Saturday, December 24, 2005
Christmas Eve 2005
I wonder what I’ll do tomorrow that’s out of the ordinary?
For murdering the English language and his profligate use of useless adjectives, the anti hero of this poem receives the long sentence he deserves
My favourite Christmas morning breakfast is home-cooked ham on bread and butter.
We are spending the New Year in Vlissengen, in the Netherlands. It’s where Jill and I fell in love, in a little attic room in the house of Annemarie and Hans. They’re selling up and moving to Italy and so this will be our last visit.
one, two, three, four, five
crow keeps his counsel
They found Santa dead in the back garden, a gun lay close by.
They are rounding up the usual suspects
As I write this, the watercolour sun sets
in an orange sky
behind the scribble of hedge
and the spilt water of bank
My favourite ever Christmas present was my first guitar.
I haven’t written a song for Jill this year
But I have composed a symphony for her
in my head
A frosty morning
In the corner of the council tip
is a huge blue cage
chocabloc with broken TVs, computers, laptops, monitors, maybe there are a thousand carcasses there, bashed, splintered, split, crushed, cracked, dead
their ghosts sucked back
into the ether
Frank blows into his gloved hands
It’s cold enough for snow, he says
Despite Christmas being for children I enjoy it too
How about you?
I saw my granddaughter in her first Christmas play
She was an angel
How rare to end a sentence with an empty stop