Been reading Paul Muldoon lately, and I found a Christmas poem! It's actually more of a Christmas eve poem that sort of overlaps into Christmas day which is perfect because we are now 1 hour and 25 minutes into Christmas day. Anyway, he's incredible and I think he still edits the poetry section in The New Yorker and he's won a whole heap of prizes. Here's a poem by him, and its from Quoof. Merry Christmas guys!
Trance
My mother opens the scullery door
On Christmas Eve, 1954,
to empty the dregs
of the teapot on the snowy flags.
A wind out of Siberia
carries such voices as will carry
through to the kitchen -
Someone mutters a flame from the lichen
and eats the red-and-white Fly Agaric
while the others hunker in the dark,
taking it in turn
to drink his mind-expanding urine.
One by one their reindeer
nuzzle in.
My mother slams the door
on her star-cluster of dregs
and packs me off to bed.
At 2 a.m. I will clamber downstairs
to glimpse the red-and-white
up the chimney, my new rocking-horse
as yet unsteady on its legs.