The Reflex

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I have had no internet or computer since August so have been unable to update my blog over the last six months. I am, however, at home for Christmas and as I posted a Chrimble poem last year thought I’d do another one this year. Its Christmas eve and I’ve just watched the Muppets with my family so feeling decidedly festive.

I think it was Pavlov (he of the dog torturing) who suggested religion was a social reflex, mankind huddling together for spiritual warmth. It seems no matter what the religion we have a festival in Winter for similar reasons. I love Christmas and feel its sad people have become so cynical about it over the last century. We’ve never been a wealthy family so Xmas has always been a time for family and closeness and that’s what it means to me, not presents or holidays abroad. As such the poem is somewhat disenchanted but hopeful. I hope you enjoy it. And Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.

The Reflex

 

The

Soul of a season is not in cinnamon

but a fire

The warmth that beats from a pulse

as we huddle

Together for heat. This is not the glow

of a flame

But the spirit. A time of cold and dark

Love is hearth

A time where a race needs its ease

we all clothe

In worn out sentiment and threadbare

cheer to sing

In primary colour and stoke the waning

fire of kind

Leave the manager, forget the festivals and

just give

It is in others the kindling blossoms

rich and hot

So find or summon

Joy

Every girl

Every Boy

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