tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5419896225642419772.post3864790260822656166..comments2016-10-28T07:11:02.814-07:00Comments on Poetry Space Blog: Poetry Space Christmas poems and reflectionsSusan Jane Simshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02288997964411380551noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5419896225642419772.post-11401347201794621252013-12-11T03:25:37.853-08:002013-12-11T03:25:37.853-08:00The tree is naked
The tree is naked
except for it...The tree is naked<br /><br />The tree is naked<br />except for its branches<br />arms reaching out<br />embracing light.<br />The tree is naked<br />except for its needles<br />fingering the air<br />absorbing light.<br />The tree is naked,<br />but, like Adam early in the garden<br />it doesn’t appreciate its nakedness.<br /><br />The tree is dressed; <br />bright light dangling<br />in tinselled streams<br />and gaudy adornment.<br />We lay trophies at its feet<br />addressed elsewhere -<br />‘for Gran’, ‘for Auntie Joan’,<br />tribute offerings for another year<br />teetering on its close.<br /><br />The tree is sacrificed<br />in the drying of the room<br />where love is shared<br />with the trapping,<br />unwrapping, clapping,<br />of glee,<br />or discarded with dismay,<br />when love has faded <br />and revealing, <br />unwrapping, unfeeling,<br />fails to caress<br />tender sensibilities. <br /><br />The tree is abandoned,<br />its lights and tinsels <br />packaged and boxed<br />for unwrapping another year,<br />and we are naked<br />for another season.<br /><br />(c) Keith Wallis<br />Keith Wallishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04780087068444798682noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5419896225642419772.post-7695132840671586012013-12-11T01:32:03.179-08:002013-12-11T01:32:03.179-08:00I don't want to die at Christmas
I don't ...I don't want to die at Christmas<br /><br />I don't want to die at Christmas<br />cheated of that warm turkey sandwich<br />on the eve of day.<br />I don't want to miss the glint in your eye<br />as you unwrap the surprise<br />of a hint remembered.<br />I don't want to rob Santa of his jolly jaunt<br />and leave a gift of tears instead<br />wrapping the day in melancholly<br />and the promise of earth to earth....<br />I don't want to eclipse the word made flesh<br />by flesh unmaking itself <br />in the denial of breath.<br />But if I die<br />near the day of days<br />wrap me in tinsel and coloured paper.<br />Leave me under a tree<br />and sing carols by lamplight:<br />'Joy to the world',<br />'Come and join the celebration',<br />'See amid the winter snow',<br />and dance,<br />let there be dancing.<br />And place the last advent candle<br />at my feet<br />to warm<br />my<br />sole.<br /><br />(c) Keith WallisKeith Wallishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04780087068444798682noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5419896225642419772.post-19642802464975603232013-12-09T14:59:36.924-08:002013-12-09T14:59:36.924-08:00The Emerald Mistress
Excitement swiftly builds w...The Emerald Mistress<br /><br /><br />Excitement swiftly builds with the presence of the large green mistress<br />The strongest member of the party heaves her from the car<br />You<br />Groping her curves through the entrance<br />Now more minuscule than ever<br />Violence unfolds<br />~~<br />You<br />The provider of festive joy and ‘coziness’<br />She<br />Who must be crowned<br />Bodily fluids secrete<br />Her jagged pines sear through your clothing<br />Sweat leaking from your temples<br />Slight panic seeps in<br />Where the fuck will she live?<br />The lounge? The hall?<br />Somewhere she’ll make the least bloody mess.<br />~~<br />The children’s eyes widen. Euphoria<br />Saliva trickles from their lips<br />Soaking through their woolen jumpers<br />Dreaming of the mysterious delights that very soon<br />May be placed beneath her skirt<br />~~<br />Xmas carols plonking along in the background<br />Dusty tinsel tickles your ankles<br />Sticking to your feet<br />Mince pies toasting in the oven<br />Alongside trays upon trays of sliced orange, sizzling on the grill<br />A sweet, familiar scent<br />~~<br />You<br />Deal with the dinner<br />Leave the wife to decorate her green limbs<br />The kids dress her in gold and silver<br />Tarting her up<br />Just the way you like them<br />~~<br />Her pines reek of smoke<br />A sour musk from the van driver<br />Stinking of other men<br />What a cheek<br />Coming here in your house smelling like that<br />Cheap slut<br />~~<br />You<br />With your dirty seconds<br />You<br />Didn’t care where she came from<br />As long as you had her<br />~~<br />The wife sprays her with a ‘pine tree’ air freshener<br />Denial<br />Now gleaming with sparkles and lights from head to toe<br />Crowned with a large white angel<br />She smirks<br />At your family<br />Winking at you<br />Only you<br />Her innocence is long gone<br />~~<br />The kids take your hand and drag you closer<br />To admire her body<br />~~<br />You can’t help liking her now, can you?<br />All dressed up and fancy<br />Eyes fixed on her deep green skin<br />Reminisce now<br />Dig through these buried childhood memories once again<br />Years go by and still you cling on to this one sick recollection<br />~~<br />Tiny and innocent you sat by her trunk<br />About five or six years young<br />Peering up her skirt<br />Blinded by the flashing fairy lights but loving it all the same<br />Fallen pines pricked your toes as you sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor<br />You squeezed. Two hands<br />Gripping tightly around the incisions<br />Pushing<br />Pressure mounting<br />Toes swelling with heat<br />Burst<br />A cold red release soothed your mind<br />As you licked it up with your fragile tongue<br />~~<br />The delicious pain<br />Only to be relived each year<br />Every December<br />Privately<br />Once the wife and kids have been tucked up in their perfect little beds<br />And have fallen fast asleep…<br /><br /><br />© Sky Sinclair <br />Shay Crinklehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02433949468826350307noreply@blogger.com