Hope
We brought our hopes with us
like bright embers, nursed
across a great white snow field
under a darkening sky.
We brought our fears, too,
the ones that scrabble sideways
in the dark, that wake us,
sudden in the shivering night.
But mostly hopes.
School Christmas Fair
My daughter is dressed as an elf.
She can’t quite believe it herself –
My daughter is usually quite cool,
But tonight she is acting the fool.
My daughter is dressed as an elf.
She can’t quite believe it herself.
She’s hanging round outside the shed,
Where Santa is dressed all in red,
And she’s joking with all these small kids,
And finding they do as she bids –
My daughter is usually quite cool,
But tonight she is acting the fool.
My daughter is dressed as an elf.
She can’t quite believe it herself:
She’s wearing a pair of green tights,
And a hat that’s a little too bright.
She normally dresses in black,
But tonight she is cutting some slack,
And she’s usually really quite cool,
But tonight she is acting the fool,
And somehow that’s cooler than cool.
Midnight murmurings on Christmas Eve
I do like the story
that all the world’s creatures
wake up at midnight
and find they are speakers.
I wonder a little
at what they might say –
“Snuggle up and get warm”
“Are you loving this hay?” –
but maybe that night
at the start of it all
there were donkeys and
oxen and cows in the stall,
witnessing then
that a baby was born
a clear light, a star,
a fine midnight dawn,
and the whispers might come
as they watched a girl rest
with a smile on her face
and a babe at her breast,
and a man who had laid her
his cloak on the straw,
and watched her and the babe
from his seat on the floor.
What would they have murmured?
What would they have said
to the lord of the world
lying there, in their shed?
Would they whisper of peace,
or of sleep, or of love, or
just breathe their warm breath
on the child and his mother?
Did they know for an instant
that evil had fled
in the face of this child
lying quiet in their shed?
There is a legend that animals can talk at midnight on Christmas Eve. Wouldn’t that be interesting?
I am stirring up magic,
A warming magic
Of nutmeg, and ginger,
And the crisp smell of oranges,
And my incantations
Are songs of sunlight
And firelight, lanterns,
And candles, all the dancing lights.
I am weaving spells
Against the dark – twining
Together the rich scents of
Cinnamon and apples and cloves.
I am calling up
All the spirits of the house,
Setting them to keep out
The dark and the cold,
To stir the hearth embers
The flames leaping up, making,
This home itself a lantern
Spilling welcoming warmth.
Census night again
wonder how many donkeys
are wending their way toward Bethlehem
with heavy loads to be counted
if we had to return
to the place of our ancestors
we would trek
halfway around the earth
a massive movement
that would rock the globe
but perhaps not as much
as that donkey trek
to Bethlehem
This poem, reminding us that we are all a long way from home, is by Maureen Sudlow, who blogs at www.kiwis-soar.com. It was first published in her book, Antipodes, and I’m delighted to share it with you. It’s one of those small poems that gets bigger the more you think about it. If you fancy a quick trip to New Zealand, without the airfare and the jet lag, just pop over to her site and feast your eyes on her lovely photographs. She paints, too. What can I say?
Dublin, December 2010
We pulled into Dublin
As if it was a foreign city,
A dream city,
A nutcracker city, woven together
From sugar and ice,
and the snow was soft
and heavy as a broody hen
on all the roofs in Dun Laoghaire.
We had brought Christmas with us,
stuffed into bags,
crammed into gaps and cracks,
spilling out of our pockets,
all red and gold and green,
but Christmas had arrived
before us.
A wreath on every door.
We don’t often get a white Christmas. This is the last one I can remember, and we travelled to Ireland for it. It was glorious!
Crash, bang, show us what you’ve got –
Make us laugh and make us sigh –
Stip, step, flash a bit of leg –
Hit us in the face with a custard pie!
It’s behind you!
All your tales are rags to riches,
Handsome prince just happens by,
Boys are girls in velvet britches,
Pretty maidens catch the eye!
Crash, bang, show us what you’ve got –
Make us laugh and make us sigh –
Stip, step, flash a bit of leg –
Hit us in the face with a custard pie!
Oh, no you didn’t!
If you sprinkle it with sequins
We will think it’s fairy dust –
Rhinestone crowns and nylon dresses,
All of it so glamorous!
Crash, bang, show us what you’ve got –
Make us laugh and make us sigh –
Stip, step, flash a bit of leg –
Hit us in the face with a custard pie!
Oh yes, you did!
Evil barons spreading rumours,
Children sing and dance along,
Burly dame in naughty bloomers,
Happy ending with a song!
Crash, bang, show us what you’ve got –
Make us laugh and make us sigh –
Stip, step, flash a bit of leg –
Hit us in the face with a custard pie!
Ah, the pantomime! Probably the first experience of theatre for most British kids, at any rate. It’s brash, it’s bold, it’s cheesy. Traditional stories stretched an pummeled to include a cross-dressing dame, a slapstick routine, and an all singing, all dancing finale. When I was a child the Principal Boy was a girl in tights – a throwback to the Victorian age, and an excuse to ogle a pretty girl’s legs. Nowadays it’s more likely to be a young soap star or a very minor pop singer.
It’s behind you!
On these winter nights
in the dark of the year,
when the sky sags
under the weight of stars
I remember they are all
miracles
and we are all
miracles
and perhaps there is a star
for each of us.
Welcome to my poetry Advent Calender – a poem a day in the lead up to Christmas. There’s a glorious mixture of poems coming your way. I hope you enjoy them.
I had a longish car journey today, and there was nothing on the radio that wasn’t making me incandescent with rage, so I drove in silence and thought my own thoughts. And one of them was this:
I’ve always wanted to make a poetry advent calender. I’d always imagined a physical one, and then I’d get caught up in wondering how I would make it work practically. Today, I realised I could do it on my blog! All logistics sorted instantly.
So, I’m after 25 poems altogether, that would work in December in the run up to Christmas. I’m aware that the whole Christmas thing implies a Christian kind of theme, but, hey, I’m a secular person myself, and I’d welcome anything that works with the spirit of celebrating in the middle of the darkest time of the year. Pagan, Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, atheist, humanist…I’ll take whatever you’ve got.
If you would like me to post up one of your poems, please put something in the comments, and let me know how best to contact you.
After all, it’s October already…
Sarah writes poems 