A new nativity monologue -An Angel

Anthony Wilson, , , ,

 

An Angel

 

His people spoke to our people,
contracts were exchanged,
and the gig was on.

Hush hush,
no VIPs, most definitely not
the usual Messiah in a tux
then Oxford Street for some stocking fillers.

Wasn’t even the capital.
A few crusties round a fire in the sticks.
Glastonbury Unplugged wasn’t even in it.

You rehearse for months –
and what?
He cut the whole thing to two lines!
Orders, he said. From upstairs.

The light show we kept in.
Wasted on them, if you want the truth.
God, we were good. We’re nothing
if not pros.

 

 

You can download more Christmas Poems here

 

See you all in 2018.

With warmest wishes

Anthony

Published by Anthony Wilson

I am a lecturer, poet and writing tutor. I work in teacher and medical education at the University of Exeter. My anthology Lifesaving Poems was published by Bloodaxe Books in 2015. In 2012 I published Riddance (Worple Press), a collection of poems, and Love for Now (Impress Books), a memoir, about my experience of cancer. The Wind and the Rain, my sixth collection of poems, is available now from Blue Diode Publishing. My current research project, funded by the Foyle Foundation, is Young Poets' Stories: https://youngpoetsstories.com/. This blog is archived by the British Library.

20 Comments

  4. Thank you Anthony. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from Canada to you and your family!

    Salvator Mundi

    I make no apologies for it. The balsam tree we cut in the bush
    And dragged home through the streets of town, for the melting
    Chunks of ice falling on the hardwood floor, for the old star you
    Placed on top, the one we called a Sputnik because that’s what Grandpa
    Said it was back in the Sixties. No apologies for the cracks in it or
    The chipped paint on the frosted bulbs, the port wine stains on the skirt
    At the base, for the crepe paper garland cut out with such intensity by toddling
    Hands and the clothespin snowflakes we glued together on our very first
    One, when all we could afford was Christmas, and there was
    Nothing else, except that twinkling, carol-singing moment.

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