Christmas Eve

I transport myself to the Middle East;

the exhausted donkey ride,

hooves tramp in warm, dark night,

as I listen to clear glass voices rising up

into frosty vaults of King's College;

quivering light of candles piercing cold;

on the bleak flat lands of East Anglia.

© Valerie Taylor
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Metamorphosis

With perfect poise

he enters stage left,

placing the suitcase aside,

inconsequential

while gymnasts perform

pirouettes and arabesques,

svelte nymph

unfurls, spreads chrysalis-like

from case cocoon,

tumbling, twisting, wheeling

silken ribbon blazing

from baton waving

abstract fluidity

across blank canvas

to end again

repackaged and recycled

to perform anew

tomorrow.

  

© Helen McIntosh

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Beyond belief?

Letters posted in fireplaces?
Jingling red-nosed reindeers
Streaming through skies?
Rubicund Santa
Shimmying down chimneys
To delight and surprise?
Turkeys voting for Christmas,
Getting stuffed en route;
Piggies wriggling in blankets,
Devils astride horseback;
Filthy lucre buried
Deep in puddings boiled?
A virgin birth and…
Three wise men?

© Helen McIntosh
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Marley’s Regret

"You were always a good man of business, Jacob," faltered Scrooge.

"Mankind was my business!” cried Marley. “And yet at this time of the rolling year I never roved beyond the limits of our money-changing hole. Chances squandered! A false and commercial festival, devoutly to be squeezed!

"Humbug!" said Scrooge.

© Tim Scott

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Christmas Eve

We fixed our fairy,
sparkling in sequinned gown.

Let there be lights.
Nothing.
Dad tore his few remaining hairs, drove
jehu-like to town.

Returned.  Worked, twisting wire with clumsy hands.
Then light there was.

Yet, at Midnight Mass, his fingers
danced across organ keys
swelling our church with glorious sound.

© Gill Dunstan
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23rd December, 2010

In Tesco’s, from the tanks of gasping fish, with barely room to swim, he chooses three.

Our shopping is on the back seat.

“Don’t worry; must be very fresh; Polish tradition. We eat when the little star comes on Christmas Eve.”

Until then the condemned carp are in the bath.

© Sophia Roberts
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Christmas secrets

Silent night, holy night
all is sad, all is quiet
round his death bed everyone weeps
jolly grandpa his memory to keep
only I know his secret

only I know his shame
Silent night, holy night
all is calm, all is right
round his memory everyone grieves
jolly Santa on Christmas Eve
only I know his secret

only now it's mine to tell

© Liz Redfern
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Christmas Eve Shopping

He cut
a sorry figure in the flurry of the street
he knew
she wouldn't like it whatever he picked
he imagined
her saying ‘thank you’
with that smirk upon her lips

He hated
Christmas shopping and all that it entailed
he’d rather
wrestle Amazonian crocodiles or eat garlic snails.

© Liz Redfern
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Seven Years On ...

... We unlocked the musty garage that was your office,
To sift through bank statements, newspaper clippings, photos, self-help books, correspondence about parking, Appeals to politicians, poems, plays and songs.

The skip filled, the shell sold, we were left with just
one suitcase - and the still gnawing absence of you.

© Tim Scott
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