I have now seen so many new years, I almost feel as if I glitter with the sprinkled dust of long experience. Still, as the old saying goes, ‘There may be snow on the chimney but there’s a fire in the hearth.’ Wishing a fire in the hearth for everyone and very little snow.
TIME AND AGAIN
All the quiet hours Have slipped away, The laughing and the weeping Whirled into nothingness, But love remains, Burning with the desire To create a new reality.
I wrote this about a shed in a long ago garden, which prompted a short story and also this poem.
A COLD CHRISTMAS
A thin, fine, dusting of frost glitters On the dark roof of the shed Standing at the end of the cold garden, Ragged green and silvered weeds Pressing around the empty doorway, As if peering in at something That might be happening Inside that freezing emptiness, Waiting for a blaze of warmth and light To fill the empty bitterness. Well, that miracle happened once On a dark and freezing night.
Now, thorn red berries tipped with frosty crowns Gather as quietly as a whispered warning, Resting their icy faces Against the cracked and frozen windows Of a place cold enough to perish in.
There was no glamour then and there’s none now. No twinkling tinsel, no soft lights glowing. Just a woman’s baby lying in a manger, The ox bringing a bit of warmth to the deadly coldness, The donkey adding a little more, Its long ears twitching at the patient man, At the watchful woman waiting, At the shepherds worshipping This holy baby bathed in lamp light, Moon light and love’s pure light.
Until that other freezing night When three Kings came riding To this icy, bitter shed. Bringing their fabulous gifts, Their aristocratic knees bending To the little holy King, Who already had a thorn red frosted crown Waiting for His head.
Christmas Poem No.1.Christmas Poem No. 2. tomorrow. Some years ago, I wrote a Christmas Play. One of the parts was taken by my good friend, Irene, who had a wonderful singing voice, so that when she sang, there was breathless silence. This is the poem I wrote about Irene and her Christmas carol.
It’s been a strange year, People coming and going as if there’s no tomorrow, Dropping in from nowhere, Burrowing and burning their way out to somewhere. Flame or dust, Passing each other on that long straight highway That tells them nothing. All moving carefully, Just wanting to be safe, Knowing that even at this late stage, Safety is not a foregone conclusion.
We’ve all heard about the ones Who almost went, then changed their mind. Coming back for a last try at it. We’ve all heard of those who went before their time, Not bothering to turn around but moving on. There’s the sadness of it. There’s the pity of it. For all of us, there’s the pity.
We defy the calendar that stares at us Hiding pain and sorrow in its numbers, Hiding loss so severe, borne only with fortitude. So much is hidden from us. So much sadness, so much joy, so much laughter,so much love, So much tender longing that lives in a touch. There is always hope in that Greek information, Love opening to us a place of welcome Where we warm ourselves on one another.