At Christmas

By hilary west

Mon, 21 Dec 2020
  • 1527 reads
10 comments
 

Long icicles drip from the window frame,

It is like a Crunchie bar of packed ice,

Its golden honeycomb stuffed with snowflakes.

The inside window sill drowns.

My rabbit's paw is wet mush: all luck run out.

Towels are sodden: they need frequent wringing out. 

Like the bells of Christmas tidings, not of joy

But precarious living.

The gas fire gutters,

Living flame turning colour, blue to orange.

Maybe it is warmer because of the cold,

My old frame asleep in the armchair,

The cat stretching on the rug,

The radio tells the story of a Child's Christmas in Wales,

And in the wild, dark night

I know my youth will never come again.

Certificate U
Poem
The Holly & The Ivy : XMAS POEMS & STORIES
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

In the melancholy of mid-winter cold and dark, and often being alone indoors more (especially during these lockdown rules), the sense of aging and weakening health can settle like a black dog —

then it is time to cheer oneself up, and see what can be done about increasing warmth, and warm clothing, and in particular trust in the words of promises of Christ, and turn to him to come into our hearts as Companion!

Rhiannon

 

Submitted by celticman on

that old joke, it wasn't lucky for the rabbits. lovely piece of christmas cheer. 

 

Submitted by hilary west on

Thanks for commenting, Rhiannon. Your words were very uplifting, perhaps we should all be thinking of the Xmas message !

Hilary     yes

 

Submitted by hilary west on

Hi celticman,

Thanks for commenting. Yes, the old rabbit's paw, thrown out now !

I enjoyed your piece about the school by the way.

Hilary    Cheers       yes

 

Submitted by marandina on

Just lovely. Enjoyed that.

 

Submitted by hilary west on

Hi marandina,

Thanks for looking in. Your comments are much appreciated !

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

I found the warmth in your poem with the cat streching out on the rug, and the armchair by the living flame turning from blue to orange, the radio telling a story while it's cold and wild outside.

I think I could enjoy this scene, sounds comforting.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by hilary west on

Ah Jenny,

Old age, yet it does bring its own comforts, but I wish I could go to places now that I can't.

Best Wishes to you and your family over the Christmas period.

Hilary   indecision

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

This seems very sad to me, particularly the last line, the only certainty in your poem full of  words about change - precarious, maybe, dripping, melting. Yet there is warmth all the way through - the snow can't get inside, where the cat is so warm it stretches. Outside is wild and dark, but inside is peaceful with the colours of the fire. I hope you stay warm and safe and welll and have a happy new year.

 

Submitted by hilary west on

Hi Di Hard,

Thanks very much for your perceptive comments. It is certainly edged with sadness for lets face it when we get to a certain age youth can definitely not be recaptured. However the warmth, the cat stretching, the radio on, all tell of a subdued content!

Hilary      smileyyes