I doing my best?
How do we bring this chorus to rest?
What is the number of those who will die,
before we open our pathetic eyes?
How do we feel?
Is this real or just an interlude in time?
I’m strumming my music while thinking up words,
hoping we’ll be fine.
The parade is over; the tents come down.
It will all be over before they leave town.
Then the chaff and the grain will be
separated in the thrashing machine.
Grain will be stored while the chaff burns.
We tried our best, but never learned is
the cry we’ll hear from the losers.
I hope to stand before the Lord
and sing out His praise: Hallelujah!
Back to the present where I’m playing chords,
my friends, I’m thinking of many of you.
We are all pretty far along in life
and may see the end, soon.
No one knows when they are going to be called
and when they are it seems to be unexpectedly.
We feel real bad that we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye
and share a story or two.
We didn’t take the time or didn’t have the time
and may have regrets.
Every one of you should understand.
I am sure you will hold no malice.
But just to be sure, for me, although
I am not expecting to be gone soon,
I want to say that I have been happy to know you
and been a part of your life in some meaningful way.
I strum my chords and sing out with joy:
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
I wish you all the joy of the season.
I have hope that you will be able to endure
any difficulties that come your way.
The next year will give us all many opportunities
to help others and be filled up with joy.
I wish it to be a happy one for you.
Be at peace. Love to you from Gulliver
Steve Haarman aka Stanski
Poetry Blog: stevehaarman.com
Steve Haarman 