A Christmas Peril

Original Poem

by Kent Pitman

'Twas the first iceless Christmas, and all through the world,
it was warm enough now, the last snowflake had swirled.
The stockings were hung in the humid night air
in mem'ry of times when St. Nick would come there.

The children were sweating atop a clean sheet,
wishing somehow they'd manage to beat the night heat.
My stories of polar caps had some appeal,
But I couldn't explain—it just sounded surreal:

I'd point to the icebox then wave my arms wide,
“It was just like in there—but they had it outside.”
The kids couldn't fathom the words they were told
of an ocean of water, turned ice by the cold.

So my tales of such things must have ended up boring.
All I know, in the end, is it had them soon snoring.
Then I kissed their small foreheads, and looked to the sky,
and thought about how we had got here, and why.

As I watched through the fog and the mist and the haze,
A twinkle of something soon captured my gaze.
I patiently watched as it moved to our shore.
Each moment that passed, I could see a bit more.

An orca, eight dolphins, with someone in tow.
Even at SeaWorld I'd seen no such show.
The figure approached and I poured up some nog,
It was plainly St. Nick coming out of the fog.

But to my horror, slung over his back,
weren't presents but coal brimming out of his sack.
Nor was it the clean kind, or some such confusion.
He was angry, you see, there could be no illusion.

“You're killing the planet,” he said with a frown,
“It's time you got busy and turned that around.”
He fussed and he fretted. He was loaded for bear—
Not that any were left, I thought with a scare.

And just about then, I screamed—and it woke us!
It had all been a dream, but in frightening focus.
I told of my dream to my kids, still sheet white,
“It was awful,” I said, “but may soon be our plight.”

We wrote up a letter to Santa that night,
It was different than normal, and much more contrite.
“Dear Santa,” it started, and went on from there.
We wanted him knowing we really do care.

“We've given no thought to the plight of the elves
as the ice has been melting and falling from shelves.
We've taken your toys for a number of years,
it's time we helped you, lest more ice turn to tears.”

“Don't worry about us, we're feeling a shift,
The Earth, by itself, is enough of a gift.
Whatever it takes, after this Christmas Carol,
it's time we wake up to our planet in peril.”

So we propped up the letter, with cookies and tea,
And I tucked in the kids, feeling finally free.
There was still much to do, in the days up ahead
But for now I was calm again, ready for bed.

As I drifted, I heard a voice, ever so slight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a cool night!”

Um Despertar de Natal

Translation to Portuguese

by Renata Castelo-Branco and Kent Pitman

Era o primeiro Natal sem gelo da história.
Da neve restava apenas uma memória.
As meias aguardavam na lareira penduradas,
evocavam outro tempo, lembranças passadas.

As crianças debatiam-se na cama suada,
tentando combater o calor que as assolava.
Falava-lhes de calotes polares, outrora naturais,
mas elas não compreendiam - soavam surreais.

Eu ia apontando para o congelador,
"Era frio como ali dentro, mas no exterior."
Elas não acreditavam nas palavras que proferia
sobre um oceano gelado pela temperatura fria.

A história acabou por se tornar entediante,
e em breve se ouvia um ressonar constante.
Com um beijo de boa noite terminei o conto
e, afastando-me, pensei "como chegámos a este ponto?"

Enquanto admirava a neblina espessa,
avistei um vulto que descia depressa.
Observei calmamente a forma que se movia.
A cada segundo passado mais detalhe eu distinguia.

Uma orca e oito golfinhos puxavam uma figura possante,
Eu nunca vira um espetáculo semelhante.
A figura aproximou-se e eu senti um formigueiro.
Era São Nicolau que saía do nevoeiro.

Mas para meu horror e consternação,
ele trazia, não presentes, mas sim carvão.
Não era sequer carvão limpo, nem gracejo parecido.
Sem sombra de dúvida, ele vinha enfurecido.

“Estão a matar o planeta,” disse com um esgar.
“É preciso pôr mãos à obra. É tempo de mudar.”
Fiquei ali pasmado e a fazer figura de urso -
outro animal extinto, pensei - enquanto ouvia o discurso.

Foi então que gritei e logo depois acordei.
Fora um sonho tão real que eu mesmo acreditei.
Contei tudo aos meus filhos com incredulidade.
"Foi horrível", disse eu, "mas pode em breve ser realidade".

Nessa noite escrevemos uma carta ao Pai Natal
bastante mais séria que o habitual.
"Querido Pai Natal”, começava a mensagem.
Queríamos ajudá-lo a mudar a paisagem.

“Não prestámos atenção aos duendes que sofriam,
Estivemos distraídos enquanto os pólos derretiam.
Temos recebido brinquedos todos os anos.
A partir de hoje são as crianças a fazer os planos.”

“Não te preocupes connosco. Sentimos a mudança.
A terra é o nosso presente e também a nossa herança.
Custe o que custar, lutaremos contigo.
É tempo de acordar para o nosso planeta em perigo.”

Deixámos a carta, o chá e os bolinhos preparados,
e fomos para a cama, agora mais descansados.
Havia muito a fazer nos dias por vir,
mas por ora estava calmo, pronto para dormir.

Ouvi uma voz baixinho enquanto adormecia:
"Feliz Natal a todos, e a todos uma noite fria!"

Poem read by Renata Castelo-Branco