The bells of waiting Advent ring, The Tortoise stove is lit again And lamp-oil light across the night Has caught the streaks of winter rain In many a stained-glass window sheen From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.
The holly in the windy hedge And round the Manor House the yew Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge, The altar, font and arch and pew, So that the villagers can say 'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.
Provincial Public Houses blaze, Corporation tramcars clang, On lighted tenements I gaze, Where paper decorations hang, And bunting in the red Town Hall Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'.
And London shops on Christmas Eve Are strung with silver bells and flowers As hurrying clerks the City leave To pigeon-haunted classic towers, And marbled clouds go scudding by The many-steepled London sky.
And girls in slacks remember Dad, And oafish louts remember Mum, And sleepless children's hearts are glad. And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!' Even to shining ones who dwell Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.
And is it true, This most tremendous tale of all, Seen in a stained-glass window's hue, A Baby in an ox's stall ? The Maker of the stars and sea Become a Child on earth for me ?
And is it true ? For if it is, No loving fingers tying strings Around those tissued fripperies, The sweet and silly Christmas things, Bath salts and inexpensive scent And hideous tie so kindly meant,
No love that in a family dwells, No carolling in frosty air, Nor all the steeple-shaking bells Can with this single Truth compare - That God was man in Palestine And lives today in Bread and Wine.
Winter Poem by Laurie Lee
Tonight the wind gnaws with teeth of glass The jackdaw shivers in caged branches of iron The stars have talons There is hunger in the mouth of vole and badger Silver agonies of breath in the nostril of the fox Ice on the rabbit’s paw Tonight has no moon, no food for the pilgrim The fruit tree is bare, the rose bush a thorn And the ground is bitter with stones But the mole sleeps and the hedgehog lies curled in a womb of leaves And the bean and the wheat seed hug their germs in the earth And a stream moves under the ice Tonight there is no moon But a star opens like a trumpet over the dead And tonight in a nest of ruins the blessed babe is laid And the fir tree warms to a bloom of candles And the child lights his lantern and stares at his tinsel toy And our hearts and hearths smoulder with live ashes In the blood of our grief the cold earth is suckled In our agony the womb convulses its seed And in the last cry of anguish The child’s first breath is born
Thanks to Richard Headey for contributing this poem.
Présentation de l'artiste Je suis née dans un petit village du Boischaut Sud et habite maintenant dans la vallée ligérienne. Je peins depuis plus de dix ans et participe à des expositions nationales, internationales et aussi à des concours. Mes aquarelles ont déjà été publiées dans des revues artistiques (HACHETTE, DESSINS ET PEINTURE....).
du 1er Mai au 9 Mai 2010 dans la Chapelle de Grace à CHARENTON (18) MEILLANT (CHER) du 10 au 18 Juillet 2010 à la SALLE POLYVALENTE de MEILLANT EN HOLLANDE (PAYS BAS) - NETHERLANDS - Galerie BIJ KREPEL à KLARENBEECK du 5 au 13 Juin 2010 BOURBON L'ARCHAMBAULT (ALLIER)
du 1er au 30 juin 2010 au CASINO DE BOURBON L'ARCHAMBAULT
PARTICIPATION A L'EXPOSITION -XXIXME SALON DES PEINTRES DE LA BRENNE DU 27 JUIN AU 30 JUILLET 2015 AU MOULIN A MEZIERES EN BRENNE (INDRE) DANS LE PARC REGIONAL DE LA BRENNE
ART EXHIBITION IN BRENNE NEAR THE NATURAL REGIONAL PARK AND COUNTRY OF THOUSAND LAKES- FROM JUNE 27TH TO JULY 30TH 2015
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