"Rest on the Flight Into Egypt" by Luc-Olivier Merson (1846-1920)

Just when you thought the excitement was over

I know you just fell asleep
after his midnight feed
and that you’ve had an exhausting day.

I know we’ve dreamed of living
– just the three of us –
in rooms behind the cedar-fragrant shop

and that I promised to build you
a kitchen table and new beds
when we got back to Nazareth.

I know that you can’t wait
to show him
to your mom and dad

or put him in the clothes
you stitched for him
that he is even now outgrowing.

I know that you were looking forward
to things getting back to normal.
But heaven keeps interrupting

for I’ve had that dream again.
There’s no time to delay –
we’re on our way to Egypt!

© 2011 by Violet Nesdoly

Withdrawal

White journals
empty calendars
all quiet
bland, proper
house January sober.
I need chocolate!

© January 2012, by Violet Nesdoly

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This poem started out trying to be about something new, as inspired by Adele Kenny’s Happy New Year prompt. But it insisted on whining and begging, so I let it.

Winter Metamorphosis

All day dull rain sobs grey
soaking the green-brown turf
autumn leaves orange and red
now rot to rust and earth
grizzled coiffures of trees
scribble gunmetal sky
chill darkness falls at four
and still the gutters cry.

Before we open shades
we sense unearthly bright
the frost has bled earth dry
embalmed her desiccate
the ground is mummy-wrapped
linen for autumn’s wake
clouds spin the chrysalis
delicate, flake by flake.

© 2011 by Violet Nesdoly

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This poem is posted in response to Adele Kenny’s  Poetry Prompt #83–Winter.

Black December nights
sparkle jewel box ruby
sapphire, diamond, jade

Best Christmases were long ago and far away.
Weihnacht? But all is wet and green; there is no snow.
“Good morning, Mrs. Rempel, how are you today?”

At breakfast munch the toast while carols play…
sang that one in a pageant once and stole the show;
best Christmases were long ago and far away.

No gifts for them! Ach, they want money anyway…
remember sock of nuts with orange in the toe?
“Good morning, Mrs. Rempel, are you well today?

“We’ll roll you to the sunroom where you’ll want to stay
and hear the school kids sing, then Santa—Ho, Ho, Ho!”
Best Christmases were long ago and far away.

“My dear, there’s someone special here who wants to pay
Christmas Eve visit, but she’s rushed—we can’t be slow.”
“Good evening mother darling. You look fine today.”

Another dreary morning, sky is weeping, gray.
Where’s Hank, the kids and Groszpa, where did they all go?
Best Christmases were long ago and far away…
“It’s Christmas, Mrs. Rempel! How are you today?”

Copyright © 2002 by Violet Nesdoly

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I’m re-publishing this poem today in honor of Villanelle Month at TS Poetry Press and the Tweetspeak blog.

Have you written a villanelle? Post it on your blog, then add the poem’s permalink to the collection on the TS Poetry Press Facebook Page to get a mention on the High Calling Photo-Play and Poem December roundup.

(This poem won first prize for Rhyming Poem in a 2002 Christmas poetry contest sponsored by Utmost Christian Writers.)

Guided

When confluence in the heavens
shone brighter than any illuminated text
they high-fived, then headed
to the mall for myrrh and frankincense
stopped by the bank for gold.

Whenever, on that dusty trek
needles of sand attacked
camels were crabby
thighs chafed, tailbones ached
eyes rose again to blue-white beam
that drew them like a magnet.

In Jerusalem when no one knew
about an infant king
heaven’s eye winked seeming to say
“Carry on boys.
There is a reason you’ve come all this way.”

The single-file Bethlehem street
led to a crescent of modest bungalows
but even here
their confidence never wavered
for their star hovered
over one.

And so they double-parked
jumped off those dusty camels
rummaged through sandy saddle bags for gifts
knocked on that humble door
with trembling anticipation.
Despite the unkingliness
of the whole business
faith never faltered
for God’s spotlight
had guided every step.

© 2011 by Violet Nesdoly

Christmas Crossroads

Mary could have said ‘No’ to the angel
and refused the Spirit’s advances
Joseph could have broken the engagement
and exposed Mary to the wrath of the law

The shepherds could have dismissed
the angels as illusion
their invitation to Bethlehem
foolhardy and impractical

The wise men could have rationalized
the star into a normal occurrence
or returned to the king
instead of taking the angel’s detour

Joseph could have delayed
until the soldier-filled morning
instead of leaving
in the middle of the night

Whatever decision I make today
I consider carefully
every crossroad choice
becomes the route of history

© 2011 by Violet Nesdoly

Let Christmas Come

Let strings of rainbows ringing patios,
and radiant pearls outlining roofs
blink into the twilight.

Let the sales flyers fatten the morning papers
while evening forays to the mall
flatten wallets. Let Christmas come.

Let “Joy to the World” circulate
around preoccupied customers
loading carts with gadgets, turkeys and chocolates.

Let Michael, Diana
Perry and Sara promise us
they’ll be home. Let Christmas come.

To the crèche and the airport
the foodbank and the home
the bright-eyed child and the lonely tramp
let Christmas come.

Let it come to us all, for He
comes to who will in nativity
of heart, so let Christmas come.

© 2011 by Violet Nesdoly

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This poem was inspired by the April 15, 2009 prompt on the Poetic Asides blog:

“Take the title of a poem you especially like (by another poet) and change it. Then, with this new altered title, I want you to write a poem. An example would be to take William Carlos Williams’ “The Red Wheelbarrow” and change it to “The Red Volkswagon.” Or take Frank O’Hara’s “Why I Am Not a Painter” and change it to “Why I Am Not a Penguin.” You get the idea, right? (Note: Your altered poem does NOT have to follow the same style as the original poet, though you can try if you wish.)”

My poem is based on “Let Evening Come” by Jane Kenyon

"...clever handwaves / from the keyboards of the networked"

Today I’m antisocial

Their fingers are rattling on computers in warm kitchens
and on the sweaty number pads of smart-phones
I am aware of the brave souls of housewives
sprouting chirpily on Facebook updates
The chatty words of comments pass me by
along with clever handwaves
from the keyboards of the networked
and the YouTubes of the earnest
with political concerns
I don’t LIKE the humorous quote
that hovers in the status
or the photo-add that creeps
down the sidebar of the timeline.

© November 2011 by Violet Nesdoly

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Sometimes life goes by so urgently, you don’t have time to check Facebook or read the newest blogs. A few days of that and you sure feel out of it—antisocial even!

This poem grew out of Adele Kenny’s “Fill in the Blanks” prompt and the T. S. Eliot poem “Morning at the Window.”

Our flooded walking path after one of last year's November storms

November morning

This cold sulky morning
Earth is her true Monday self
the last urge to impress
with sun and warmth
quelled in October.
Now days are at the mercy
of how bitter, irritable
nasty and vile she will get.
No need to tone down tantrums
because tender May or June are about.
In the company of old
October and December
she lets it all hang out.

© November 2011 by Violet Nesdoly