POETRY

WINTER JASMINE

The start of Winter’s tyranny
came early one November day :
dawn breaking to a freezing fog
that wreathed and changed familiar views —
the distant houses, lights and trees
were drowning in a milky light.

Later, sun’s restricted glow sparked
icy glitter from frosted plants;
rime ice, capping the fence’s rail,
became more obvious to see
like cobwebs — each strand ghostly white.

From bare hedgerows the red hips glow
beneath the ribs of barren trees,
but Jasmine, on the garden’s edge,
shines through the mist, its tiny suns
a challenge to the coldest days
and, with Mahonia’s yellow flame,
brings comfort to these darkest times.

DEEP IN DARK DECEMBER

Roused from fitful sleep, I hear the rain.
Had it been cold enough for snow, I’d sleep,
buried beneath the silence of white drifts.
Instead, I picture Christmases long passed,
shopping lists, unbought gifts and absent friends.

Illuminated minutes take an age
to measure out each increment of time;
I toss and turn but still the rain persists –
its steady drumming keeping me awake,
breaking the spell of dreams and restful sleep.

Then, wishing for the rain to turn to flakes,
I picture in my mind snow fall on snow
and gradually the sound of rain decreased
until I dreamed of winters long ago.

DECEMBER DAYS

The month arrived wrapped in hard frost —
we woke each morning to iced trees,
their naked branches silhouettes
against an orange, rising sun…
Could there be snow this Christmas time?

Frost flowers formed on window panes
while, in white fields the cattle stood,
their steaming breath below stark trees —
crab apple baubles caught sun's rays.

Next came the deafness of thick fog,
grey blanket obscured sights and sounds :
ghost traffic crept the quiet roads
and courting pigeons ceased their calls.

Then rain came for the Solstice Day,
to drip from neighbours' festive lights —
each raindrop coloured like a jewel.
But secretly we longed for change —
Could there be snow for Christmas Day?

NATIVITY

The brightness shone down from the sky,
a shepherd saw the sign –
a new star hung above the town –
“This marks a special time.”

A driver resting in his truck
was woken by the light

"In all my years out on the road
I’ve not seen such a sight.”

Revellers paused on their way home
and saw a star that gleamed :
“It’s just like being down the club,
it’s like a laser beam.”

Two policemen out on night patrol
called ‘EMERGENCY CONNECT’ :
“Request all services to town –
a UFO we suspect.”

Along the eastern motorway
a limo sped to town,
three smart, dark men sat in the back –
each held a golden crown.

Into a gloomy neighbourhood
the shepherd’s quad-bike sped,
an artic truck, an ambulance
and an engine painted red.

All followed police car’s flashing lights
along the rundown streets,
the limo and the golden crowns
with satnav had them beat.

Unerringly it found its way
along a cobbled lane
to an old and broken building
that glistened in light rain.

And through the cracked and sagging doors
there shone a golden light,
above it all the star looked down
creating day from night.

Poor immigrants without a home
sheltering from the cold –
their child’s birth was very real
enacting something old.

And all around new flowers bloomed
as bird song filled the air,
inside a mother held her babe
And stroked his golden hair.

The Christmas Escape Clause (an extract)

This Christmas, knackered, flying home –
the big sack empty, hard job done
and time you’d think to have a rest –
the mobile rings, it’s my Head Elf.
He says the phones are going mad
The Claus Call Centre’s had no break –
abusive youngsters with complaints :
their I-pads have the wrong downloads,
new mobiles play an old ring tone
or worse – that most exclusive gift
is now half price in high street Smith’s.
Demands for next year come by text
and e-mails by the bucket load –
I never see a “thank you” note
or old style letter tinged with smoke…

Of course, we had to modernise
and Santa’s Jolly Workshop’s gone –
back in the old days I could boast
“Our Christmas gifts are made by elves” –
now they’re all trained for telesales
as we outsource from coast to coast.
Mind you, the missus wasn’t pleased
and grumbled I was never home
because of all the deals I’d done
for goods from China and Taiwan.
I never minded extra trips –
transporting goods is what I do –
but freezing storage was a pain.
The move from Lapland hit the wife,
and giving up traditional ways –
she nearly flipped when she found out
she couldn’t wander Milton Keynes
dressed in full festive Christmas kit
like she had done in Santaland.
Besides, she got quite sour faced
when other changes came her way,
our biggest falling out occurred
discussing future franchise plans…

But now’s the time to jack it in,
to sell the reindeer, ditch the bag
and make a fortune with my blog.
I’m working on my image rights :
my costume, beard and trademark laugh,
I’m going to use celebrity
to get on chat shows, kid’s T.V.
and guarantee a golden start
unveiling Xmas PLC.

FOR SABRINA

Sabrina is the Roman name for the River Severn

Now, the way the World makes power,
relies on the oil well
and coal dug up by miners —
these fuels we buy and sell,
but could we have a wonder
soon in Gloucestershire’s fair land? —
it would span the Severn river...
but it wouldn’t be a dam.

There are plans for a Severn Barrage,
a hydro-electric scheme
that would use the tidal Severn,
for some it’s a long-term dream —
but for birds and fish NOT heaven,
it ignores Mother Nature’s needs!
In his drive towards Net Zero
shouldn’t Ed Milliband take heed?

From fields of solar panels
pylons march across the hills,
but Ed’s plans are turning sour
with endangered flowers killed.
And, could those wind farms just be a scam?
When we have those windless days
Ed’s windmills won’t make power...
and his hopes will start to fade.

Will Milliband take up the challenge
in the year of twenty-five,
for the farmers and the factories
and to keep the Grid alive?
Saying, "Roll on Sabrina,
you can roll down to the sea,
but river while you’re ramblin’
you can do some work for me!”

Then from Birmingham and Swindon
will we hear the factories drone?
Making cars and making jewellery,
Cadbury’s chocolate to take home.
Could the mighty Severn Barrage
be Net Zero’s ace for Ed?
Could destruction of the Severn
be his vital energy thread?