The Fact Is…

Today is the oldest

That this year will ever be,

In less than fourteen hours

It will have passed in to eternity.

Was there some task

That you had planned to do?

Something had purposed

Before this year was through?

Well, hurry up and do it

In just thirteen hours more,

In this count down to 2020

The hours are getting lower.

Hey! Here is little something

You need to think about,

A little morbid, I would say,

But of it there is no doubt.

Today is the oldest

That somebody will ever reach,

It could be you or me

Consider this, I beseech.

Often we ponder,

Who will go in the New Year?

But before the year 2020

Many will disappear.

Less than thirteen hours now

As we wind this year down,

Somebody that’s counting

In 2020 will not be around.

No, I am not prophesying,

It’s an everyday thing

And none of us can tell

What a new day will bring.

Here today and gone tomorrow

I have oft heard it said

But the stark reality is

That today any of us could be dead. 

  

Everyday somebody dies,

That is a proven fact

And never the day or the person

Can we bring either back.

So as the year winds down

Bear these pointers in mind,

Time is very short

Even though it’s longer than twine.

Half the day is almost gone

As we look to another year,

Lord, teach us to apply our hearts to wisdom

As the Year 2020 appear.

Stewart Russell © December 2019

The Seven Days of Christmas

And so in the journey

On this bright and sunny day

We come to the last Sunday,

It’s the last Sunday of the year.

Christmas day has passed

Though we are still in the season

And we continue to celebrate Christ,

The foremost and primary reason.

Fifty-two Sundays in all

Like a wild fire they have sped,

From the first one till the last

Right before our eyes they fled.

Some of us made resolutions

Few of which we have kept

And again we come to that time

When we look back in regret.

But never mind my friend,

We will do it again just like before

For it’s a cycle and a tradition,

And to the majority, it is no more.

The twelve days of Christmas

Will end on Old Year’s night

Just six days since Christmas day,

Yes, I have counted it right.

In the Barbadian tradition

We will be into the New Year,

The twelve days will have ended

When the eighth day appear.

I am well aware of the song

That we sing so convincingly

But on the first day of the year

Christmas ceases to be.

It is the practice in Barbados

That our twelve days are seven

And Christmas passes so fast,

It seems like all of a sudden.

  

Lights will be up a little longer

And Christmas songs will be played

But it just doesn’t feel like Christmas

On New Year’s Day.

There is a different focus

Especially regarding the year ahead,

For some, it is with a renewed hope

For others, it’s a sense of dread.

The seven days of Christmas

Are over in a flash

And at the beginning of the Year

There is little or no cash.

The excitement of the season

Is no longer inviting

And on eighth day of Christmas

We are no longer celebrating.

The beginning of the New Year

Spells the ending of Christmas

And the next four days of the season

Brings on a different thrust.

In just seven days it is over

Though we sing “twelve” in the song,

The New Year is upon us

And we have to move along.

The seven days of Christmas

To me, has become quite clear

So all that’s left for me to tell you is,

 “Have a Happy New Year!”

Stewart Russell © December 2019

Get Past the Wrappings

 

For God so loved

Is what Christmas means

And there is nothing wrong

With the manger scene.

It may look differently

Depending on one’s location

But the principal thing

Is our salvation.

Whether the baby was white

Or black was his colour,

He was God incarnate

And that’s all that matters.

 

 

He was a global citizen

And the Saviour of the world,

Salvation is found in no other

As stated in God’s Word.

We are easily carried astray

By silly non-arguments

That drag us away

From the Father’s intent.

We argue vehemently

Over the date of Christ’s birth

Rather than focus on the purpose

Why he came to earth. 

We celebrate his birth

And we commemorate his death,

We rejoice in his resurrection

And in him we are blessed.

But daily we fight

Over the wrappings of the Gift

And throughout Christendom

Create many a rift.

Man-made traditions

Become the primary thing

And where peripherals differ

At the other insults we fling.

  

Until the real essence is lost

And only the wrappings remain,

The real purpose escapes us

And our religion is vain.

Get past the wrappings

At this Christmas tide,

Celebrate Christmas if you must

But in Christ abide.

For whether we celebrate

Or whether we celebrate not,

Let every born again believer

Be aware of his lot.

A new creation in Christ

And indwelt by the Holy Spirit,

A child of the Heavenly Father

With our sin problem fixed.

Get past the wrappings

And see the Gift as revealed

And like the blind man in Matthew

Simply say, Lord I believe.

For whosoever believes

Will God’s Christmas Gift receive

In the Christ of Christmas

Who is our Saviour indeed.

Get past the wrappings

Let the Saviour be the focus

And rejoice in the unmistakable fact

Christ came down at Christmas.

Stewart Russell © December 2019

The Christmas Eve Rush

 

Today is Christmas Eve

The busiest day of the year,

There will be a hurry and scurry

Throughout this day.

It is the peak of the silly season

Especially on our roads

As shoppers move around

Carrying their Christmas loads.

Looking to spend their last dollar

In a bargain or give-away

Completely forgetting, as usual,

The next is the farthest payday.

 

Moving from store to store

In the excitement of the Christmas rush

Having left a lot for the last

Just to engage in the fuss.

It will be a busy day all right

Though to me, it makes no sense

But pardon me, all you ladies,

This writer means no offense.

I am just stating an annual fact

That relates to every Christmas Eve

So I would be glad if you laugh it off

And be a good sport, please.

 

The men are mostly involved

On account of the ladies’ request

But I am sure that most would prefer

To remain at home and rest.

Personally, I don’t like the crowds,

Within them is a promise of mischief,

Hence, I prefer to stay at home

So excuse me for being a stiff.

Be careful as you move around

In the country or the town,

Observe the traffic rules, please

Wherever you are bound.

Remember to hold back a Grantley

Or maybe two or three,

It will probably tie you over

Until your January salary.

Don’t buy what is only useful

To you for just the day

And then regret having bought it,

After Christmas has gone away.

If Christmas were a person

She would be filthy rich

Given the things we buy for her,

It is money in the ditch.

Support the Salvation Army

As they collect to feed the poor

And if someone is behind you,

Be nice and hold the door.

In short remember the courtesies

As you move around,

And, if you are accidentally bounced

Give a smile instead of frown.

Check your pocket and handbag

It may have been done on purpose,

Invariably with these crowds

You’ll find the just and unjust.

Greet everyone with a Merry Christmas

And a wish for a prosperous New Year

And resolve within your mind

You will help that wish appear.

 

Be alert and take nothing for granted

Remember, it is Christmas Eve,

While you are out there shopping

There are some who are looking to steal.

I have some advice for them too

It is this little golden nugget,

If you find yourself in the crowd

Keep your hands in your own pocket.

Allow me please to end

With something that works for me,

If only you try it this Christmas Eve,

You’ll definitely save some money.

To all my friends and family

Only go out today if you must

But I guarantee you it might be better

To stay away from the Christmas Eve rush.

Stewart Russell © December 2019

My Late Great Mother-In-Law

 

I marvel at these portraits

Of a woman whose life I shared,

Not as her husband or children

But as an in-law she held dear.

I feel particularly honoured

To have been accorded such a treat

And in the words of her late husband,

She was wonderfully sweet.

 

I came on these portraits today

While on her daughter's Facebook page,

She too has gone to the great beyond
At a relatively early age.

She has left many family photos
Like the one that heads this poem,
Occasionally I visit her page
And take a memory trip through them. 

The memories they left are lasting
Though still tinged with a little pain,
But what is the use of sunshine
If there is never any rain?

 

This poem was not in the plan
But it came rather spontaneously
As I reminisced over those photos
Compliments of Pearl's photo Gallery.

It is not usual I post twice in a day
But I had to do it today
Just to honour a great mother-in-law
And to say thanks in this way.

Stewart Russell (c) December 23, 2019  

A Christmas Critique

 

Just recently

I was shaken in my Christmas spirit

By a video presentation

From a religious critic.

He called me a heathen

Because I celebrate Christmas,

And a hypocrite

Because I engage in the fuss.

He took a swipe at Santa Clause

And at the Christmas tree,

And that all year we neglect the poor

But at Christmas give a treat.

 

He quoted from Jeremiah

In chapter 10 verses 1 to 4

There he cited the decorated tree

That the heathen bowed before.

He shook me in my spirit

With his harsh criticisms

As he ransacked our Christmas traditions

  And its pagan like customs.

 

 

He spoke to the nativity scene

We have of the baby Jesus

And said we should throw it in the garbage

Along with the other stuff.

He knocked the date of birth

That Christmas commemorates,

And castigated Christians who celebrate it

As a bunch of hell-bound fakes.

He quoted from the Gospel of Luke

In chapter 1 verse 26

Showing the timing of Jesus’ birth

To be an erroneous mix.

 

 

He showed December is wrong

And certainly the twenty-fifth

And that by celebrating on this date

We condone a biblical shift.

Your pastor is a liar

And so too your mamma

For all of these damned lies

That they have been “telling to yuh.”

Strong language indeed

And harsh are these criticisms

But perhaps it is an opportune time

To re-examine our Christmas traditions.

Christmas has become a sacred cow

For most professing Christians

And the tendency to go overboard

Is their prevailing custom.

 

 

 

The X in Christmas is working

To take Jesus Christ out

And, that Christmas is about everything else

To my mind, there is no doubt.

My plea, therefore, this Christmas

Is that we take a conscious look

At all we are doing to celebrate Christmas

And get back to the Holy Book.

Stewart Russell © December 2019

The Longest Week of the Year

White lime for snow

And a freshly stuffed grass bed,

An imported Christmas tree

Decorated mostly in yellow and red.

No Christmas tree lights

Lighting up our Christmas tree,

After all, what would be the use?

There was no electricity

A scrubbed wooden floor

That was left to dry,

To be varnished shortly afterward

A delight on the eye.

The siding boards wiped down

Both inside and out

And the groundsill rocks packed neatly

Not one lying about.

A huge ham hanging from a rafter

By means of an iron snake

Shape like an “S”,

Waiting to be boiled and put on a plate.

After all there was no fridge

But that ham was well cured,

Such that when it had finally gone,

We still wished we had one more.

Gifts hidden in the house

Away from prying eyes,

And everyday that is not Christmas

Bringing disappointing sighs.

Trying on new Christmas shoes

In a Bridgetown store,

You must grow into them, you were told

So there must be room galore.

The tips were stuffed with paper

So they would not slip off

And it was no use any of us fretting

‘Cause Mother was the boss.

  

Not to mention the squeaky sound

With every step you make,

Glad to have new Christmas shoes

But the size you’d always hate.

Slightly oversized shirt and pants

‘Cause you are a growing child,

And you know it doesn’t feel right

But you are forced to smile.

After all you don’t work anywhere

So don’t you dare fret!

Or you’d get something for Christmas

You would be sure to regret.

Window-shopping Christmas week

Was a thing we all enjoyed

Though knowing it was not likely

We would get our desired toy.

This was not a costly exercise

Except for the ride down town

And may be a 5-cents pack of peanuts

To enjoy as we walk around.

Cave Shepherd and Wilson store

Da Costa and the Five and Ten,

Harrison’s Woolworth and Manning,

That was way back then.

There’s nothing wrong in dreaming

And window-shopping was a dream,

For what we saw in the store window

Was separate from our home scene.

And how can I ever forget

That case of mixed sweet drinks bought,

Not a sip before Christmas day

It didn’t matter what we thought.

The pudding and the sweetbread

Had a quality unsurpassed,

The Moms and Grannies of that time

Were surely in a different class.

 

During that week before Christmas

Quite a lot was done

But work in Christmas preparation

Brought us loads and loads of fun.

The longest week of the year

Was during that Christmas week,

Not to mention Christmas Eve night

When it was so difficult to sleep.

Stewart Russell © December 2019