Interference
This tree, unlike others
we have used, is shorter
than we are and grows
in a glazed ceramic pot.
What we might choose
to call branches, in truth
are no more than twigs.
Still, we festoon them
with coloured lights
and glittery trinkets.
A few weeks later
our tiny spruce
is back outside.
Instead of baubles
from tips of limbs
pale needles sprout
green as hymns.
Oliver Comins returned to the Midlands recently after living in the Thames Valley then West London for many years. His poems have been collected by Templar Poetry, The Mandeville Press and Anvil Press Poetry.
From the garden
Only when I’ve scrubbed the pigeon droppings off
and stripped its windswept decorations —
last year’s oak leaves, those wish-bone pine needles
catching in its coat — does it come indoors,
close to the shortest day, out of the frost.
What does a tree make of Christmas glitter,
our mix of homemade stars and glassy birds,
drizzle of tinsel, and the radiators?
But it bears the gilded angels bravely
and our fairy’s safe, for now, dizzily tall,
laughter and carols singing round the room,
with so much light, late into the dark
and unfamiliar spices on the air.
Another year returns us to each other.
A whole twelve days, I whisper, into the branches.
D.A.Prince lives in Leicestershire and London. Her second full-length collection (Common Ground, HappenStance, 2014) won the East Midlands Book Award 2015. Her third collection, The Bigger Picture (also from HappenStance) was published in 2022. A pamphlet, Continuous Present, was published by New Walk Editions in 2025.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
We pick you out of a crowd at our usual spot,
drawn to your tall figure, your imperfect edges
that will shape our December.
At home you settle in, decompress
as we unbox decorations: a ceremonial opening
of the festive season. Each colourful bauble
a silent offering of hope in darkened days;
the tinsel we wrap around you, a silver lining.
How lovely are your branches.
Each year, you stand in your old space
but you are never quite the same
just as we are all shifting, adjusting.
The girls grow taller by your side as they lift the star –
a carefully placed wish to hold us together –
and argue over who will turn on your lights.
We stand back, take you in, grateful for you
and one another in this illuminated moment.
We learn from all your beauty.
Beliz McKenzie lives in Hertfordshire with her husband and two teenage daughters. Her poetry has been published in Dream Catcher, Allegro and Obsessed with Pipework and featured in numerous anthologies.