Photography © Edward S. Gault

 

The Ghost of Christmas Past

The full moon is bright
    upon the horizon.

The tide is high tonight.

All the drivers are reckless
    under the glowing city lights.

A mist enters off the waters.

The wolves,
    they howl this night.

An icy wind begins to bite
    cutting sharp right though
                         the jacket.

A head turns in retort
    both quick and jagged
    as a leather shoe click-clacks
    upon the cobbled pavement.

Caw! Caw! exclaims the raven
    giving fair warning
    to the approaching silhouette.

A rattling key
    upon the chain
    a narrow fingered skeleton.

A bony hand unlatches a rusty lock
    gripping fast the handle
    creaking long the hinges
    the door slides open
    as the knocker eyes its prey.

All the while the raven watches
    with bated interest.

 

Caw! If only beaks could smile
    there would be sinister
    upon its face.

The old man Ebenezer
    shuts the door behind him
    bolting fast the locks
    lest what is looking finds him.

Secure within his cell
    the one of his own making
    he mounts the staircase
    squeaking, the floorboards take
    him to his candlelit destination.

Before his porridged fireplace
    within his rocking chair
    a howling roar begins to stir
    the frosty midnight air.

As if upon a sudden
    surrounded from all sides
    a rattling of the cages
    as the room it comes alive.

Bam! Bam! Bam!
    a pounding at the door
    squealing anchor chains
    slide across the floor.

Within the shrill of silence
    upon the witching hour
    the reaper pays a visit
    to this wilting flower.

Hark there, hark,
    who treads across this meadow?

Standing in the doorframe
    translucent to the eye
    a ghost appeared before him
    with a raven by his side.

 

Swirling all his countenance
    every end undone
    the old man trembled feebly
    for now his time had come.

Oh Marley, you foresaker
    with all your shackled locks
    one last chance you offer
    to the ticking of a clock.

Within an hour hence
    if unrepentant still you be
    tied down to your own fetters
    forever shall you be.

Upon those fateful words
    the glass turned upside down
    the raven began to holler
    an ungodly kind of sound.

Taking to its wings
    stretched out from left to right
    talons clenched his collar
    as they both took off in flight.

Through the open window
    both man and raven flew
    over chimney tops
    to where memory once grew.

Before his waking eyes
    his childhood did pass
    at last came back to haunt him
    the struggle of his class.

While the working poor they toiled
    in the fields and on the loom
    the rich they lived in leisure
    a horse for every groom.

Within the dusty mines
    black lung it filled the air
    while the titans of all industry
    little did they care.

In the wars they slaughtered
    millions at a time
    the poor, their cannon fodder
    against humanity their crimes.

While bankers, like himself
    counted all their cash
    hungry mouths went wanting
    swept up like evening trash.

The sights they grew
    the raven flew
    pecking at his eyes
    until that Ebenezer
    himself began to cry.

If this is what the future holds
    oh why, oh God, oh why?
    bring me back onto the folds
    where love and freedom lies.

I’ll give away my money
    and share with joy my time
    for all there is worth having
    is peace for all mankind.

Nevermore the scrooge
    nevermore I say
    or strike me down with thunder
    upon my dying day.

Hearing all of this
    the sincerity of his words
    the raven returned him to his bed
    and there left him undisturbed.

On the morrow when he awoke
    the sun all bright it shined
    he jumped around like a youthful child
    full and in his prime.

 

Setting out upon his pledge
    he stayed faithful to the end
    and when his time it finally came
    he was missed by all his friends.

Yet do not count for certain
    a happy ending is in store
    for if you want to see it
    you must live it evermore.

The raven of the winter
    the Ghost of Christmas Past
    whatever you will call it
    it is always watching fast.

When it finally comes
    it may just be too late
    so if you want redemption
    there is no time to wait.

The time of life remaining
    is closing like a door
    so if you want to live it
    then live it, evermore.

 

Mark Lipman, founder of the press Vagabond, The Culver city Book Festival, T/he Elba Poetry Festival: winner of the 2015 Joe Hill Labor Poetry Award; the 2016 International Latino Book Award and the 2023 L’Aloro di Dante (Dante’s Laurel – Italy), a writer, poet, multi-media artist, activist and author of fourteen books, began his career as the writer-in-residence at the world famous Shakespeare and Company in Paris France (2002-2003). Since then he has worked closely with such legendary poets as Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Jack Hirschman on many projects and for the last twenty years has been establishing a strong international following as a leading voice of his generation. He’s the host and foreign correspondent for the radio program, Poetry from Around the World for Poets Café on KPFK 90.7 FM Los Angeles. As Mark continues to travel the world, he uses poetry to connect communities to the greater social justice issues, whiel building consciousness through the spoken word. He most recently released the anthology Dissent through Vagabond.

Edward S. Gault is a poet and fine arts photographer living in Brighton, Massachusetts. His work has appeared in Oddball Magazine, Spectrum, Wilderness House Literary Review, Interlude, Currents, and Encore.