Yes it's time for the Christmas Blog again from Poetry Space - Happy Christmas!
(Copyright - the poets)
A Christmas Fantasy
Mall-skating through flurries of
cut-out penguins, Santas, reindeers,
we glide on past Merry–Xmas
windows, air-conditioned polar bears,
glitter-frosted lights, frozen
cash-machines, undressed models
flogging fashion and ski-rail
our way out of Singapura’s
tinsel town to that sacred place
where Fantasy Isle’s
lioness and stranded fish first
met and then embraced.
Parasolled, I scan the bay’s
busy contour lines – a trail
of morning sand-ants, surf
beaching white, the bobbing wall
of shark-barrier buoys, fuzzy
two-way shipping lanes
and an ever-so slightly bowed
equator, horizontally sunning
itself in zero degrees of
latitude – and imagine I’m space-hubbling,
watching Watatsumi the mighty
sea-dragon confine, restrain,
detain our unfathomable mass of
curved ocean;
I imagine Gaia-free gravity
washing the heavens
in deep-sea blue; I imagine crossing
the saline skyline again
and again; I imagine passing
uncharted archipelagos,
becoming the discoverer of
Christmas-Island barbecues
and, ready to celebrate with
jingle bells, I surf-ride
in upon an unimaginably joyful,
Aussie Yuletide.
Mike Lee
And here is Mike looking very relaxed in Singapore's Raffles hotel:
Mike is the very latest poet to have a short collection (Time-webs) published by Poetry Space. Mike will be reading from his collection in a series of local house readings for friends and colleagues. He is also lined up as guest poet at Bristol's Can Opener even at Foyles Bookshop in Bristol on Friday April 4th 2014.
The
Emerald Mistress
Excitement
swiftly builds with the presence of the large green lady
The strongest
member of the party heaves her from the car
You
Groping
her curves through the entrance
Now
more miniscule than ever
Violence
unfolds
~~
You
The provider
of festive joy and ‘cosiness’
She
Who
must be crowned
Bodily
fluids secrete
Her
jagged pines sear through your clothing
Sweat
leaks from your temples
Slight
panic seeps in
Where
the fuck will she live?
The
lounge? The hall?
Somewhere
she’ll make the least bloody mess.
~~
The children’s
eyes widen. Euphoria
Saliva
trickles from their lips
Soaking
through their woollen jumpers
Dreaming
of the mysterious delights that very soon
May
be placed beneath her skirt
~~
Dusty
tinsel tickles your ankles
Sticking
to your feet
Mince
pies toasting in the oven
Alongside
trays upon trays of sliced orange, sizzling on the grill
A
sweet, familiar scent
~~
You
Deal
with the dinner
Leave
the wife to decorate her green limbs
The
kids dress her in gold and silver
Tarting
her up
Just
the way you like them
~~
Her
pines reek of smoke
A
sour musk from the van driver
Stinking
of other men
What
a cheek
Coming
here in your house smelling like that
Cheap
slut
~~
You
With
your dirty seconds
You
Didn’t
care where she came from
As
long as you had her
~~
The
wife sprays her with a ‘pine tree’ air freshener
Denial
Now
gleaming with sparkles and lights from head to toe
Crowned
with a large white angel
She
smirks
At your
family
Winking
at you
Only
you
Her
innocence is long gone
~~
The
kids take your hand and drag you closer
To
admire her body
~~
You
can’t help liking her now, can you?
All
dressed up and fancy
Eyes
fixed on her deep green skin
Reminisce
now
Dig through
those buried childhood memories once again
Years
go by and still you cling on to this one sick recollection
~~
Tiny
and innocent you sat by her trunk
About
five or six years young
Peering
up her skirt
Blinded
by the flashing fairy lights but loving it all the same
Fallen
pines pricked your toes as you sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor
You
squeezed. Two hands
Gripping
tightly around the incisions
Pushing
Pressure
mounting
Toes
swelling with heat
Burst
A
cold red release soothed your mind
As you
licked it up with your fragile tongue
~~
The
delicious pain
Only
to be relived each year
Every
December
Privately
Once the wife and kids are tucked up in their perfect
little beds
And have fallen fast asleep…
~
You
And your emerald
mistress
Shay Crinkle December 2013
Advent
Carols chime
streets sprout festive trees
lights string over shops
crowds gather
shops bustle
it’s coming up to Christmas.
Where’s the child
not at home
he’s in the camp
waiting peace
no kings will come
or angels sing
they wait for you.
Carolyn O’Connell
December 2013
Keep them coming - more tomorrow
For more from Poetry Space visit www.poetryspace.co.uk
Nice poems! That's what I like with poetry. They come really deep, and meaningful. Reading poems, and sometimes collecting them, is one of my hobbies. Lately, I've been reading Christmas poems, some of the classical ones.
ReplyDelete