Here is a selection of my poetry for DECEMBER

HERE IS A VIDEO OF ME READING TWO OF THE POEMS YOU WILL FIND BELOW - NATIVITY AND THE CHRISTMAS ESCAPE CLAUSE... 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vG7u5m6DAw&feature=youtu.be

A WEEK OF FROST

(Seven Haiku)

A night jewelled with stars,

bright white moonlight on cold air :

a hard frost glinting.

Before dawn, hoar frost

etched glass with icy flowers :

window light obscured.

Cattle’s steaming breath,

white against a leaden sky,

the only movement.

Ghostly trees hold firm

to frozen berries. Birds starve

and huddled, shiver.

A sharp wind knifes through

bleak hedgerows, past hanging trees,

icing travellers.

Iced spears of gleaming

sedge and rush hold frosted webs —

nets to catch the wind.

Below windowed ice

fish, like orange logs, lie deep

sleeping : dream of Spring.

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.

DRESSING THE TREE

Like Scrooge’s knocker on his door,

a lion mask surveys the scene

from high upon the Inn’s front wall.

Here, in the ancient heart of town,

a crowd fills up the Market Square

to stand beneath the Christmas lights

and mark the dressing of the tree.

Dads, late from work, meet family groups

to watch as baubles, made in schools,

are raised by a triumphant Mayor.

Cameras flash and choirs sing

as trimmings soon are hauled aloft –

raised safely by hard-hatted men

who cherry-pick each bauble’s spot

where they will gleam and gently swing.

United, whilst their youngest child

had led the choir, sung out her heart,

this family starts their war again.

While others queue for hot mince pies,

by diverse routes they leave the square :

father, sad kids, mother elsewhere –

by Christmas they will live apart…

And, from the tip of this year’s tree,

a sad-eyed moon sees everything :

Waxing to wane, waxing to wane.

TRAVELLING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Travelling home for Christmas,

crossing our great divide,

to the places we remember

and a loss we can’t deny.

All the miles we have travelled:

over distant high blue hills,

through the wind and snow-banked highways,

down lanes flanking icy fields.

Passed the woods where we once lingered

in the light of a thousand stars,

travelling home at Christmas –

still keeping the flame alive.

WHITEOUT

Off motorway on local roads

the countryside’s a sheet of white.

A broken hedge, an upturned car,

wheel tracks soon lost in failing light.

A broken hedge, an upturned car,

the countryside’s a sheet of white;

bright presents scattered on the ground —

ribbons and tinsel for the night.

In the car a mobile’s ringing —

silence is broken by the sound;

ribbons and tinsel for the night,

bright presents littering the ground.

A dark stain spreads out from the car,

somewhere close a child is crying —

silence is broken by the sound —

mobile in the car starts ringing.

A dark stain spreads out from the car —

wheel tracks are lost in failing light;

somewhere close a child is crying,

the countryside’s a sheet of white.

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-pods 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…

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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…

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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.

 ALL POEMS ON THIS WEBSITE ARE SUBJECT TO COPYRIGHT