December 12th, 2008

ozarque figure

Holiday poetry being made, in public...

I am getting nowhere with this poem! What you see below is my nineteenth draft, and it's only getting harder and harder to write. I know what I want to say: Here we are in this appalling gloom, all over the world, and then suddenly we hear the angels singing. That should be easy, right? It's there somewhere in the block of language I'm holding, and all I have to do is whittle away the parts that don't belong to it, right?

Feh. I'm hopelessly stuck. If you're willing, let's work on this together, right out here in the middle of the public square, and get it written.

Fear Not!

Dark shrouds the world.
Storm clouds spell DELUGE.
The bitter seas are curled

Celebration, rightly, is far from our thinking.
We are all holding our breath,
awaiting the next misfortune.
The next falling. The next burning.
The next sinking.

And that is when we hear,
far out over the curve of the earth,
under a brilliant star,
the angels singing.