decemberism





those hills often ignored

are now stared at are turning

to mauve, then inky and deeply

the advances of wishes come

to dream




that cockerel vane atop the spire

that sentinel of iron vanishes,

excitable whispers behind the

yawns of windows, could that be a

reindeer in amongst the imagination?




slogans of light fulfil where darkness

should shrug, streetlights where moths

worshipped thru’ summer are orange bulbs

trying to fierce out, trying to panic the dark,

frost is about his cellophane anorak




he is upon the gasp and necessary exhale




first star lit messenger then a

filigree of them, silver unimaginables

thrive into crowns into join-the-

dot constellations, are there bells

upon the wind’s lively grimace?




or is it the rowans creaking?

the hedges nearly white with

shivering sigh-ful filling, there’s

stiffness in the boughs where the

pearl-mistletoe-king inhabits




no hare to wander the cold,

newspapers buffeting a scarecrow

where so many holes are allowed,

charcoal for eyes and hollows for

the heart to want




there’s a comet in excitement

heartbeats won’t settle, small

birds flutter in the muscles,

sleighs are about the minds

skidding in the glitter




here’s to wonder, there are ravines in parcels




sloes are in exquisite tumblers

deeply blackcurrant, aliquots

of hazy liquid comfort, fathoms for

the year is almost gone, and the

clock will be witless of time once




the glass has refilled it’s tide




days are being drunk quicker than

those now stoppered and watched

when rust is at the fore and the

bitumen clouds are lowest, forfeit

those broken roads




oh cinnamon and clove,

what is the air perfumed

with? anticipation

expectation of snowflake

dances, explanations are




magical thrall, arrivals in the twinkle of childhood




candy canes and snow graffiti'd

princes hang from careful twigs

sleighs are without destination

where plastic icicles can never drip,

the consolation of tomorrow cannot bring




oh nutmeg and mulled,

ideas for absurd wrapping paper

and the wonder that is swaddled

within, tear at the sellotape’s refusal

awaiting wide-gaped-astonishment

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