The Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come
The bones of Christmas, ragged torn,
carved, discarded, bin-bound waste.
In the farmyard cruelly born
raised for purpose, culled in haste.
The ribboned knot of cast-off wrap,
stuffed in plastics killer sack.
An offering up of deadly crap
to fill a void that can't grow back.
The joy of peace in frugal life,
of roots in earth as rich as Kings.
Reward born...
Thursday 26th December 2024 12:15 pm
Between two Worlds
For my Father
In dreams my father is with me.
He lives in his nightmare wide awake.
In dreams my legs buckle.
He falls in his nightmare.
I see him, we cannot speak,
his frail hands outstretched to his child.
His hanging mouth a cave
with all his life inside, forgotten.
Asleep in his bed like amber in linen,
withered by time and ages rot.
...Wednesday 18th December 2024 1:54 pm
Larkin and Me
Larkin lived on Dixon Drive
now he's still dead
and I'm alive.
He stacked books
with referenced spine
and trousered coin,
paid in fine.
I lived just off Ethel Road
half a man
but full-on toad.
Crushed into my loutish form
dull schooling
shaped me
to this norm.
Phil moved on,
to Queens and hope
with less despair
and longer rope.
...Tuesday 10th December 2024 7:55 pm
Tree
Tree
of joy,
of pagan
rite, reaching out
on this silent night
rain your spores that all may
know, seeds of hope take and grow,
to bloom in man’s infertile heart
where once love stuttered, it might restart.
I have succumbed to the temptation of a reverse nonet. I don't often take part in these exercises but in the spirit of celebration thought I might. Tha...
Sunday 8th December 2024 12:58 pm
The last laureates
All the poets of all the kings
with all their fine imaginings
have only ever offered up
the favoured flavour of their sup.
with words so lofty, full of grace
persuading of their given place,
that they alone could fill that space.
Emblazoned coin, gods chosen face.
While those of us with poets eyes
not blessed with pardons for our lies,
see through the c...
Friday 6th December 2024 6:49 am
Mothers of Sons (Twenty years wasted to abandonment)
Women cradled newborn babes veiled with a mothers blood,
their hands steady and assured.
Their love knew no jealous god, no book or holy ground,
their voices spoken not written.
Beaten and defiled by men borne by woman's pain,
men corrupted by instruction and fear.
Their bodies vessel's of nurture and hope, broken by hate,
bloodied fists against bare flesh.
...Wednesday 4th December 2024 8:13 am
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