A Few Poems for Christmas

Winter Expedition

Now the road’s a frozen river

And I’ve neither skates nor ski.

But I’ve presents to deliver

And a friend I long to see.

Proudly I set off, and, falling,

Lie upon a road like glass;

Struggle to my feet, and, crawling,

Head towards the frozen grass.

Rich and poor and feet and motors

Share the middle of the road,

All intrepid winter-coaters

Where no timid souls have strode.

Slipping, sliding, skating, gliding,

Laughing, waving, falling down,

Thank you, winter, for providing

Thrills in walking into town!

The Poet And The Thrush

Poet of depressing views

Switches off the morning news,

Tries to raise a jolly smile:

Festive season, Dickens-style. 

Through the piles of snow and slush

Hops a festive starving thrush,

Wet, bedraggled, and forlorn,

Pecking at the frozen lawn.

‘That’s my Christmas buggered, then!’

Poet growls, and grabs his pen,

Writes how joy is mixed with woe,

Plenty with starvation, so

We delude ourselves who may

Laugh and sing on Christmas Day.

Spends the evening in his room,

Duty done in spreading gloom.

Bird meanwhile flies off to find

One of less reflective mind,

Who, with crumbs of cake, at least

Lets it share the Christmas feast.

Consider The Birds

I scattered birdseed on the ground

When earth was frozen hard,

And, soon enough, two pigeons came

To peck in my backyard.

If one should try to land and feed,

The other circled by

To curse and drive him, fluttering,

Still hungry, to the sky.

There seemed no cause for quarrelling

When food lay all around,

But neither could endure it if

His rival touched the ground.

Are these the birds that represent

God’s gentle, gracious love:

The form the Holy Spirit took,

‘Descending like a dove’?

Is there a world of forms ideal,

Unseen by mortal eyes,

Where doves are peaceful, lions brave,

And human beings wise?

Or do these squabbling pigeons here

Fulfil some special share

Of holiness, whereof God knows

And I am unaware?

First Nativity Play

It’s the day before Christmas, and – well, here I am,

With my dressing-gown on, and a woolly toy lamb.

We’ve got a new game that we’ve practised all day,

And now all the grown-ups are watching us play.

There’s Joseph, who’s pushing a push-along donkey,

Which can’t go too fast, ‘cause the wheels are all wonky,

And Mary is growing fed-up with the ride,

Jumps off its back, and then runs alongside.

Now some of the people are starting to cry

At being onstage, but I’ve no idea why;

I’m having the time of my life with the ‘snow’ –

It’s white polystyrene, and great stuff to throw

At Mary, who grabs it and hurls it straight back,

And then throws her dolly, which lands with a crack.

We sing the ‘Glad tigers’, and then it’s all done.

The grown-ups say ‘Thank-you,’ – they’ve had so much fun!

Now Mummy and Daddy can take me away.

We walk through the meadows of mangers of hay,

And I wonder if Mary and Joseph were able

To come to the shelter of even a stable,

Or was Jesus laid in his rough manger bed

In a cold, muddy field, with just stars overhead?

Stardust

First of all was You.  And you made the star-fires;

From the stars made planets; and, from one planet

Made the fish and beasts; and, at last, made

People to know you.

Now you’ve turned the universe inside-outside;

You, in whom the universe holds together,

Have become a baby of clay and stardust,

Born in a cavern.

Wrapped in linen, richest of Christmas presents,

You who first were wrapped in a mother!  Yet I

Feel that, if your wrapping was torn or punctured,

We would see starlight.