Nolo Segundo, pen name of retired English/ESL teacher [America, Japan, Taiwan, Cambodia]  L.j Carber, became a published poet in his 8^th decade in over 170 literary journals in 13 countries. A trade publisher has released 3 collections in paperback on Amazon: The Enormity of Existence [2020]; Of Ether and Earth [2021]; and Soul Songs [2022]. These titles reflect an awareness he’s had for over 50 years since having an NDE whilst almost drowning in a Vermont river: That he has—IS—a consciousness that predates birth and survives death, what poets since Plato have called the soul.

A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS CAROL  

Then… it was a time of true magic,
When the world was small and soft.
It had to be magic, my mind of five
Told me: how else could my brothers
And I go to sleep on an ordinary,
Dull and quiet night, to awaken in
Sheer joy the next morn as though
We had been zapped by a warm 
Bolt of harmless lightning, setting
Our now restless bodies tingling….

Like racehorses at the gate of magic,
We stood at the top of the stairs,
Pulling at whatever patience we
Could muster under the admonitions
Of Mom and Dad to wait! wait! the
Camera must be loaded—but how 
Painful to be still when we knew
Children’s paradise was only a 
Stairway away—and what a 
Paradise we saw unfolded in 
Our now unfamiliar living room!

The tree drew our eyes first—
It was big and fat, with its 
Branches sagging under all
Its myriad ornaments: glass 
Balls, plastic candy canes,
Tinsel drooping as though
It hung on a weeping willow
And not a proud Blue Spruce. 

And hundreds and millions of
Colored lights, some blinking,
Some staid, made our tree 
Sparkle like the royal crown
Of a giant king—perhaps 
The King of Toys, for they 
Were seen in abundance 
Wherever we looked: trucks
And bikes, and bats and games.
Each brother had his own pile
(we marveled how thoughtful
Santa must be) and we knew
In each stack there were boxes                                                                                                
Beautifully wrapped but sans 
Treasure, alas, hiding only socks
Or shirts, perhaps a sweater.

Well, even the jolly fat man
Could not be perfect—still,
He would bring magic to our
Home every year, overnight
Transforming our prosaic lives
By wonder, by magic, by love.
And after he went away,
When I was an ancient six,
The world grew much bigger
But colder, dull and empty
Of that special joy that 
Can only come to those 
Children who believe….