Here is a selection of my poetry for JANUARY

THE TURNING YEAR

It’s time to fold this old year up for good.

From here, it looks an unremitting grey

but, looking closer, signs from every day

are there like guides, if we just understood.

Beyond the scorch marks of old arguments,

passed rips and tears of illness and despair,

this tapestry remains in good repair…

Perhaps, for love and joy no testament —

while bright days may be few, they are still there

and moments of epiphany like jewels

help balance out the times that were so cruel,

making grey days much easier to bear.

So, looking back, there is still much to cheer,

‘Though Nineteen hasn’t been a vintage year.

SNOWDROP

In cold, cold earth beneath the snow

A small life stirs, below, below.

A tiny shoot breaks the iron land,

A tender flower that can withstand

An Arctic wind at an old year's end :

A sign of hope — a small godsend.

FROST FLOWERS

Their secret blooming marks the coldest night.

As star light shone down from black velvet skies,

hoar frost etched glass with icy flowers.

By dawn frail snowflake petals crowd cold panes,

each blossom perfect as a precious gem.

Now morning’s here red, sluggish sun, too tired

to climb the eastern sky, has fire enough

to start a thaw : dissolve to water drops

fine filigree, evaporate night’s magic

touch, form beads like rain on window panes.

WALKING INTO SPRING

Today it’s sights —

not scents or sounds but things I’ve seen

that always mark an early Spring —

drear Winter turning green…

The smallest things :

snowdrops, violet, celandines

seen breaking through despite hoar frost —

are Spring times special signs.

Daffodils too,

near hazel catkins in the hedge,

while pussy willow starts to show

along the rough path’s edge.

From high above

paired rooks revive their nest with twigs,

whilst, on the water courting grebes

exchange a token sprig of weed

as, dancing closely breast to breast,

they tango in the breeze.

JACK’S PRESS CONFERENCE

Before we start, let’s get things straight :

The giant’s dead, the beanstalk’s gone

And, with our goose, we’ve moved away –

Escaping from the pantomime,

The innuendo and the lies.

So many of you got it wrong –

Too many headlines made no sense…

But worst of all was Aesop’s take

That “Much Wants More And Loses All.”

What kind of fool’s he looking for?

As if I’d kill my golden goose!

Why does he always write such crap?

He needs a handle on events.

Next he’ll be writing of my home

And “building castles in the air,”

When all I’ve done is changed abode

And now sit in the giant’s chair.

Of course, my Mirabelle was pleased

That I could come and live with her –

Now that she’s free, her ogre gone.

We’ve found a lot of things to share

And not just moneybags and jewels,

The giant’s harp or golden eggs.

One final thing before I go :

Despite my old Mum’s vertigo,

She’s happy now to come and stay.

I’ve even bought her back the cow!

She says she’s living in a dream

But promises she won’t plant beans.

THE TAXMAN, JACK AND THE GOLDEN EGGS

The beanstalk’s gone, the giant’s dead and word about Jack’s magic goose has spread…

Dear Mr. Jack,

We write again,

Regarding tax on golden eggs.

We note and thank you for your views,

But Midas gold is not the same.

We understand, from what you’ve said,

That you expect one egg each day.

Please see below the formula

We use for taxing golden eggs.

An ordinary goose will lay

An egg that weighs one, forty grams.

Our experts say this is the same

As water in its density.

But gold, of course, is much more dense :

Nineteen point three times more we’re told.

It follows then, your golden goose

Produces eggs that weigh in grams

Strictly two, seven, seven, nine –

Assuming that it is pure gold.

(But purity’s not our concern –

Please talk to colleagues at ASSAY,

You’ll find their number over page.)

Once hallmarked, we’d expect each egg

To measure eight, nine ounces (troy).

Gold is, of course, quite volatile –

Its value moves from day to day –

But, working from the current rate

In thousands of our sterling pounds,

Each egg is worth seven, eight, point five

(Of course, this figure’s rounded down.)

Thus, annually, your eggs are worth,

In millions, twenty-eight point five

(Remember Leap Years’ extra charge.)

The rate of tax on such a gain

Is laid out clearly – see Point 9.

Our detailed leaflet is enclosed.

So let me know of anything

You find with which to disagree –

Our Reference G.E. 923.

N.B. Regarding Hallmarked Gold :

Each egg must pass the ASSAY scale

And must be sent to Birmingham,

But be advised don’t use the mail.

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