Sunday Sounds

Between Christmases

I aim a smile,

Baring teeth in greeting.

The return is fired

And ricochets around

The company assembled.

This is Christmas after all,

This is what we’ve been waiting for.

Across the walls yet more greetings,

Abrasively scratched cards

From relatives collected,

And seldom or never talked about friends,

And others hhardly ever known or met,

And here for a moment a sense of regret

Loiters with intent to do better.

Newcomers positioned on cushion laden seating

Are plied with traditional warming drink

And here we are ready

For the next thankful interruption from the door.

The procedure is fixed in tradition,

The routine ritual is old and needing updating,

The meaning lost.

Here I have gathered about me

Those who I knew much better

All of a month ago.

For then, between Christmases there dwell

Those I love.

Between Christmases at least

They have the Christmas spirit.

Shiny Sunday

Catching Hold

Yes – love, love

For though we know it pains

Not to denies us the very best of all life’s richest gains.

Yes – hope, hope

For not to sullies days

Which otherwise would profit us in much more fruitful ways.

Yes – give, give

For not to kills us all

Taking can not cure us, nor prevent a fall.

Yes – trust, trust

For not to stifles hope

Making it impossible to give, to love, to cope.

Mel Dixon

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