A Star with a Star on Top
This year’s tree has some kind of Viking heritage –
you can smell sea on its breath and smoke in its hair.
We managed to disarm it upon entering the house,
after discovering three broad swords and a hammer
hidden among its lower branches. The backpack
was returned, wrapped neatly, to the original vendor,
two steps up the supply chain from our local retailer.
In addition to the baubles, the lights and the sweets,
we have given it sparrows and a cow horn of mead,
which we top up soon after sunset. The tree warms
to its task at this stage of the day, joining the family
in carousing, boasting and singing Christmas carols.
The tree’s energetic baritone is unexpectedly soft,
embellishing the air with suggestions of pining.
Oliver Comins lives in West London. His poetry has been collected by The Mandeville Press and Templar Poetry, with a full collection (Oak Fish Island) published by Templar in 2018.
The End of December
(for Tracey)
This Christmas
she gave me
three crocus bulbs
each in their own vase
I placed them carefully
on the kitchen table
wondering what to do
how to look after them
and decided that
by far the best way
was to look u
the plural of crocus
which much to my surprise
can be either croci or crocuses
which led on to octopuses
and then words like sheep
before a cup of tea
and the next best thing
which was to read the instructions
which told me
to fill the vases with water
up to a certain point
and then place them
in a cool dark place
which oddly enough
is what I do already
with loads of stuff
that don’t come
with a step two
which is to check weekly
and a step three
which states
that in twelve weeks time
I can move them into light
which is crying out
to be used as a metaphor
but not before
the end of March.
Terry Quinn was an NHS Medical Engineer. He has four collections of poetry. The latest being Notes on the Causes of The Third World War ( Indigo Dreams Press 2021). He organises Damson Poets events in Preston.
Another Poem From a Coffee Bar
Men with beards figure here,
laptops and tablets with little stands,
millionaire shortbread hot chocolate.
Women like Deanna Troi
but with leather backpacks and troublesome hair,
pair up over skinny lattes.
Both these stereotypes need stepping
back from, even if samples exist.
They all finish, pack and leave.
Coming in as substitutes are a minor dinosaur
(major ones have tried, but been defeated
by the door) and a poinsettia bush, in flower.
From this, you might assume
more botanical knowledge in this writer
than is actually there.
I like the word ‘poinsettia’ and have always
thought Aquilops doesn’t get enough credit
for the Mohican down its tail.
Aquilops has a mint white chocolate frappé.
(I thought it might go for strawberry)
and waits at the end of the counter.
The poinsettia doesn’t take a drink,
but sits down at a table for two,
which I feel is quite cheeky.
Two extra staff have come on shift,
just as well, as it’s that time in the morning
when orders start to crowd
and the Aquilops looks as if it has
somewhere to be. The poinsettia takes out
a notebook and starts to write of Christmas.
Simon Williams has been writing since his teens, when he was mentored at university by Roger McGough. He has nine collections, the latest being The Magpie Almanack (www.simonwilliams.info), from Vole, published December 2020. Simon was elected The Bard of Exeter in 2013, founded the large-format magazine, The Broadsheet and published the PLAY anthology in 2018.