The Way of the Magi

follow
a star
follow
a book
follow
an exercise regimen
follow
2007 Toyota Corolla in the slow lane
follow
your gut
follow
your heart
follow
12,000-year-old Buddhist monk from Watertown
follow
the arrows
follow
a direct order from your superior
follow
the Chicago Manual of Style
follow
the road

and then

go home by another way

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Escalator to the Stars

I bought an escalator to the stars,
But it only went as far as Mars.
I don’t think I got my money’s worth –
It’s not as beautiful as Earth.

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Here We Come a-Wassailing

Here we come a-wassailing Among the leaves so green; Here we come a-wand’ring So fair to be seen.

Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too; And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year And God send you a Happy New Year.

Put a penny in our cup, and we will sing to you; put a dollar in our cup and we’ll stop singing too;

Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too; And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year And God send you a Happy New Year.

Our clothes, they come from outlet malls, our stick it comes from ground, give us something good to eat, and we’ll make a joyful sound,

Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too; And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year And God send you a Happy New Year.

We are children of your street, and neighbors of your home, never leave a tired soul frozen and alone,

Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too; And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year And God send you a Happy New Year.

Bring us some hot chocolate, and we will drink it up, don’t turn away a visitor who holds an empty cup,

Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too; And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year And God send you a Happy New Year.

A blessing on all you and yours, and the little children all, a blessing on the Christ child whe’er She come to call,

Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too; And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year And God send you a Happy New Year.

(note: for today’s poem, I rewrote a few verses to the timeless carol “Here We Come aWassailing”, sometimes called “Here We Come a Caroling”. I hope carol aficianados will forgive me the sacrilige. I was looking at it, in fondness for the tradition of “wassail”, where carolers would go from home to home and get treats or money…and was thinking about possibly singing it as a service or a carol-sing at the congregation. And the verses seem a bit – well, carols often feel antiquated, even though the lyrics tend to change slightly every century or two. But “give blessings to the master and mistress” is language that falls a bit heavy these days; no one has a butler anymore (for the record, I never did); and perhaps most troubling at all “we are not daily beggars” just feels, to me, a little dismissive of the poor. So I kept the first verse and the chorus, and in the subsequent verses of this version tried to utterly modernize it, while retaining something of the bawdy nature of it – a bawdy nature tempered, as it is in the orginal, with both sentimental and religious undertones. And keeping it, I hope, fun to sing. As you may know we UUs are agnostic and theist and atheist and more – I kept the chorus as it is, for tradition’s sake. And anyway this is just one version, verses come and go. Feel free to use, adapt, or utterly disregard)

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The Game

1. Gets Out of Bed. – An unusually aggressive move for Janis, who usually opens with “Stays in bed a little longer.” While he rarely goes all the way to “stays in bed all day.” (cf. Ono-Lennon 1969) This is clearly an opening that means business.

2. Sits on Couch and Stares into Space. – Something of a return to form here, balancing the hopeful opening with some classic conservatism. But it could be a ruse; may be setting up a multi-move attack at this point.

3. Stare into space some more. – Not a ruse. Following in the general vein of Janis, Prague 1996 and Janis, Altoona 2008.

4. Puts Bread in the Toaster. – Now we’re out of the gate. Likely will pair this with “gets some jam” (Shafhaz 1938) or even the inspired “softens butter in the microwave.” (Ferenz-Allinsky 1982)

5. Checks His Email. – Interesting. Janis clearly trying to open up on two fronts here.

6. Goes to Basement to Bring Up Laundry. – Here we see potential genius at work, a three-pronged attack within the first 6 moves. Hearkens back to other multi-weaponed openings (Jordan 1995, Great 331b).

7. Goes Back to Bed. – Oh dear. A heartbreaking blunder (Ding 2024). And the toast is on the line at this point.

8. Checks his email. – And the toast is cold. The championship will wait another day; congratulations to Phen, an 11 year old prodigy in Indonesia who had the world’s best day on this one. Janis finished a respectable 4,383,043,458th after all the moves played out.

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Three Vignettes from the Richest Man in the Whole World

I.

When the cat – who is, by affiliation, YOUR cat –
bounds toward the door from a high tree,
looking for all the world like glory,
(and there was a moment there, as usual, you worried
he may have been a goner, but then, aren’t we all just
goners in the making),
and you look across the winter yard, branches expansive with air,
all of it pulsing with the inevitable possibility of this moment

II.

The other day it was raining and warm, a breeze from the West
and the feel of the air was transplanted from the time
well one of the times
that I walked across England
and I though, “my God, even the weather is mine.”

III.

You, asleep beside, and me,
on the edge of the whole world

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The Ghost Pirate Construction Crews of Connecticut

I tip my hat to the famed
ghost pirate construction crews of Connecticut.
Many is the mere mortal who gets flustered and angry
at the site of abandoned cones and lane closures,
and nary a soul in site (but for the legions
of cars upon cars) but not I.
Not I, for I tip my hat to the famed
ghost pirate construction crews of Connecticut.
When it rains, or is threatening
to rain, or on Sundays, or at 8:01 on the Merritt –
the Merritt witching hour –
the spectral roadsmiths take to the blacktop. Neither snow,
nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom, can keep this CT ghostal service
from their appointed grounds.
Pickaxe in bony hand, they go about their unearthly labors
as unwatched and unknown
as the longest serving haunt of the lowest basement
of the DMV. I do not see them, hear only
the forlorn groaning of the Waterbury wind.
Whatever they are doing, it serves nothing to commute
the period of my imprisonment on the eternal chain gang of I-95.
But no matter: I tip my hat to the famed
ghost pirate construction crews of Connecticut,
and pray my constitution holds firm another day.

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Layers

In winter I like to wear layers:

A layer of joy, close to the skin, and warming the heart;

A layer of melancholy – which, contrary to what you might think, carries a welcome snugness, and memory, and is companion to compassion;

A magical layer of whimsy (though I’m not sure where I got it);

A layer of fire. Not taking that one off anytime soon – the world ignited it, but now the world’s not taking it off me;

I have a layer of hope I wear sometimes – though it can be thin, when necessary, or left in the drawer;

I have a layer of kindness, that was given me long, long ago;

I have layers of worry, but I wear them loose, these days;

And sometimes I take all the layers off, and dance naked in the rain. But it’s nice to dress up for the brisk air, and dress down to meet myself again.

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No Poem Today

No poem today
It’s cold, it’s rainy,
and I don’t care to wrest
meaning from it all.

Alone and full,
I draw down the eye-curtains,
let the honeyed and convivial dark
be the universe for me.

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35 degrees

I have learned, at last, to appreciate 35 degrees,
not as an intrepid explorer on the world’s smallest Everest,
but as a middle-aged Dad,
the happy remnants of several good meals lining his waist,
his dog pulling him past the melting white lumps on the sidewalk,
not as an achievement,
not as an overcoming,
not even as the manageable dissonance on the way to back to true home,
but as right now,
this place,
and the day in which I live.

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The Magi

If the present
is causing you to lose hope, consider this:
presumably, in this moment,
a Magi
in someone’s story
is only now
setting out on her journey.
It could be a long one,
she may be six years old,
wearing insufficient shoes,
in the wrong climate,
but these stories have a way
of happening, and even now
the way might have opened
for someone
that will change a little of
the fabric
in the jacket of the stars.

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