The Twelve Tactlessly Whimsical Anagrams of Christmas

The letters in “Twelve Days of Christmas” rearrange to spell “favored, tactless whimsy”. Let’s get us some!

This Yuletide observation did, after all, set me wondering: Could I make a similar anagram from each one of the twelve gifts itemized in the classic Christmas carol? Then maybe even weave those into a seasonal poem capturing our nation’s mood?

Had to try! The table below shows my first pass. On the left, the traditional gifts, in descending numerical order. On the right, what I get by using the letters of each gift to spell — something else:

Here’s the resulting poem (which I explain below):

Wended murmur, TV glimmers,
rippling envies peep.
Rapid stolen angel
Incensing and ideal.

I am this gleaming kid
(newsman massing views):
I — sexy, genial sage!

Fiends, groveling.
Rancid bullfrog? Si!
Fresh cheer — ‘n’ then
lewd votes tutor
a rare, intrepid great ape.

What does it mean? Well, wended murmurs and rippling envies refer to the divisive rhetoric currently roiling our politics — thus pervading our “TV glimmers”.

A “stolen angel” symbolizes unrest arising from the widespread belief that Christmas is under attack — that it’s being mocked and marginalized by “politically correct” culture.

(That isn’t anything I believe, by the way. From where I sit, Christmas looks more popular and robust than ever. But many people do fret, and the stolen angel is a recurring theme of those envious murmurs.)

Speaking of TV glimmers:

The “I” of verse two isn’t autobiographical. He’s a broadcast journalist (“newsman”) who fancies himself a “gleaming kid” and a “sexy, genial sage”. He’s building his audience (“massing views”) by constantly amplifying the above-mentioned tensions to stoke ratings.

No, I don’t think journalists are “enemies of the people”. (I am, after all, a newsperson myself — specifically a print journalist. I don’t even have a podcast.) But haven’t we all watched that narcissistic on-air behavior?

Feel free to interpret, in any way you like, the “rancid bullfrog” with his swampy “fiends, groveling”. Ditto the image of “lewd votes” tutoring “a rare, intrepid great ape”. Does this refer to Christmas Past (the 2018 mid-terms)? Christmas Future (2020)? Or something else altogether?

Please don’t ask me! How would I know? This whole riff is, after all, a mere anagrammatic exercise in tactless whimsy.

What I know for sure is that wherever you fall along the various spectra mentioned in this poem, Cheri and I wish you the Merriest Christmas and Happiest Holidays ever! (And fresh cheer in 2019.)