Christmas Eve












Christmas Eve.



So looking childishly into the cold night, waiting...
  *
Indigo night sprinkled with sparkling stars,
and the vast echoes of time past.
A horned, cratered smiling moon, beams down,
 lighting up twinkling, frosted diamante´ paths.
Cobwebs made of fairy lights
drift on a far horizon, whilst
frosted, crystal trees blown
by an icy breath, shake, 
 branches chiming like tiny bells.
Excited children shiver,  
innocence escapes
through words of wonder
 sensing the strangeness of this night.

 I seek a hand to hold,
for I see monsters where none exist.
Comforting warm utterances and voice
turn my mind to the texture of velvet.
Worried minds wait to be stroked
into peaceful, calming, waves.
Voices soothe me and talk to me.
I fall into an enchanted dreamy sleep

For tonight is an indigo night, a magic night.

When the morning rides in
 it will bring new things and
capture excitement, fresh intentions, joy.
When the morning rides in,
it will usher into the world a childlike day.
A day that will be sacred memory
forever recalled in wonder by one
who will no longer be afraid of monsters,
on crisp, sparkling, indigo, Christmas Eve nights.


copyright Diana Leighton December 2015








And so the world is silent.
Each breath suspended -
as a frozen snowflake
falling on to soft snow.
Was that the sound of bell?
No - it was icicles,
chiming and shivering in the snowy cold.
I thought I heard a hoof fall
No - it was Mr fox
looking for his Christmas dinner.
Was that Santa’s reindeer -
snuffling, rootling,
searching for food?
No - it was the old badger
out in the garden.
Did I hear Ho Ho Ho?
No - It was just the owl
hooo hoooooting
In the old gnarled oak hole


 Now it’s Christmas morning
Santa’s Been!
Look! Look!!
Oh thank you! thank you Santa!
I promise I’ll be good forever…
Happy Christmas!







The ChristmasAngel



The Christmas Angel waited. She sat in her box all wrapped up in sparkling tinsel and delicate soft pink tissue... but she was feeling very sad and forgotten.

One cold snowy day, her box opened, and the Christmas Angel was gently lifted up to the light. Some very small warm hands held her and they very carefully removed the tinsel and unwrapped the tissue paper.

The Christmas Angel smiled at the little girl who was looking at her. The little girl said, “How lovely and pretty you are”. The Christmas Angel was so happy that she was once again in the light and warmth of the room seeing and hearing the sights and sounds of Christmas.

The little girl was laughing now, then ran across the room holding the Christmas Angel and gently placed her at the top of the tree. The little Christmas Angel looked down and saw that all her old friends were there. She wiggled her sparkly wings and sprinkled stardust over the tree so that it shimmered in the moonlight. The tin soldiers saluted her, the sugar mice waggled their long tails, and the wobbly striped sugar canes straightened up. Then the tiny little robins very proudly fluffed out their feathers and whistled a tune for her. 

Now the Christmas Angel and her friend the little girl were happy. It was Christmas and they were all together once again.
  
 ~*~*~*~*~

A happy Christmas to everyone who reads my pages. xxx



all writing is the copyright Diana Leighton December  2015







Caeruleus





 I wrote this poem a long time ago and have fiddled with it over the years. I have a great emotional attachment to it - Cerulean Blue being my favourite colour. The prison walls are the edges of her garden but to her they seemed like a prison. I think the lady in this poem is a little bit of me...wouldn't we all like to escape into a  a beautiful painting...?




Caeruleus



1660s, from L. caeruleus "blue, dark blue, blue-green," perhaps dissimilated from caelulum, dim. of caelum "heaven, sky," of uncertain origin (see celestial). The Latin word was applied by Roman authors to the sky, the Mediterranean, and occasionally to leaves or fields.



Gathering her equipment together, she knew

And this was the last time she’d paint in blue.

She was just about able

to lift her paint box onto her little table

in a corner of her tiny garden.



Over the years she did succeed

and the flowers were proof indeed

that she turned her tiny prison walls and concrete

into an Italian wilderness of flowers and shrubs

and her arthritic hands had tended the pots and tubs.

She had grown rare plants and flowers that no one had seen.

Now she was going into the garden and placing her easel

where she could see her own countryside; and while

the perfumesof the flowers floated on a scented breeze

her wrinkled face was upturned, warming in the sun’s rays.

She placed a sheet of bright white paper onto her board

Her hat casting lacy patterned shadows onto the paper

While her soul soared with anticipation of her

secret, painting, assignation.



Looking at her old battered painting tubes

she sighed while debating which colour to use

Cerulean she thought, Cerulean, caelum, heaven and sky.

Its considered celestial’ and her sparkling blue eyes told why

she felt overwhelmed by the beauty of her long life.

Cerulean - the colour of the sky; and so she started to paint.

Her hands shook as she took her brush and dabbed it into a tiny

pot of water where reflections of ripples danced and

the brush dipped it into with a glance, and

she held her brush like a lance

and it was full of a glorious blue…



Caeruleus…



Latin for blue, dark blue, blue green.

She swept the brush with an arcing sweep.

and here she saw her first tiny peep of

a torn piece of sky -  a hole like lace.

Dreamily she wondered

‘what if there was a way through

this secret space into the blue

for me to disappear from view

A pure, painter’s celestial place.

Where I may find one last embrace



So she painted more cerulean blue

her favourite flower garden hue.





In later days, people wondered where

the old lady painter had left her chair

Where had she gone as she’d left no trace

of the painter who had lived all alone in this place.



All they had found was a straw hat and lace,

decrepit pink ribbons and her brush in its place.

They found the water and her easel too

and a quite quite empty tube of cerulean blue