<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The 25th<\/strong><\/p>\n How the hell timed to perfection it’s a bit of a struggle but hey here you are the children are scattered <\/p>\n <\/p>\n John Mackie<\/strong>, who, sadly, died Friday (23rd December), lived in Aberdeenshire. He had been published in a range of media since the 1960s and you can find his more recent work in Scotia Extremis, Poetry Scotland, The Poets’ Republic, Clear Poetry <\/em>and Spotify. <\/em>Our condolences go out to his family and friends. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Gloria<\/strong><\/p>\n Bethlehem\u2019s sky was busy with stars Next minute the sky was on fire \u2013 The only one not quaking Suddenly there was the sound <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sally Long<\/strong> is a PhD student at Exeter where she is investigating the influence of The Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius on contemporary poetry. She has had poems published in magazines including Agenda, Ink, Sweat and Tears, London Grip, Poetry Salzburg Review, Snakeskin<\/em> amongst others. Sally edits Allegro Poetry Magazine<\/em><\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The 25th How the hell do they do that year after year on the morning of this Decemberfest purloined from Mithra; timed to perfection best bib and tucker yellow beaks gleaming posing for presents promising nirvana if I feed them now tip tapping my conscience and memory of you? it’s a bit […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[65],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12901","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-twelve-days-of-christmas-2016"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12901","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12901"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12901\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12968,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12901\/revisions\/12968"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12901"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12901"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12901"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\ndo they do that
\nyear after year
\non the morning of
\nthis Decemberfest purloined
\nfrom Mithra;<\/p>\n
\nbest bib and tucker
\nyellow beaks gleaming
\nposing for presents
\npromising nirvana
\nif I feed them now
\ntip tapping my conscience
\nand memory of you?<\/p>\n
\nI am still in Jajouka
\nseeing off the goat boy
\nwith the screaming of pipes
\nor lost in the Latin
\nsome other God mumbled
\nto justify incense
\nand the rose window at Chartres<\/p>\n
\nat my feast for one and his cat
\neven though it’s been years
\nsince I laid you a place,
\nhow do you do that,
\nturn up
\nwithout smelling as bad
\nas you did
\nwhen we burned you
\nat Buckie on medical advice?<\/p>\n
\nLondon, Bonn, Rome
\nthey remember you differently
\nas careless of them
\nas though your cancer was wilful –
\nwas it so hun? I know that it forced me
\nto a series of metaphors
\nstill point, rock, tower of strength
\nI never wanted, am trying still to melt them
\nas much as I loved you please go away
\nand take your Christmas blackbirds
\nwith you<\/p>\n
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwhen we first saw him \u2013
\nan old man leaning on a staff,
\nan improbable visitor making his way
\nwary across the fields.<\/p>\n
\narrows of light; gold, silver,
\nscarlet. Nathaniel yelled we had better
\nmake a run for it. No one has ever seen
\nthe glory of the Lord and lived.<\/p>\n
\nwas the old man. He stood there
\ntranquil telling us not to lose it,
\nto go to town to find a new born
\nbaby. It sounded a rum story to me.<\/p>\n
\nof singing. We looked up at the sky;
\nsaw no-one, only the sound grew
\nlouder, louder. Then before we knew it
\nsilence. Bethlehem\u2019s sky was busy with stars.<\/p>\n