Try and have Merry Christmas

I’ve been remiss on this blog this year but I mean it’s been pretty quiet hasn’t it? Not much has happened. Will try and pick up the slack next year but feel like everything I need to say is being said online at the moment, a lot. The internet is just becoming background noise to be honest. 2017 is probably the year we start getting back to the real world as it seems we’ve been neglecting it and it has turned to complete shit. In the spirit of that, here’s you annual Christmas Poem from yours truly:


Merry Christmas Mrs. May

With snow gently lilting to the ground

Christmas lights casting their pearlescent glow

And a brass band blowing their mournful sound

Now wreaths of holly hung from doors to show

a welcome inside from a gilded tree,

mulling wine, chestnuts and the mistletoe

then comes a knocking and outside we see

wrapped up carolers singing songs we know.

“Do you have a license? And the volume’s

too loud. Make sure that brass band doesn’t stay,

I don’t think that’s a British seasonal tune

either. And mistletoe’s poisonous! No grey

area there, best take down this holly

wreath too. Is that snow white enough to play

in?” Poor No.10 (it’s not so jolly)

But have a Merry Christmas Mrs. May.

 


Also I made a Christmas song with my friend Christiana you can download for free over on Soundcloud. Click here to listen.

Be kind to each other. Except the 51% and anyone who voted Trump. Fuck them. They’re wrong and you need to tell them so and importantly show the evidence why. They don’t have facts to back up their racism, homophobia, misogyny and xenophobia, that’s why it’s called ‘ignorance’. Fuck 2016, let’s try and make next year better.

Merry Christmas everyone!

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Awake

For the last two years I have written a poem for Christmas so here’s this year’s in what is becoming a bit of a tradition for me. As Christmas poems have a mixed history I’ve found, I did a bit of research this time and read a few of the notable ones, as well as Ms. Duffy’s latest addition to the ‘canon’. Milton, Tennyson, Betjeman, Dickinson, Eliot, McNiece, everybody has written Christmas poems it turns out and of wildly different styles and tones. Generally the earlier ones tend to be dour and severe calls to remember Jesus Christ and forsake the wanton revelry for sober reflections of our souls, whereas latterly they become misty eyed reveries for an almost entirely fictitious or at least nostalgic past.

My last two were very much half and half. One was a sad recollection on how I have grown up and how different Christmas is to me now, the other more of an abstract pondering on what christmas is and what it really means. So for this one I wanted to do something different, as Robin Williams said “we must constantly look at things in a different way”. My favourite Christmas poem is by one of my least favourite writers, Thomas Hardy, entitled ‘The Oxen‘. It falls into the former category of dour calls to worship but is done in a very oblique way. More than anything it is a vignette, at little snapshot, putting one tiny element of the nativity and the (then) present day under a microscope. As such, I nicked this idea and wrote this poem. I hope you like it.

Awake

There is none so dead, so still

As that Winter’s night. None awake

and snow let silt to the ground, a chill

White plain, a blank marshmallow lake

 

When your eyes break cover and draw

A shadow painting with that white

And bare feet press carpet floors,

A curtain hood unveils the night;

 

The cold desert with no manger,

The guiding star and her sisters

Shattered on the floor with no danger

of seeing that unspoken father

 

Arriving to fill stockings, empty

Before sherry, pies and carrots fed

A myth and gave plenty

with a weight at the end of your bed.

And as a special treat here is my improvised rendition of one of my favourite carols:

Merry Christmas everyone!

The Reflex

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I have had no internet or computer since August so have been unable to update my blog over the last six months. I am, however, at home for Christmas and as I posted a Chrimble poem last year thought I’d do another one this year. Its Christmas eve and I’ve just watched the Muppets with my family so feeling decidedly festive.

I think it was Pavlov (he of the dog torturing) who suggested religion was a social reflex, mankind huddling together for spiritual warmth. It seems no matter what the religion we have a festival in Winter for similar reasons. I love Christmas and feel its sad people have become so cynical about it over the last century. We’ve never been a wealthy family so Xmas has always been a time for family and closeness and that’s what it means to me, not presents or holidays abroad. As such the poem is somewhat disenchanted but hopeful. I hope you enjoy it. And Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.

The Reflex

 

The

Soul of a season is not in cinnamon

but a fire

The warmth that beats from a pulse

as we huddle

Together for heat. This is not the glow

of a flame

But the spirit. A time of cold and dark

Love is hearth

A time where a race needs its ease

we all clothe

In worn out sentiment and threadbare

cheer to sing

In primary colour and stoke the waning

fire of kind

Leave the manager, forget the festivals and

just give

It is in others the kindling blossoms

rich and hot

So find or summon

Joy

Every girl

Every Boy