Parable
For thirty years, O Lord, we have lived
in a house without foundations.
And now it is
Christmas again, we drape lights
from the living apple tree to the dead one,
haul o come o come from the piano,
set the innumerable specials, the host
of appearances, to record.
Here comes the flood.
Here comes the storm.
A gingerbread house
hurled on the kitchen floor, a torrent
of rage, frustration, the meter showing
rising levels, below the still
unbroken membrane.
And neither sand
nor rock, but clay.
Thus, today
we swaddle the sausage meat in pastry
and lay gifts at the font of the Nordmann,
and gaze at the light from our widowed neighbour.
John Greening: A Bridport and Cholmondeley winner with over twenty collections, including The Interpretation of Owls: Selected Poems 1977-2022, he’s edited Arnold, Grigson, Blunden, Crichton Smith and Fanthorpe, plus several anthologies. Latest books are A High Calling (Renard) and Rilke’s New Poems.
Nae Xmas presents this year fir wee Jesus
Sure thir wis meant tae be plenty.
Ah mean three rich guys set aff
wi lots o time, weel, mibbe a bitty late.
But yi shud hae seen the stuff they hud.
Gold, aye actual gold. And twa fancy boxes
o smelly stuff. They were gie sweet.
The cheils made guid time crossing oer
oan thir camels. But didn’t they no go
an run intae trouble when they goat near ?
Naebudy hud telt them about thi rammy.
Fightin, clamour, hunners o folks deid.
Aye families, grannies an aw. Hames oan fire.
They tried hard tae mak it, tried tae gang oan
tae Bethlehem, but thon Settlers were nae
haein it. Nae quarter geid. Took aw thir gear,
the gold, frankincense, myrrh even the camels.
And aw the time, pair wee Jesus in a stable.
The wean’s Xmas ruined wi greed and cruelty.
Finola Scott writes to unravel the world. Trembling Earth, her recent pamphlet, considers the Climate Crisis. Her poems are widely published including The Irish Pages Press, NWS, Lighthouse. More at FB Finola Scott Poems and https://www.
Haiku
today, Christmas Eve,
my granddaughter visiting
her bright eyes – her faith
Philip Dunkerley does poetry in and around South Lincolnshire. Somehow more than 150 of his poems have jinked their way past editors and appeared in magazines and webzines. On bad days he is infected by words.