Uncle Carbuncle's Gift

 I've written a couple of previous poems (one published by Moon Books the other two as yet unpublished) about the peculiar Uncle Carbuncle and his various unfortunate relatives. This third addition centres on a Yuletide gift to his (as yet unnamed) nephew and niece. The written version of the poem follows the recording, in a randomly made up metre.

UNCLE CARBUNCLE'S GIFT

Laden with presents, home we return,

Ice on our boots, frost riming our hair.

For tea and crumpets does mother year,

But something makes our dear father swear.

There on the table squatted the box,

Wrapped in paper the texture of moss.

Father's home security it mocks,

To grasp its presence, we are at a loss.

How it came here sans stamp, none can say.

Was it, by Santa, down the chimney flung?

Yet there it sits by light of day,

Bound with a ribbon, red as toad's tongue.

"It's for you two!" Mother declares,

The tag deciphered, we gather around -

Knots undone, the box reveals two bears,

Stuffed, brown-furred and by silver chains bound.

"Teddy bears at your age!" Father sneers.

Cute they are not, these clawed and fanged beasts.

Sister whimpers - after all these years

Uncle on our childish fears still feasts.

A ticket for two sits in the box:

To the Frost Fair (but no date given)

"Old Carbuncle must have the brain pox!"

Mutters Father, "From his wits driven".

Though Mother swears he has no malice

And is but naïve of childhood's needs,

Still he gifts us this poison chalice.

"Throw them away!" Our dear Father pleads.

"Gift bears should not be looked in the maw,"

I mutter, drawn tot he feel of fur,

The razor sharpness of fang and claw,

Something deep within begins to stir.

That night, with sprouts and turkey consumed,

We crept away as our parents snored.

Chains unslipped, the bears growled, grew and loomed -

Heads scraped the ceiling, bedroom door clawed.

Downstairs they lumber - gruffling, snuffling

Out tot he snows we ride on bear steeds.

Sister cries out, "Where are we going?"

"To the Frost Ball!" Her bear roars and leads.

Across the sky the bears ride, wind wild

Befrosts our clothes, below cities dwindle,

Northwards fly, where deepest snows are piled,

To the Ice Realm where frost fires kindle.

Lights down below bedeck the Frost Fair,

Customers ursine between the stalls throng

As merchants emerge from lupine lair

And lift their voices in howling song.

The People so Fair are gathered here:

Wolfmen and bearkin, fox-sprites and pucks,

Hoptoads and redcaps - the wild and queer;

There is Uncle midst all his odd ducks.

The Wolfmen serve whilst browse the great bears,

Sister and I examine the goods:

Bones, stones, fungus, fang - borne from their lairs,

These strange treasures of the frosty woods.

Waddling and clapping fat hands with glee,

"You came!" he chortles, "Yuletide blessings!

There is so much here for you to see -

Let's wait to see what the Ice Queen brings".

The trumpets blast as she enters in,

Stately blue-skinned giant, yellow-eyed,

More wolf than woman, more fur than skin.

The bears applauded, the werewolves sighed.

She beats the earth with an iron rod,

Turning soil and water hard as rock.

She walks on fresh ice, where none have trod,

Summoning her wild and hirsute flock.

"Come along, let's dance!" Uncle hands us skates.

On to the frozen lake we are dragged,

The music begins - the Queen awaits,

For hours we twirled, till at length all flagged.

Frozen and aching, soused with hot mead,

The last dance complete, the great horn sounds

The sun dawns and we for our beds plead.

On bears mounted, we depart Fairgrounds.

Uncle's gurgling laughter with howls mix,

As the wolves and bears, foxes and sprites

Serenade we departing young hicks

And we fly home to our Christmas lights.