Santa
Looking in the eye of Santa
the vista all behind the orb,
curled and
feathery landscape of trees
and snow;
the fault is mine, not his
I see no farther.
In the snowpalace
his red suit waits;
the deer outside
move gently in the cold;
food is no gift.
From the nose of Claus
the rosy delicate color
rises, ripens
to the cheeks;
his pink ears,
open as porches,
give insights to the
insides of chimneys,
children’s’ wishes.
Gifts, in the eye of
Santa, become pledges
that a good king makes;
bounty that makes men
feel the burden
of heaven
and its law.
Give, says the pelican;
love thy brood;
suffer the beak’s
greedy grasp.
So Santa sows;
from the ramparts,
his eyes,
twin suns warming,
oversee the harvest.
Jack D. Harvey has been writing poetry since he was sixteen. He lives in a small town near Albany, N.Y. He is retired from doing whatever he was doing before he retired. Jack D. Harvey’s poetry has appeared in Scrivener, Mind In Motion, The Comstock Review, The Antioch Review, Bay Area Poets’ Coalition, The University of Texas Review and a number of other on-line and in print poetry magazines over the years, many of which are probably kaput by now, given the high mortality rate of poetry magazines.
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