What Magic Lives in Christmas Lights

What magic lives in Christmas lights?

What wonders wait inside the stars

That touch the hearts of Christmas nights

And ease the year’s most troubled scars?

It’s something sprung from home and friends

And family – each meeting sends

Me onward with the grace to know

Of blessings, all reflected in

That multi-colored Christmas glow.

During my time at home over the holidays this year, I felt like there was some special magic in the Christmas lights I saw every night. I think it had something to do with the recognition that this is the time of year when I am fortunate enough to be able to come home and be enriched by family and friends. I know I'm not the best at saying it, but I want all of those people to know that I'm grateful for the relationships we share.

White Wings in Search of Hope

White feathers cover wings that cross the sky,

Descend, and land upon a wooden perch.

Clear eyes watch through a window. People fly

To decorate their tree, wrap gifts, and search

For memories of Christmases gone by.

Another landing spot outside a church

Reveals the melodies of carols. High,

Imperfect voices, singing softly, lurch

From note to note, and wonder if their sound

Will touch a chord of greater harmony.

Beneath a twinkling streetlight, on the ground,

A man’s unfocused eyes look up to see

A glint of hope within the stars, unbound

By hints of distant hymns, whose symphony

Is floating on a wind the wings had found.

As if in answer to a tacit plea,

The man begins to walk, his sight aligned.

He gathers up the memories that he

Has held inside, and hopes that he might find

What mercy holds for this long-absent one.

Clear eyes watch through a window. People dined

With thoughts bent on the past, but now they run

To meet it, knocking at their door, defined

By much regret. They welcome home their son.

White wings ascend this night of hope, now done.

It's become something of a personal, annual tradition for me to write a poem for Christmas. As with several previous ones, this poem feels more appropriate to share on Christmas Eve, rather than on Christmas Day. It's also an interesting example of how these poems evolve as they are written. In this case, I didn't realize this poem would be something of a modern take on the prodigal son story until I reached the fourth stanza.

To Melt and Freeze Again in Time

The climbing sun begins to melt the ice

That covers up the path I walk today.

The spreading liquid slides itself away

And wonders if this freedom has a price.

In time, it joins a cyclical array

Of vapor, cloud, and rain in warmer parts,

As stars look down on all the grateful hearts

Who thank the light for water as they pray.

In time, a new returning journey starts

To bring it back to its beginning place,

Refreezing in the falling night’s embrace.

I stay and gain the wisdom it imparts:

In time, it will be gone without a trace,

Except for all the lives it touched

As it traversed this space.

As temperatures hover around the freezing point, I've been intrigued by the way that ice melts during the day as the sun shines, then the liquid water moves through the world, and it eventually refreezes in the evening, as the sun goes down. To some degree, I feel like this cycle reflects our own lives. We are born, we interact with the world, and then, after a time, we leave - and those interactions are what we leave behind.

At Last to Rest

When the night will fall forever,

Will you tell me what I’ve done?

When I lay me down at last to rest,

Will I see I’m not the only one

Who wonders what these steps have meant

On life’s uncertain, troubled shores?

The waves just go on crashing, sent

In peaceful times and raging wars,

Depositing unlucky creatures,

On the rocks and sand, perhaps, to die.

We tried to stop the waves,

But the force the fates supply

Was stronger than our mortal hands,

Unfit to face the unrelenting flow.

And so, we turned to those now stranded,

Struggling in the sun’s unshielded glow.

We gently sent them back,

Again to try the vast, uncertain sea.

Our footprints sank into the sand.

Repeated steps dug paths that we

Could use to guide us as we worked.

But all those treads have since been swept away

By time, its tidal pendulum

Has smoothed the marks our lives display.

At times, I stayed the course.

At others, I allowed myself to stray.

And as my spirit lies in wait,

I wonder what persists, what may

Affect the universe when I am gone?

Perhaps it’s more than I should ask,

Too proud a thing that I request.

Perhaps the current task

Is to look beyond the cosmic crest,

And to say I tried my best

And rest.


This seemed like an appropriate poem to post as the year nears its end. Occasionally, I can't help but contemplate what it means to live and die in this universe that feels, at times, so vast, and at others, so intimate. When I do, things like this poem usually come out.

Tunnel through the Night

A gentle hum and sway

Accompanies the dreamers’ way

On tracks that lead us on from dusk to dawn.

The passing scenes outside are drawn

With shades of black and bluish gray

And points of light that blur before they’re gone.

The dreams and stories spun

Inside the gliding cars can run

Beside the sliding pictures in the glass.

Although the realms of thought surpass

Reality beneath the sun,

There’s magic in each darkened blade of grass

That sparkles in my sight

And shapes the lives that tunnel through the night.

When I visited my family over Thanksgiving, I took the train from Illinois to Pennsylvania. It was quite a long journey, and one leg of the trip (Chicago to Pittsburgh) happened overnight - we departed in the evening and arrived early in the morning. This poem is inspired by that part of the journey, as the train quietly glided through the darkness.