xmas 2004

[monkeyjunky]

this is the first part of a poem about this past christmas day. These two stanzas are only the opening, describing the scene.

Christmas 2004

As perfectly as possible,
The snow dusts the ridge
Of the outside step, and
Retreats into liquid as
It approaches the house.
The occasional flake lands
On the window and looks
Out on the airbrushed scene,
And in on our soft focus dinner.

A final footprint in a
Line, crunched in crystals, leads
Through the closing door
And lovingly deposits droplet copies
Of itself; each one faded
From the one before.
The rubber soled stamp dries
Out and creaks and squeaks across
The oak-boards; tired;
And empties the coal bucket
Into the hungry fire.

 

[blahblahblah]

Nice, left a good image of snow shining like diamonds and the residual stomp into the house to be warmed by the fireplace. At least thats the image I got

 

[monkeyjunky]

thanks, thats what i was going for. Hopefully its a reasonably original image.
The idea for the development of the poem is that though the setting was perfect (and it was - it snowed in Northern Ireland on christmas day only, and was gone before night fall on boxing day), the mood inside is not quite so bright - i got a rejection letter from the one university i wanted to go to, and there's a certain element of tension with my dad. It is, however, written in the third person; i don't like getting too personal.

 

[monkeyjunky]

Ok so here's a sketch of the finished poem i.e. it will need to be revised a bit to make things fit.


Christmas 2004

As perfectly as possible,
The snow dusts the ridge
Of the outside step, and
Retreats into liquid as
It approaches the house.
The occasional flake lands
On the window and looks
Out on the airbrushed scene,
And in on their soft focus dinner.

A final footprint in a
Line; crunched in, leads
Through the closing door
And lovingly deposits droplet copies
Of itself; each one faded
From the one before.
The rubber soled stamp dries
Out and creaks and squeaks across
The oak-boards; tired;
And empties the coal bucket
Into the young, hungry fire.

The presents they wanted wait
Eagerly for them under the tree,
Unopened until the obligatory
Annual mass is attended. Busier
Than ever, they clamber through
To a vacant pew and mumble
Uniformly “Lord graciously hear us”
Explained by the red print service sheet.
A retarded man, deformed by brain surgery
Reads the lesson, and everyone privately
Sniggers at his reading until he is seen in the
Light; when they fearfully ask forgiveness.

The church breaks, and floods the car park
With the congregation; feeling content.
Their cars negotiate, and then erupt
Freely, in unique directions, as the
Snow covers their tire-tracks.

The fire has since cowered, and
Needs to be fed again.
Their presents offer consolation
For recent disappointments.
The crackers are pulled and
The sparks of the inner explosives
Are noisily exposed.
The father pulls one with his son;
The modest, impotent firework fails to snap
Disintegrating, spilling
The crown and joke
On to the table.
There was no gift in that
Gold lacquered cracker.

 

[monkeyjunky]

ok so i strayed a bit from what i originally intended. I'm happy with the sound and rhythm of it, though i think it needs to lose some weight in places