{"id":9877,"date":"2015-12-30T09:00:58","date_gmt":"2015-12-30T09:00:58","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=9877"},"modified":"2020-12-14T11:20:24","modified_gmt":"2020-12-14T11:20:24","slug":"on-the-eighth-day-of-christmas-we-bring-you-ruth-aylett-and-susan-jordan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/on-the-eighth-day-of-christmas-we-bring-you-ruth-aylett-and-susan-jordan\/","title":{"rendered":"On the Eighth Day of Christmas, we bring you Ruth Aylett and Susan Jordan"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Visitation<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd Lo! The Angel of the lord came upon them..\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It wasn\u2019t like that. Summer stars<br \/>\nnot winter, the stir and mutter of<br \/>\nthe flock, some grazing, some asleep.<\/p>\n<p>I lay in the warm night, breathing<br \/>\nthe bruised smell of cropped grass, the<br \/>\ndry pepper of garrigue scrub.<\/p>\n<p>Nor was it singing that roused me<br \/>\nperhaps a bright folding in the stars<br \/>\nor a silver aurora come south.<\/p>\n<p>I saw neither heads nor hands though<br \/>\na slow wing-beat echoed in my head,<br \/>\nbat-high music vibrated my bones.<\/p>\n<p>My sheep heard better: their panicking<br \/>\nmill of woolly bodies and legs<br \/>\nmade a scramble down the mountain.<\/p>\n<p>Where the flock goes the shepherd<br \/>\nmust follow, feet sliding on scree<br \/>\nbare shins scratched and prickled.<\/p>\n<p>And was it a message? Then not of birth.<br \/>\nMy ears still ring with the warning<br \/>\nof time running out for this small Earth.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Ruth Aylett<\/strong> lives in Edinburgh where she teaches and researches university-level computing, thinks another world is possible and that the one we have is due some changes. She has been published by Envoi, Bloodaxe Books, Poetry Scotland, Red Squirrel Press, Doire Press and others. For more on her writing see <a href=\"http:\/\/www.macs.hw.ac.uk\/~ruth\/\">http:\/\/www.macs.hw.ac.uk\/~ruth\/<\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Christmas Tree<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<br \/>\nI put it up earlier than usual<br \/>\nmy plastic tree that saves real ones<br \/>\nfrom being cut down, its harmony<br \/>\nof red and gold welcoming you<br \/>\ninto my home. I thought you\u2019d like<br \/>\nthe dangling fairies in sexy red,<br \/>\nthe painted star, the flowered globes,<br \/>\nthe cross-eyed elephant. I put up<br \/>\npaper chains, arranged my cards<br \/>\nalong the piano, started sorting<br \/>\nthe piles of junk left from the last time<br \/>\na visitor roused me to tidy them.<\/p>\n<p>And I knew, so when you rang,<br \/>\nvoice soft with trying not to hurt,<br \/>\na stone dropped smoothly to the bottom<br \/>\nof a pool that had already filled.<br \/>\n\u2018That\u2019s all right\u2019 \u2013 the necessary lie,<br \/>\nour quiet good wishes, your unconvinced<br \/>\n\u2018Maybe another time.\u2019 The welcome<br \/>\nfolded in upon itself as I stood,<br \/>\nhand on the hoover, doing things now<br \/>\nonly for myself. I\u2019d see you later<br \/>\nat a party that wouldn\u2019t be mine.<br \/>\nYou\u2019d only said you might come.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Susan Jordan<\/strong> writes both poetry and prose. She has had poems published in a number of print and online magazines, including <em>Obsessed with Pipework, Prole, The Journal, Snakeskin, The Poetry Shed, Clear Poetry <\/em>and<em> \u00a0I S &amp; T.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; Visitation \u201cAnd Lo! The Angel of the lord came upon them..\u201d It wasn\u2019t like that. Summer stars not winter, the stir and mutter of the flock, some grazing, some asleep. I lay in the warm night, breathing the bruised smell of cropped grass, the dry pepper of garrigue scrub. Nor was it singing [&hellip;]<\/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":[48],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9877","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-twelve-days-of-christmas-2015"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9877","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=9877"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9877\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23846,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9877\/revisions\/23846"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9877"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9877"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9877"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}