Christmas Eve

"Christmas Eve"


In granite shades
Crystal revelations
Thread a needle
Through the eye

And the beast returns
To snowy plains
And crying crows
Around the chimney tops

Porridge with some tea and honey
Wishing he'd never existed
Pottering in the house
Praying the past will go away
A still and pregnant mood is

A table set for one
The bird has flown
A soft and slushy solitaire
Ambles in the dark
Four in the pm
Darkness heavy as a marsh

The night comes on
Cold and lonely
Telephone rings
No one’s there


2018 Charles Murray

Hi Charles 
Your poem about Christmas Eve gives a strange impression 
We could talk about it later.

MurielB a écrit:Hi Charles 
Your poem about Christmas Eve gives a strange impression 
We could talk about it later.

Thank you Muriel, for commenting on my piece.

It is a little bit strange, isn't it? It was written about two years ago describing a vision I had after talking to a friend who I felt was very alone. It reminds me of the line from the Beatles song (Eleanor Rigby), "All the lonely people, where do they all come from?"

For info:



Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
(Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
(Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all belong?

On my album, The Eighth Muse, "Christmas Eve" is followed by this one, called "Hands Of Time".

How does it make you feel?




"Hands Of Time"


This grand father
This sombre case
This pondering chain
And pendulous objection
To my losing hours

I will talk to anyone
Even you, obsessed with minutiae
Precise, precise
You always count twice

Your bronze face
And steady hands

And chimings on the hour
Every hour


2018 Charles Murray

I feel I have 2 opposite feelings 
The clock helps me to meditate and at the time makes me obsessed with exactness. I can let go but also become very meticulous

MurielB a écrit:I feel I have 2 opposite feelings 
The clock helps me to meditate and at the time makes me obsessed with exactness. I can let go but also become very meticulous

Thanks Muriel, for taking the time to comment. This poem was born of witnessing the inexorable march of time as represented by an old grandfather clock I used to live with. It used to tick very loudly, especially, it seemed, in the still of the night.

Joyeuses fêtes !