Sunday, 25 December 2011

Christmas Poems

Happy Christmas to all Poetry Space Supporters and everyone who reads this today.

I don't want to die at Christmas

I don't want to die at Christmas
cheated of that warm turkey sandwich
on the eve of day.
I don't want to miss the glint in your eye
as you unwrap the surprise
of a hint remembered.
I don't want to rob Santa of his jolly jaunt
and leave a gift of tears instead
wrapping the day in melancholly
and the promise of earth to earth....
I don't want to eclipse the word made flesh
by flesh unmaking itself
in the denial of breath.
But if I die
near the day of days
wrap me in tinsel and coloured paper.
Leave me under a tree
and sing carols by lamplight:
'Joy to the world',
'Come and join the celebration',
'See amid the winter snow',
and dance,
let there be dancing.
And place the last advent candle
at my feet
to warm

© Keith Wallis

Christmas Turkey

We purchase the ginormous, scraped-out bird
and garage it until Ovening Eve.
It has to be outsized with so many two-day,
Christmas mouths to feed; Ten, including
the in-laws, my mum, the unmarried uncle
and his silent ‘friend’.  Takes two of us to cradle
the consecrated carcass, steam-screaming,
from sacristy to linen, carving altar.   

Usually, the kids religiously take turns to gnaw upon
the weekend legs; so we concoct another Yule-tide lie;
calling it Custom to offer limbs, wings and all things
bony to visiting elders with teeth enough to gnaw.
“I likes a bit of breast m’self,” I boast, winking at
Her spooning out the veg and trimmings and blushing;
while watching our three wince at even the tiniest helpings
of sprouts and parsnips, sage and stuffing.

After all this preparation, dressing, cooking, carving 
and flimsy, paper-hatted, out-of-character jollity   
I know our three would be more than Christmas happy
if only they served bread and cranberry sauce at K.F.C. 

© Mike Lee

The sun could not destroy
the cold season of winter nights
neither, could it conceal the Robin
from the blooming roses
and candle lights,
frosty flowers and singing birds.

The stars could not dim its flare
of shooting wishes and dancing array
nor the moon, dye its boon
in a natural sky, of Jesus’ birth.

Children find peace at the country-yard
dreaming morning Zebras with magical spice of Santa’s gifts
and shed every little joy ‘till eternity.

A scene in my head,
a Christmas ushered, in midnight blue.

© Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah (Ghana)2011

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