We'd like to wish all our readers – all 3500 of you – a Happy Christmas and here are some seasonal offerings by Tish Davis, Maureen Weldon and Chris Major...
Two haiku by Tish Davis
virgin snow
a young boy runs ahead
to warn the rabbit
***
these woods again
a leaf frozen
in the spider web
• Tish Davis lives and works in the US. Her haibun have appeared in Contemporary Haibun Online. Recently one of her haiku was recognized as a Poem of Merit in the R.H. Blyth Awards for 2007.
Like Soap Bubbles by Maureen Weldon
Winter: like soap bubbles
in a washing-up bowl.
This will not last,
this cup, that plate,
the garden reflecting in my eye.
Or my lover – he used to hold my heart –
who has a golden tongue –
a gift for music.
I brushed his body
with my long red hair.
It was Christmas then,
it is Christmas now :
green crates of decorations,
bottles of wine, flickering candles.
I see them on my kitchen window,
mirrored in fairy lights
and parcels of secrets.
From the hall, three little boys
Are singing Silent Night,
to the rhythm of their money-box.
Now my daughter shuts the door
the sound goes round and round.
In the sink the suds have sunk,
In the centre: a star.
To poems – one concrete – by Chris Major
PROTEST POEM
Every Christmas
it's the same:
given without
much thought,
the perfect choice
for a festive season.
Oh, there should be
stickers everywhere,
for they are not
just for Christmas;
because the novelty
soon wears thin,
and abandoned,
pushed aside
they are cruelly left,
good only to blame
odd farts on..........
..........bloody sprouts.
SOMEWHERE (footprints)
soon her
step will fill:
flowers 'n' cards
as guilty neighbours
churn to snowy slush
a blank white page
of garden path.
Too little then,
and too late,
all print that
is this poem's
shape.
• Chris Major is a regular IS&T contributor
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Monday, December 24
A Christmas Collection from IS&T
by
Charles Christian
on Mon 24 Dec 2007 11:20 AM GMT
Wednesday, December 5
Concrete and prose by Caroline Maldonado
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 05 Dec 2007 01:49 PM GMT
Today we've got two pieces by a new contributor – Caroline Maldonado – a concrete poem and a prose poem. And, in case you were wondering, the tango is danced in a figure of eight pattern.
TANGO IS is Tango a sad thought danced. that be can UNDERWORLD A safe room. From here I can see the sky, violet before dawn, and the river, black, sucking up lamplight. Light from a neighbour's window slips through the slatted blinds and stripes the kitchen floor behind me. Somebody coughs, and laughs in their sleep. The fridge sings and the plumbing yawns like a distant train. The river below. * …air and dust tug it from her fingers: it cruises round Sainsbury's car park, dives under a departing car, where it catches on a wheel round and round and round out to the street, is blown under the 266, under lorries, under Fiat and Mercedes; it flattens, rises again, up over the pavement to slap the lamppost, catch a branch of the cherry tree, hang there one-armed, in the sunlight, waving to the world – it falls again, hovers over guttering until a final gust…. * Beneath city streets sewers swell, smell of sulphur, tunnel waste. In a rats' playground men build shelters of chipped wood and tin. Bottles and needles are a game for their dogs: tap and roll. "I've messed up good this time." He looks away. "Sometimes I feel so sad I could cry. Sometimes, I could cry." The train doors open, heave a sigh, expelling breath and passengers – sssh. And then the voice: Please mind the gap. • Caroline Maldonado lives in London and Italy and has published poems in nth position, Obssessedwith Pipework and The Interpreter's House. |
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