That Santa in the seedy suit,
shaking the Salvation Army cup,
leers at me through yellow teeth,
pulls out a flask. Tipples.
Songbooks mold in cold cellars,
while woulda-been carolers
hunt wide screen TVs and
Victoria's Secret push-up bras in hopes
that this eve they'll get lucky again.
ohhhhh night divine!
I force myself to forget days of...
yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
cookie dough still coating my mother's hands,
the scent of old Christmas trees, bent
with homemade soldiers and angels, waiting
for us in the front parlour.
Come, my sweet. Lead me from
graveyards littered with
fake floral remembrances to the
ones we have loved, who no longer
can rise to sing with us on this day.
Art: Herbert MacNair. The Sleeping Princess
From the ArtMagik site
2 comments:
interesting poem! no, I never said anything about my past --- I was a lawyer and very busy, and when I turned 30, I had a intracuribralhemorigic stroke (sp?) I had to have brain sergury and a part was taken -- it took a few years until I was able to be a "normal" person (and no, you coudln't tell by looking at me that my head has been taken apart)-- I gave up law and became a music teacher (the best job I ever had!) since my undergrad work was in music -- the only real problam that I still have is writing! I can't function without spell check! that's why my writing looks so horrable on this comment (no spell check)
oh well, enough about me! I hope you're moving on ok
Andrew
Hi Andrew
Thanks for filling me in more. You've done really well in overcoming those obstacles and, especially, moving on the work you love. Thanks, too, for commenting on the poem.
Pris
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