I'm Walking Backwards For Christmas

I'm walking backwards for Christmas,
Across the Irish Sea,
I'm walking backwards for Christmas,
It's the only thing for me.

I've tried walking sideways,
And walking to the front,
But people just look at me,
And say it's a publicity stunt.

I'm walking backwards for Christmas,
To prove that I love you.

:: Spike Milligan

At Least

I want to get up early one morning
before sunrise. Before the birds, even.
I want to throw cold water on my face
and be at my work table
when the sky lightens and smoke
begins to rise from the chimneys
of other houses.
I want to see the waves break
on this rocky beach, not just hear them
break as I did all night in my sleep.
I want to see again the ships
that pass through the strait from every
seafaring country in the world –
old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,
and the swift new cargo vessels
painted every color under the sun
that cut water as they pass.
I want to keep an eye out for them.
And for the little boat that plies
the water between the ships
and the pilot station near the lighthouse.
I want to see them take a man off the ship
and put another up on board.
I want to spend the day watching this happen
and reach my own conclusions.
I hate to seem greedy—I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one morning, at least.
And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what's going to happen.

:: Raymond Carver

Happiness

So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper

They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.

I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.

They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.

Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

:: Raymond Carver

Women Aross the River
From his album 'Deeper Well'

Oh the women 'cross the river carry water from the well at break of day
And they talk to one another; God only knows what they might say
You might get an education after years of dedication
You might finally get a glimpse of what is right and what is wrong
But the women 'cross the river; well they knew that all along

Oh the women 'cross the river work with tools that are ancient and hand-made
And they plow their fields in perfect rows and then they rest beneath the shade
Now we have learned to build, out of concrete, out of steel
And our buildings stand a thousand years but then even they are bound to fall
But the women 'cross the river never learned to build a wall.

Oh the women 'cross the river are as gentle as the dew upon the ground
How I love to hear them laughing in the rain when it makes that perfect sound
Now a soldier with a gun and a battle to be won
Might kill you with a bullet and you never even know the reason why
But the women 'cross the river; they can kill you with their eyes.

Oh the women 'cross the river; they can kill you with their eyes.

:: Song by David Olney

click for mp3 clip from song