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author’s note:

We keep trying to brush the night away with our lights…

But the night just laughs—the night knows it’s still the boss.
 

THE LIGHT OF DECEMBER AT MIDNIGHT

Midnight feels darker
in December:

when I open myself
to the strange quiet
around Solstice night
I know the old familiar
in a new way

for instance…
when I stopped
at that display I’ve often mocked
suddenly I saw

the pink plastic baby lying in tinsel straw
as the hidden life in my heart
gestating slowly towards glorious birth

and the styrofoam star glittery with sequins
seemed to be that wise mind within—
the one that looks down and sighs with sadness
at the sight of my rough antics

and then (to my embarrassment)
I recognized that moon-eyed bovine
as my own slow head

but despite its domestic dullness
my cow brain could still find meaning
in those other display figures
made of cheap fiberboard.

Yes, midnight does seem darker
to this ex-Christian at Christmas—
darker, yet pervaded with such light.
 

myth steps blog
© 2017, Michael R. Patton

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author’s note:

This poem, written on Christmas Eve 2007, has become my Christmas tradition…

But traditions change over time.  This year, I’ve added a subtitle.

 

CHRISTMAS BAT
(or: The Birth Pains of Winter)

In this season, when we recognize
the birth of bright new life
in the darkest dark…

I wanted to give you all
an appropriate poem
of sweet Christmas light

but my heart stubbornly refused
to sing of our ideal Yuletide—

instead, this bat poem
demanded to be born:

   Cold cave and dung—
   there I hung
   wet with stalactite drops

   until a vampire bat perceived
   how tedious torturous time
   had finally ripened me—

   its bite woke me up—
   those painful fangs burst me free!—

   so that I might soar
   and sow my seed.

Some poems won’t let you go
until you open their cage
so after I wrote that batty rhyme
I felt quite relieved

until the child within me said,
“Okay—
 now you can warm me
 with a real Christmas story!”

I tried (but in vain)
to placate
that hungry innocent
with this insight:

  doesn’t that flighty verse
  actually speak of Christmas?—

  of new life born
  from the darkest night?

 

© 2016, Michael R. Patton
Searching for My Best Beliefs: a poetry book

author’s note:

This seems a good poem to post as we near the Winter Solstice.
 

BRIGHT SEED

You admit to yourself
you’re dead

but despite how you feel
you can sense
some small nucleus
in some far place…

is not dead—

you can sense the coming
of a miracle birth
because in this season
depth has replaced excitement:

as I step outside
a single weak star appears
high in a black Winter’s sky—

then this sudden hope vanishes
in a moment of implosion…

but the destruction of the husk
reveals a stronger light—

now: see a beaming bright seed…

© 2011, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology

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