<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
the cumquats of christmas past<\/strong><\/p>\n you hailed your taxi tuesday the eight\u2013\u2013<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ali Whitelock<\/strong>\u2019s poems have been published in several magazines and journals.\u00a0 Her memoir, poking seaweed with a stick\u2026<\/em>. was published to critical acclaim and her poetry collection, and my heart crumples like a coke can<\/em> will be released in 2018.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Merry Christmas, Mixie Rabbit<\/strong><\/p>\n Mistletoe furls from hawthorn, apple and oak, relish their burst of bliss. The bared timbers sleep, of baby leaves. For the evergreens, a show of plush a clarity of tar-blue air balanced between needled hands. mute as a stone. Blind and clinging to this illusion of safety, beneath our feet, hears our noisy breath \u2013 the best it can do a fox will take the rabbit, quick and quiet as flight. The trees, peace for hearts that beat through the dark. Let drifts be kind <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Jane Burn<\/strong> is a poet based in the North East. Her poems have featured in a wide variety of magazines and anthologies and her first collection is available from Indigo Dreams.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n It\u2019s a girl<\/strong><\/p>\n The news spread like wildfire. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nicola Slee<\/strong> is a poet theologian who has published 3 collections of poetry and prose (Praying Like a Woman, The Book of Mary <\/em>and Seeking the Risen Christa<\/em>, all published by SPCK) as well as numerous poems in anthologies and journals.<\/p>\n Note: First published in Making Nothing Happen: Five Poets Explore Faith and Spirituality<\/em> by Gavin D\u2019Costa, Eleanor Nesbitt, Mark Pryce, Ruth Shelton and Nicola Slee (Ashgate, 2013)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" the cumquats of christmas past you hailed your taxi tuesday the eight\u2013\u2013 eenth of february 2014 at four twenty seven p.m. i watched it approach swerve to the kerb its back doors fly open\u2013\u2013if this was death i saw it crouched behind the wheel & jaded as a night shift driver full of […]<\/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":[82],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15358","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-twelve-days-of-christmas-2017"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15358","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=15358"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15358\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15361,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15358\/revisions\/15361"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15358"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15358"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15358"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\neenth of february 2014 at four twenty seven p.m.
\ni watched it approach swerve to the kerb
\nits back doors fly open\u2013\u2013if this was death i saw it
\ncrouched behind the wheel & jaded as a night
\nshift driver full of red bull & no doz & cheap 7\/11
\ncoffee ten thousand cigarette butts spewing
\nfrom its ashtray\u2019s filthy mouth
\nthe driver bundled you in\u2013\u2013no fanfare<\/span>
\nno prayers no bach cantata sung in sotto voce
\nthat might accompany you on the fresh black
\ntarmac of your new road ahead\u2013\u2013& nothing
\nsoft for you to lay your head on
\njust a cracked vinyl seat stale cigarette<\/span>
\nsmoke a strawberry scented christmas tree jiggling
\nlike a tea bag from the rear view mirror.\u00a0 i lay my
\nhand on yours leaned in whispered something like
\ni\u2019m sorry made sure your pyjama sleeves were clear
\nof the door before pressing it closed as the first
\nbubbles of fermenting sadness rose in me<\/span>
\nand i forced them down like cumquats into a jar
\nfilled with brandy in preparation for christmas
\nwhich was still ten months away & for weeks i kept
\ncramming till the skins of my cumquats tore
\ntheir flesh bled out & you could no longer
\ntell where one cumquat ended & another
\nbegan
\n& when finally christmas came i half<\/span>
\ndecked my halls whispered infrasonic compliments
\nof the season too low even for a passing whale hung
\nempty stockings from the mantle their gaping mouths
\nspeechless by the un-kindled fire & when finally
\nlunch was served & those of us left were gathered over
\nturkey & ham i took my jar of preserved cumquats
\nfrom the dark of my pantry, made my way around
\nthe table & heaped everyone\u2019s plate with a side of my
\ncompressed orange grief.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nbirths its berries \u2013 each one a bubble of snow,
\na blister of milk. Birds lift them off with a beaky kiss,<\/p>\n
\nhearts tucked and dreamy, inside, deep. For them,
\na biding \u2013 the patient knowledge of next year\u2019s buds,<\/p>\n
\nagainst the spangle of frost, joy at the coming ascension
\nof night and the soon-wearing of stars along their arms \u2013<\/p>\n
\nIn the sharp of dusk, the drunk smell of winter haylage,
\npungent dung. Bundled in a nook of roots is a hazel body,<\/p>\n
\nthe dogs see it long before me. Fix their murder upon it,
\nask to be unleashed. As we pass, it feels the shake of the path<\/p>\n
\nis hold still, try to un-scrunch its pink-stuck eyes. It is praying
\nfor invisibility, for us to pass. When twilight comes,<\/p>\n
\nbald or fleshed with green will swallow its small cry. The berries
\nwill shine cold as moons. I hope for succour for those that hurt \u2013<\/p>\n
\nto whatever lies frozen below. Let the coming year open its face
\nto light. May pity be shown to all defenceless things.<\/p>\n
\nSages were perplexed.
\nAstronomers recalculated their stars.
\nShepherds sloped back to their charges.
\nOnly the midwives smiled their knowing smiles.
\nAnd the angels crowded round,
\nsinging \u2018Glory! Glory!\u2019<\/p>\n