‘Twas the night beforeChristmas, when all through the house
Not an Impossimal was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the easel with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
I was nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of Impossimals danced around in my head;
When in the studio there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the studio I flew like a flash,
Tore open the door in such a dash,
When, what to my eyes did appear,
But a roomful of Impossimals drinking gallons of beer,
I knew in a moment it was not St.Nick,
And if they kept drinking heavily they all would be sick.
Sat in a corner an Impossimals eyes swirled around,
While two other Impossimals wrestled naked on the ground.
If you don’t go away you will make me quite mad,
I said trying not to sound too much like a dad,
You created us we can’t go away,
But I made you to be seen only in the day,
You know we have secrets that can be seen only at night,
Try looking at us when you turn off the light,
The Impossimals were right and the paintings do change,
If you turn off the light you will see them rearrange,
Into ciphers and symbols that tell more of a story,
Some even reveal secrets in all their full glory,
Of love and contentment and other such tales,
All painted in with attention to the details,
You see said the Impossimals we cannot go away,
We are in your head and here to stay,
I know I said but let’s make one thing clear,
If I am asleep and you fancy a beer,
Keep it quiet or St Nick will not come.
Just then from the corner came a noise like a drum,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
A fat jolly fellow who like Impossimals his shape was quite round,
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my naked self;
Too many Sherries and Santa was drunk,
He stumbled from corner to corner tripped and then slunk,
Next to a naked Impossimal he had landed,
Took one look at them and said I am stranded,
With a naked Impossimal who smells of booze,
People will think I am such a flooze;
A roomful of chaos my mind couldn’t stand,
So I went back upstairs a little later than I planned,
To the land in my dreams of Impossimal tales,
With paintings to come of clocks, hearts and whales,
My mind never stops and I paint as I sleep,
The Impossimals are real and are trapped in me deep,
And a brush is my way of getting them out,
From the land of Impossimals to canvas they sprout,
To decorate rooms up and down the land,
With bright and bold colours that never seem bland,
To make me smile as I think…
Sometimes its madness that I stand on the brink.