Christmas Drama

I’m linking this rather strange poem below (no idea where it came from or where it’s going, it’s just a first stab) to dVerse Poets Pub, where we are allowing ourselves to be inspired by Canadian poet David McFadden and write about our daily lives with a sense of wonder.

The light flickers and sickens
knives are now sharpened, forced back in the block
a sauce bubbles over in the pan
and bleeds to the floor
a ping of alarm
in the heat of the moment
and years of watermarks to adorn
wipe off the granite in spiraling sweep.
No turning back. The filth from the mouth
sputters out and deep.

Where the tinsel meets chestnut and cinnamon scents
they sit cocooned in ghostly warmth of Christmas past.
The fireplace crackling and stockings a-bulge
frenzied little voices
preparing carrots and mince pies to leave on the platter.
In the waver of unwatched candlelight
the train chugs round
with Christmas cheer
and then, just as the music turns high-pitched,
she alights
shaking the snow off her wings in a strop
oranges tumble from her sack patched with velveteen
walnuts clutter as she lays out each present
checks her list and counts again.
Of course Santa will get the credit.

In this our fairytale no one lives happily
ever after
but the gifts remain.

trainset

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20 thoughts on “Christmas Drama”

  1. This is fantastic… for me it really tells the complexity of Christmas, the traditions both cocoon and prison. Not bittersweet but both bitter and sweet (which to me is not the same thing). I get the image of Christmas in Fanny and Alexander. So many details I like… unwatched candelight… and the ever after where only gifts remain…

    I also see the toys in “The steadfast tin soldier”… Maybe there is just me, but to me there is something very Nordic in your way to describe Christmas… Thank you for this.

  2. Such a powerful poem… I loved the choice of words you used to depict the emotions we feel around holiday seasons.. a mixture of melancholy and joy 🙂

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

  3. I am not in the Christmas spirit yet but the details of your poem with the scents, food & music put me into that setting ~ Of course Santa gets all the credit, but I wonder if indeed there are other magical beings that are at work, smiles ~ I like the ending, the gifts remain ~ Thanks Marina for the Christmas drama ~

  4. Sometimes in the imperfect present it seems we look back on the idyllic past where indeed Santa seems to get all of the credit! I can hear that fireplace crackling & the gifts that stay forever under a perfect Christmas tree! I liked this poem, Marina Sofia. It is filled with so many contrasts…as Christmas always is!

  5. What a powerful way to express the difference between Christmas dreams (or perhaps memories?) and the reality of Christmas for too many people. This really has an impact, Marina Sofia!

  6. In this our fairytale no one lives happily
    ever after
    but the gifts remain…. so true – we idealize Christmas and have such high expectations we can’t help but be disappointed. But, we’re ready to do it again next year

  7. SMiLes..
    greaTest
    story ever
    told is no
    story at
    all..
    it is
    sImply
    Love and as
    Long as REAL
    Humans live..
    a true
    fairy
    tale that
    never ends
    in Love of
    eyeS of True
    that live on as
    Now connecting
    Human Love.. SO
    SURE.. gift of eYes..
    when Love lives as
    spARKLe LiGHt..
    story of
    a
    Grinch
    who sees
    further than
    material gifts..
    Oh.. Christmas
    TreeS
    of
    Life..:)

  8. A dark tale, infused with candlelight, incense, cooking smells, tradition and a toy train chugging in a circle around the tree. Perhaps the holiday sprite, the yuletide faery can be cast as the many-faceted spirit of Christmas, where we combine Nordic, Germanic & biblical lore into a pastiche of re-rendered sentiments & Madison Avenue hooey.

  9. Oh, I just posted the same kind of poem that sprang from God-know-where. It amazes me how we so often try to recreate a special feeling associated with a holiday or something and it just isn’t going to happen. A reason, I suppose for just enjoying each day as it unfolds. I love the things that happen unexpectedly when writing a poem like this.

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