4 years. It wasn’t the first and wasn’t the last
still tears and the curse that cannot be passed.
New years bring fears of reprise, hope of reprieve
the grinding of gears and the struggle, to believe.
poetry
Still Christmas
No silent night, no sugar coating, or gloating
of a picture postcard experience, transcending
the realities of making do and mending.
Never mind fairy tales of then and here and now,
never mind the absence of sand or snow, still the cow
and sheep and the wayward herd needs tending.
Let not the cold and damp dampen our hearts,
let not the early starts dim our view, or darken our parts
in this season. It is still Christmas. Peace.
The greatest thing I have ever done
The greatest thing I have ever done
was to shun
not the limelight, title or hand
given freely
but the sense of reverence expected
by the few
the expectation of deference due.
Passing through
I do not fear the passing years
any more than I fear the passing days
which is to say, I hide my tears
and fail to address my failing ways.
The Wren-Boys by Carol Ann Duffy
A new Christmas poem by Carol Ann Duffy:
Mad rush
Rain on the glass
Think I will pass
On all this rush
Of all the things
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Peace?
Love?
Understanding?”
“You’re a fanny,” she said
“don’t be so demanding.”
The attempt
It’s still early
the lids are heavy
the locks are loose
not content
struggling to contain
the contents
standing aloof
left to choose
what stays
what goes
this harsh cold evening
Escaping the night devoid of stars
shine
a
Light
Prey
Pray
Tell me how
in the here and now
what actions, words or deeds
sow the seeds
of love or hate or greed
in the hearts of others
are they not my brothers?
Tell me
Pray
the jericho roads 