Christmas Village Stroll

And "Welcome" (Perhaps Again...) to PikeX

Happy Monday & thanks so much for being here!

For those of you whom I’ve drug along on this ride since August when I began experimenting with Substack’s platform, PikeX is not only “alive & kicking,”  but also is thriving. Expect more (hopefully not too annoying) regular posts and notifications.  I truly appreciate your continued feedback, input and encouragement on this and all my other projects.

For those of you who are new to PikeX, weekly I’ll be sharing a public post (Substack calls them newsletters) featuring essays, random observations, works-in-progress, photos, and occasionally audio.  And odd bits (like today’s poem.) Hope you’ll enjoy the ride.

[Paid subscribers also receive my syndicated, weekly Tallgrass & Tumbleweed columns (text and audio versions) and my interview series The Sunflower Seven (with access to audio of my FULL interviews.) And PikeX audio will be available soon on most podcast platforms.]

I am sharing a poem with you today. I don’t mess with poetry as much as I used to but I tinker with this one with every holiday season. And I’ve done so since 2008 when I wrote it after I cut through Love Park after one night…and nearly missed my train because I was dawdling in the first Christmas Village.

It’s dated in that it reflects the city (and my commuter-life and the world) in a pre-pandemic state.  But there is something that pulls me to revisit it each year—could be that when I hear the elevator version of WHAM!’s “Last Christmas” in my head, I giggle.  Or that this homage is this girl’s twisted annual Yeats pilgrimage…Either way, this morning I’m missing the streets of Philadelphia and not just because that’s where I learned to dance.  Shout out to my Philly folks (GO EAGLES!)-I love and miss you all.

Hope you enjoy this walk down memory lane—I’d love to hear from all of you.

Keep your eyes on the stars & your back to the wind,

Gaille

Christmas Village Stroll

First, most ways
Privileged
Alive and Hefty, Employed and American
Insured, Educated and Loved, I Am

Nevertheless, Amid Exodus
Disheartened
Day’s End Weary, Trudging, Weaving Adrift
I Seek Distraction

Found, Dali-esque Twinkles and
Wham!
Neurons Recognized, A Speechless “Last Christmas”
A I Cross Bazaar’s Threshold

Fizzy Baubles, Beaded Baked Goods
Frothing Scarves, Soaped Ornamental Booths
Promising Quality Assured,
Surprise Guaranteed and Perfection Handmade

Artisan Crafted By Less Fortunate Others
Buy the Buy And Buy
Hawkers, Shoppers, Chatter Surrounds
Circling, Sidestepping, Malingering

I’m Sucked In

I Marvel, From Far Off Lands,  Feel Good Gifts
Unique
Without Mention of Plunder, Starvation or Vice.
Pretty Things Mainstreamed, Whitewashed sans Strife

Ribbons and Bows Bleeding Down Prices
Low Howl Low, All for a Dollar
One, Three for Four, Four for Ten
My Train is When?

Checkout, Time's Up
Stumble On Buddha, 
On Brahma, On Shiva, & Ganesha
I Dash a Ways, Dash Away

In Motion Aware 
Awakened
My Pace Quickens
Lest I Miss My Iron Horse Out

Perhaps To Dream Tonight
In Safety
Of Discounted Gods, Genuine and Benevolent
But First, A Slouch Toward Suburbia