Silver Bells
for Arianna Vanderpool-Wallace
i.
everybody eating ham and turkey
what am I eating
not even jerk cat for a pot cake dog
watching Oliver Twist in black and white
by David Lean, Sir Alex Guinness in it
with John Howard Davies
filmed in 1947
cinematography to die for, by Guy Green
I am not after all excluded from the goodness
Christmas brings
ii.
like a bolt out of a cannon
is how she swims
hits the wall opposite
with such swift finesse
even in third
is third in the whole wide world
is but a few tiny fractions of a second
behind who got gold
behind who got silver
she can roar, she can roll
she can rock 'n' roll in water
in a great big pool
iii.
Jesus! turkeys must hate Christmas
don't talk about hams
they must both hate the fact
that Christ was ever born
not at all happy of the state
in which, in such large numbers
so many insist that they show up
at the birthday of our Lord
from year to year, around the globe
iv.
I am so very nearly centred in myself
compared with where I was in relation to me
early this Christmas Sunday morning
it feels like self-love, like self-intercourse
able to go around with myself inside myself
like going about with two hands in two pockets
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:30 p.m. and 7:57 p.m.
on Sunday, December 26, 2010
for Arianna Vanderpool-Wallace
i.
everybody eating ham and turkey
what am I eating
not even jerk cat for a pot cake dog
watching Oliver Twist in black and white
by David Lean, Sir Alex Guinness in it
with John Howard Davies
filmed in 1947
cinematography to die for, by Guy Green
I am not after all excluded from the goodness
Christmas brings
ii.
like a bolt out of a cannon
is how she swims
hits the wall opposite
with such swift finesse
even in third
is third in the whole wide world
is but a few tiny fractions of a second
behind who got gold
behind who got silver
she can roar, she can roll
she can rock 'n' roll in water
in a great big pool
iii.
Jesus! turkeys must hate Christmas
don't talk about hams
they must both hate the fact
that Christ was ever born
not at all happy of the state
in which, in such large numbers
so many insist that they show up
at the birthday of our Lord
from year to year, around the globe
iv.
I am so very nearly centred in myself
compared with where I was in relation to me
early this Christmas Sunday morning
it feels like self-love, like self-intercourse
able to go around with myself inside myself
like going about with two hands in two pockets
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:30 p.m. and 7:57 p.m.
on Sunday, December 26, 2010
posted by Obie Quiet at 9:33 PM
2 Comments:
Body language: Walking with hands in the pockets signfies dejection. But you clearly feel anything but that.
This is the perfect winter congratultory poem. The gift of poetry to make my Christmas warm.
Listen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3PIeACMXsQ
Thanks for a very precious response, dba. Thanks first of all for having read this very recently written poem. I was excited to type it and polish it to show you that I had dared to write a Christmas poem or a poem for Christmas and I giggled to myself because I felt confident that it had succeeded and that inspiration itself had brought it along like a postman with a letter to deliver. I love this song you chose to share. Wherever and however did you happen upon it?
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