Enter the Enchanted Toy-chest
for a fairytale of Christmas
Although all fairy folk are not small
The real Santa is. He's a small and humorous Elf
If you are dubious
just dig the Ur-text
"A Visit from Saint Nicolas"
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
Fairy folk are "the good people"
who bring health and delight
"the people of the hill"
who are only worrisome when vexed
And Santa is the most good of them all.
He a ancient and beneficent spirit
who got his name from
the Bishop of Amsterdam
the resplendent Sinter Klaas
who took his name from
a kind Turkish saint
Nicolas who tossed bags of coins
down the chimneys of the needy
The bulbous coke bottle Santa
followed
Seasonal work for the paunchy
Draining that much more magic
into the mundane
The real Santa is much more
antiquated than these figures
He lives in the most remote
of all hills
The ones at the North Pole
Above the tree line
Santa cultivates an arboretum
of ice
Polar bears love
abundant snow and ice
and they are always eager
to find something to eat
They cannot however
eat the fairy folk
Their helpful friendship has
existed for thousands of years
Here are three of Santa's helpers
who came to see me this Yule:
That's The White,
an eye-opening Sativa wax:
The damsel in yellow
is called Sherbert,
she's heavy hybrid:
Escorting them both
is Purple Urkle
An Indica key
to the land of dreams
Together they make three
together they make the world
into an old-fashioned picture book
Bears stay happy on water
But it's real water
not the puddle water
most of the rest of the world
imbibes
But all is not well
in the polar realm
It started when tiny
particulate pieces of black type
began to float in on the wind
as if from conversations
and media words
and endless ignition
It landed on the ice and snow
on the awesome and mighty
glaciers
and everything began to cascade
into the burgeoning sea
The restaurants were
like the old Soviet era,
nothing left to serve
Ice islands are needed
for the bears to hunt seals,
Trapped on barren rock islands
they are forced to savage
the black guillemot nests
Santa and the most resourceful
pondered what options remained
All the kindness the Great Spirit
provided for mankind
only served to create
a sense of entitlement
Consuming the world
for excess wealth and power
Who knew
the Mouse King
was so vicious?
Uh oh, here comes Santa Bertram
Klaas' brother or something,
The elves call him Santa Bitch
He's going to find out
who's nasty and nice
Do we anthropomorphize
the evanescent polar bear?
Hibernating under
the auroral trees?
The Polar Bear
his destiny
bound for the mythic
remembered only in culture
and lore
gone from the realm
of real ice and snow
At the North Pole
where the stars are the closest
The Polar Bears step off into the sky
hunting phantom ice floes
