|
Tuesday 1st December 2009 |
|
JB
it is cold today
the tree wet - still dripping with
last nights rain
a gull - wings wide
sweeps across the garden
on an icy draught
clouds split and drift
like geese flying to the south
This is where December starts
with the cold ache of winter
and my jacket
on your shoulders |
LB
This looks like the end:
bare earth, bare trees
midnight sky at breakfast time.
Then a redbreast glow
eases across the horizon.
Roosting starlings
shake themselves awake
on twigs that were green
only weeks ago,
and will be again
in time to conceal nests,
eggs, fledglings.
|
|
Wednesday 2nd December 2009 |
|
JB
in the city centre
the bare braches of trees
cling on to abandoned nests
twigs and grass unweaving
on the ground
pigeons forage for crumbs
thrown from breakfast tables
you should not feed them
the cafe owner says
but I know that
and do it anyway
even pigeons get hungry
|
LB
A radio presenter
says the full moon is setting
in the west right now.
I must see for myself
before breakfast;
slip on Crocs.
Three-storey houses block sky
but not the gleam, distinct
from streetlights’ orange.
Drawn like a tide,
I slop towards it,
past rooftops,
through dark puddles
in bumpy tarmac.
The silver circle:
more magical
than Christmas lights.
I forget wet feet.
|
|
Thursday 3rd December 2009 |
|
JB
the moon is full
tonight
round and bright
pregnant with Christmas
cirrus ice crystals
hang around it
in a halo
clouds stream across its face
like fingers making shapes
to bring shadows alive
crepuscular red tints
scratch at the horizon
hint at dawn
on 3rd of December
|
LB
Leaden sky delays dawn;
although the radio alarm
croons Bing’s delivery
of the familiar lyric,
it is just rain again.
I post the annual cards –
decorated with snowflakes,
skaters, frosted pines –
to Australia and Jamaica.
They know as well as I:
images of Christmas
depend on polar weather.
|
|
Friday 4th December 2009 |
|
LB
The moon is unsymmetrical
this morning, yet lingers
beyond dawn to flaunt
its near-roundness
in glittering sunlight
and almost-cloudless sky.
As if I could rely on permanence,
as if it were a fixture like a lamp,
I am disappointed
when I look again and find
it has slipped out of view
behind a neighbour’s roof.
|
JB
now we launch into the day
into shops and crowds
and throbbing checkouts
the Christmas Trees
have been in store for a while
but now they are appearing
in house windows
we spend longer than planned
and more than intended
but it doesn’t matter
shops are brighter
the evening darker
|
|
Saturday 5th December 209 |
|
LB
The Priory, built
to worship a distant spirit;
its stone, excavated
from Earth’s warm belly.
Inside, candles’ glow
takes the chill
from arches and statues;
celebrates human life,
and the certainty
of daylight’s expansion
after the solstice.
|
JB
Tesco’s is crowded
people shuffling into gaps
to move along isles
avoiding trolleys
used as battering rams
trolleys piled high
wait to be checked out
we decide on a coffee
and decide to wait
until Monday for our shopping
in the car park queues of vehicles
wait for spaces
we walk home
looking at Christmas lights
lining the road
|
|
Sunday 6th December 2009 |
|
JB
in the Methodist church
on Telegraph Road
parishioners sing
modern hymns
to the ancient God
next to it in the village hall
people preparing for
an attic sale later in the
afternoon
outside traffic queues along the
road
to get into
Marks and Spenser’s food hall
and on the street corner
someone in white face
dressed in a long white shroud
stands on a box still as a statue
we go home
have porridge
and wait for the children
to come home from last nights
parties
|
A whole section of
Gardenlands,
stacked with
Christmas trees:
Nordman, Norway
Spruce.
We browse through
prickly boughs,
pull some out to
check size and shape,
choose a Fraser
Fir;
and to crown it:
a bejewelled gold
star.
Surrounded by
glitter,
seasonal scents,
wide-eyed tots
trotting
out of Santa’s
grotto with parcels,
we stop to look at
his pair of reindeer.
They nose in their
hay
looking earthbound
and dejected,
without tinsel
entwined in antlers,
and no sleigh in
sight.
|
|
Monday 7th December 2009 |
|
JB
I am counting pavement cracks
wondering why
it seems more difficult
to side-step them now
it used to be the tarmac waves
and all made up strategies
needed to avoid them
other times it was other things
elastic bands
and identifying birds and trees
now I make up jokes
like “what do you do
when you find a cyclist
lying on the road”
and pretend it never happened
when I hear the lacking punch line
“recycle him”
maybe I’ll just count the cracks |
LB
I had forgotten this:
the silky feel
of sifted flour on fingers;
the delicious way
it combines with butter
into a soft gravel;
ice-cold water added
with metal spoon;
stirring, kneading, shaping;
the satisfaction
of rolling out pastry,
cutting it to size;
heaped teaspoons
of mincemeat,
powdery grit of caster sugar,
heat from opened oven;
scents of Christmas
pervading my kitchen.
|
|
Tuesday 8th December 2009 |
|
JB
walking alongside the sandstone
face
carved by ice that once passed
this way
it could be like looking into a
fire
the shapes mean whatever
you want them to mean
me I see a sun bright summers day
corn fields waving in the breeze
waiting to be turned into a maze
and over there a barn
where you can buy a cup of tea
but it's not
it's sandstone nothing else
and it's winter - and it's cold
and I want to get home
leave the sandstone wall
looking like whatever it wants
until next time
|
LB
A gust of sunshine reveals
my shadow, narrow,
three times longer than my body.
I follow its steady progress
while taking care
to not avoid walking
on the cracks in paving.
Slabs are uneven, broken,
threaten to twist ankles;
I generally walk under ladders too.
|
|
Wednesday 9th December 2009 |
LB
McKays’ windows
display party
dresses:
black, red, royal
blue,
weighty with
sequins.
Shoppers pause,
gaze,
drawn like moths
from outdoors
gloom
towards
fairy-lights.
Crowds squeeze
between rows of
clothes.
A teenager browses
low-cut camisoles,
mini-skirts, lace
tights;
her mother holds
a velvet jacket
against her bosom,
hanger hook
pressing
her ample chin;
they both hurry
into fitting
rooms.
|
JB
in the sky this morning
the only clouds
were five red
contrail lines
there seem to be more
each day
here though many planes fly low
to land in Manchester
or Speke
on warm dry evenings
I sit outside
watch as they fly over
wonder about them
but this afternoon it rained
as the table and chairs
were finally packed away
until Spring
|
|
Thursday 10th December 2009 |
LB
M & S basement:
Aladdin’s cave
stacked with games –
Pub Quiz,
Ready-Steady-Cook;
three-for-two
gifts –
gardening gloves
with trowel,
whiskey with
tumbler, cheese with knife;
lengths of tinsel;
boxes of baubles?
Or windowless
labyrinth
under the glare
of
headache-inducing strip-lights,
with threat at
every turn
from battering-ram
trolleys;
and checkout
queues,
each an
undulating, fire-breathing
dragon, the length
of an aisle.
|
JB
we got the boxes
from the storage
checked some of
them
the familiar
faces of Christmas
wrapped in last
year's newspaper
waiting unchanged
to sit on table
mantelpiece and
shelf
strings of lights
to be checked
and strung around
the tree
baubles to be
dusted
swags and candle
holders
door wreath and
table runners
to be placed or
hung
dressed or strung
and in its box
the small nativity scene
almost lost in
the middle of it all
|
|
Friday 11th December 2009 |
|
JB
from a perch on the arm of a streetlight
a sparrowhawk stares at the distant field
something must have caught its eye
some movement in the grass
some creature foraging
along the road vans and lorries
make their slow way towards the shops
above them the sparrowhawk
continues to watch
|
LB
Hard to
believe so long ago:
my birthday
would herald
purchase of
Christmas tree
and annual
reading
of ‘A
Christmas Carol’;
Nicki and I
read
alternate
pages;
Martin, older,
escaped
to play
Marillion,
Black Sabbath.
Each evening,
Nicki ensured
her turn would
include
favourite
passages:
door-knocker
and Marley’s face;
food stacked
around
the Spirit of
Christmas Present;
Scrooge’s
transformation.
From upstairs,
steady bass
thrum:
all well with
our world.
|
|
Saturday 12th December 2009 |
|
LB
No white streets
here in the soft
south;
no frosted
windowpanes
or frozen ponds
with skaters
in bobble-hats and
mittens;
no snowmen and
shovels,
slithering,
sledges,
and shimmering
forests.
This is an
indoors,
cotton-wool
mid-winter:
pine trees in
houses,
smothered with
tinsel stars,
glass icicles,
pale angels.
We shake domes
to see flakes fall
from false skies
onto plastic
Santas.
|
JB
the garden centre
has become
the Christmas
shop
with inflatables
for the roof
and twisted
shapes that light up
into sleighs and
nodding
reindeer to be
fixed to walls
trees pre-lit and
decorated
ready to install
a plastic and
tinfoil
Christmas from a
box
is available for
the time
challenged
who are all here
today
crowding shoulder
to shoulder
on our way home
we realise
we were returning
empty handed
the poinsettia we
set out for
left on the shelf
next to the artificial
flowers
|
|
Sunday 13th December 2009 |
|
LB
We stop-start-stop
in traffic
beside the school
field,
rear seats and
boot
stacked with
presents and food.
Swans finally left
draining flood
water;
lingering pools
reflect –
almost double –
about five hundred
gulls
puddling among
sodden tussocks;
and fifty oyster
catchers
scattered among
them,
drilling mud with
orange bills.
Two rooks end
their haughty strut,
forget foraging,
to bathe,
splash, without
inhibition.
|
JB
today we decorate
the tree
stretch out the
swags
and stand the
father Christmases
on duty
the front window
figures smile out
to the world
inside we
remember
where all this
stuff used to go
the ghosts of
rooms
that used to be
our \Christmas
|
|
Monday 14th December 2009 |
|
JB
today for my
birthday
I received a bird
feeder stand
a great device
with four hooks
with dangling
feeders
for the garden
birds
at the moment it
is all put together
standing in the
corner
by the Christmas
tree
but not a bird in
sight
|
LB
Darwin Avenue,
lined both sides with bungalows:
until my second Christmas,
a track through woodland.
Forces returned to civvy street.
The Council took one side;
lined asbestos prefabs in threesomes
along alleyways at right-angles to the road
like studio poses of triplets
in matching outfits.
You would think they were all the same:
matching concrete paths,
chain-link fences, front lawns,
sheds at the back.
But next-door kept weedy tussocks,
brambles, an odd clump of heather;
we grew potatoes, raspberries,
runner beans, a trellis
of Dorothy Perkins roses.
By the fire, every December,
my dad said when he was just my age,
Santa passed by his house
because he stayed awake.
|
|
Tuesday 15th December 2009 |
|
JB
you came in and
locked the winter outside
shook the cold
from your coat
stood warming
your back against the fire
your beard
tangled like roots
lying dormant
waiting for the spring
hands shrink as
you remove your gloves
boots dripping as
the snow melts
head back you
laugh like thunder
your eyes flash
like lightening
I saw you I know
I did
heard animals
outside as you
eat your mice pie
– drunk your milk
next morning
there was nothing to see
presents - a few
crumbs – some crushed snow
a small damp
patch in front of the fire
the dog got the
blame for that
I was told that
although Santa was real
I must have been
dreaming
|
LB
A dunnock
descends,
softly as a moth;
picks its way
through seeds
dropped by
starlings and blue-tits
from a
suet-filled coconut shell.
In light dimmed
by drizzle,
backcloth of
winter-brown shrubs,
no colours
contrast with its feathers;
it is
distinguished only by
watchful turning
of its head
and flickering
progress
along the wall.
|
|
Wednesday 16th December 2009 |
|
JB
at the Pier Head
there are statues
of people on horses
sinewy muscular horses
looking ready to thrash
across the car park
ready to hack through
Albert Dock and Liverpool One
ready to bray and snort
tramp over Christmas crowds
with bronze feet until finally
it unravels in Church Street
|
LB
We mask midwinter –
year’s close –
with fairy-lights and
candles;
banish darkness from
towns,
by filling shops,
streets, homes
with twinkling
colours;
string lifetimes
together
along loops of tinsel,
reflections in silver
bells;
hang baubles,
bright as summer
flowers.
|
|
Thursday 17th December 2009 |
|
JB
some people like
Christmas
are able to throw
off winter
bend towards the
light
and reveal
themselves
blooming on the
shortest days
others take on a
shroud
shrivel in the
cold feign death
pretend that it
is some sort
of life
Dickens knew that
and his words
strung together
were sung
to the music of a
human heart
|
LB
Beside the Festival Hall,
the bronze bust of Mandela
watches passers-by hunch
against stinging snow
flurries.
No-one stops to meet his
gaze:
too cold; besides,
everyone is used to his
presence.
Serene in advancing years,
wears the same expression
while
designer heels click,
homeless drunks stagger
and swear.
|
|
Friday 18th December 2009 |
| JB
the green man
casts off his
leaves
takes up his red
coat
his laughter
shakes
root and branch
as he gathers up
the night
to make it last
forever
then for some
reason
he decides to sit
in a chair
in the corner
in Lingham's
Bookshop
|
LB
Grandma used to
complain
my birthday is too
close
to Christmas;
I never dared
retort
there are two full
weeks between
and anyway,
it is hardly my
fault.
Too late now to
tell her
I enjoy cashing in
on the seasonal
atmosphere.
No-one born in
May, June or January
gets streets and
shops decorated
every year.
|
| Saturday 19th
December 2009 |
LB
New neighbours
arrive
with small van;
strew pavement and
drive
with chairs and
chests.
Their breath
billows white
into the chill
as they haul
boxes, buckets,
toys inside.
Just as gulls fly
back to the coast
across
pink-and-grey streaked sky,
and starlings
settle to roost,
they close their
new front door.
|
JB
Emma's bed had Allen key fittings
recessed screws
that won a prize for design
and which once fitted
were not intended ever
to be taken out again
and so each one took an hour
to remove
Harry’s bed is smaller
because he is
and was easily moved out
in one piece
but could not be taken upstairs
in the new house
so it was left on the driveway
for three hours while
the screws were struggled with
I think it would be a good idea
to take the prize back
and buy a new bed
|
|
Sunday 20th December 2009 |
| JB
out of church
then out with Charlie
up to the Beacons
to search in the trees
looking for the leaching
mistletoe to bring home
to decorate the architrave
and make you smile
white beads of berries
lying draped on the branches
cascading through the fork
like legs stretched wide
a balm to bring fertility
a Christian symbol
to redeem it
but for me I just want
to steal your kiss
|
LB
Every year
I listen to the ancient
story;
remember elders
who scoffed at the myth of
the stable,
boiled puddings in a
copper,
were glad of a day’s
holiday;
and those who whispered it
like a prayer
in hope I might believe;
people before I existed,
who knelt at midnight,
thought it the heart of
Christmas;
even earlier, those who
knew
the turning of the year,
resting earth about to
stir.
Whether or not it is true,
I must hear it told
in the same words every
year.
|
|
Monday 21st December 2009 |
|
JB
it’s dawn
frost and gales
bring in a day
where light is
trapped
in the darkening
clouds
today is Yule -
the solstice
when the sun
child is born
when the world is
renewed
the start of the
twelve days
of Yuletide and
the last
of the shortening
days
long frozen
nights
of winter still
ahead
but the spring is
coming
with the
lengthening day
the spring is
coming
|
LB
Fine
sleet dims
the
brief daytime
of the
solstice.
Last
night’s fat, yellow
crescent moon is waxing,
even
though out of sight
beyond
the overcast horizon.
We
trust that crocuses
are
stirring even now under
a
flimsy layer of frozen snow.
Funny
how the darkest day,
with no
sign of sunlight,
is also
time to grow;
a
promise, a beginning,
a
feast-time.
|
|
Tuesday 22nd December 2009 |
LB
We bring out
photos
that track family
history
through years of
Christmas Days:
various sofas,
kitchens,
hairstyles,
fashions;
the children posed
with Santa Claus
in stores in
different towns,
and opening
presents
beside all sizes
of Christmas tree.
One where everyone
is singing
and ‘playing’
The Twelve Days...
on inflatable
guitars and saxophones
we bought in
April, in Memphis.
And this one
where, on the day,
I had not seen
that my mother
already looked
like a ghost.
|
JB
berries fallen from the holly
wreath on the door lie in the snow
red as the bauble
on our Christmas tree
red as the blazing Tesco sign
red as Father Christmas’s
Coca Cola Coat
the plastic coated
polystyrene berries
lie there bright
against the white snow
ignored by the birds
that peck at the seed
we scatter for them
|
|
Wednesday 23rd December 2009 |
LB
Rain fell and
froze in the night:
by sunrise,
streets are littered
with battered
cars, injuries,
emergency
services.
Our cul-de-sac
tarmac, glossy;
patio an ice-rink,
trees and
wrought-iron chairs
decorated with
solid drops.
Frantic blackbirds
fly back and forth,
tail feathers
frosted white.
I throw them
handfuls
of sultanas and
crushed walnuts.
One perches and
parades the fence;
moves only to
chase away his rival;
dares not descend,
eat
and risk his
superior position.
|
JB
it’s snowing
and the streets are
already covered in ice
Stan Getz plays
on my CD player
blows notes that curve
like the snow that falls
and follows shapes
at the edge of the wind
it snow dances now
a Bossa Nova rhythm
in a while we decide
we will walk to the shops
doing our own ice waltz
a dance of slide
and stagger
maybe we should listen
to some swing instead
to get us in the mood
|
|
Thursday 24th December 2009 |
|
LB
Buzz of traffic
diminishes
to distant doze
barely audible
above
humming computer.
Everyone heads
home,
prepares food,
wraps last-minute
gifts;
in the expectant hush,
I gaze at a blank
screen.
|
JB
the shopping's done
the freezer packed
the children annoying
all just as it should be
the presents for tomorrow
are hidden
and I check the crib
the manger empty
the model baby in a drawer
waiting to be put in place
when we come home
to hot chocolate
and toasted fruit loaf
after our midnight service
it must be Christmas
|
|
Friday 25th December 2009 |
|
LB
Seven gold candles
at the centre
shine for the four
sitting round
them,
and a generation
who used to
eat Christmas
dinner
at the very same
oak table.
We toast their
memories
and ourselves;
pull crackers,
don silly paper
crowns
and laugh at the
jokes
they used to call
‘mottos’.
The flames flicker
until we snuff
them.
|
JB
I woke this morning to presents
and preparations for Christmas
dinner
emails texts and phone calls
to children and grandchildren
outside the snow is melting
into pools of dirty grey slush
the roads are quiet
I get a black rubbish bag
collect up the screwed balls
of wrapping paper
put the two books
we already have to one side
to be changed after Christmas
the shirts to be tried on
to the bedroom
new slippers in the corner
old slippers in the bag
among the TV commercials
shouting some sort of Christmas
a choir is singing about
the birth of Jesus
and I am being told
the sprouts are nearly done
|
|
Saturday 26th December 2009 |
|
LB
Marilyn
lives with
rheumatoid
arthritis,
mental
ill-health
and
learning disabilities;
leans on
her sticks
at the Day
Centre gate
to look
for someone she thinks
she once
met in Australia;
he will
take her away from ‘all this’;
eats
oranges while she waits,
for their
sunshine;
sometimes
forgets to allow time
for the
painful journey to the toilet.
She does
not mind Christmas
except for
its colours:
red and
green hurt
eyes and
thoughts;
she
prefers blue and gold.
|
JB
out for a walk with Charley
the houses shops and people
all hung-over
gathering a gloom
about them
the sky is blue today
the sun bright and clear
we walk our familiar route
on the common
a life-size snowman
reduced to the last small
block of ice
the crisp snow
melted
turns the field to mud
|
|
Sunday 27th December 2009 |
|
LB
All crackers are pulled,
presents unwrapped,
empty bottles await recycling,
relatives gone home.
Bins overflow with empty boxes,
balled-up red-and-gold paper;
Hoover-bag fat
with crumbs and pine needles;
fridge loaded with leftovers,
bellies stuffed, heads fuzzy.
Obvious quietness fills
all spaces in the house.
|
JB
three generations of family:
my children
their children
the married
the soon to be married
sit around the table
stars and angels
made from pipe cleaners
vie with the plastic favours
from the crackers
we put on paper hats
and read the cracker jokes
like we always do
some of my children
are elsewhere
one is sitting with his own
family
in Wales
I have a text from him
they are having a good day
wearing paper hats
telling cracker jokes
like they always do
|
| Monday 28th
December 2009 |
|
JB
someone invented a bank holiday
to make up for the fact that
a day off fell on a day off
so they had another day off
to make up for it
so today is a day off
Keara is off to watch football
we sitting at home
watch Star Trek
then wander along to Costa
where they never have
a day off
not even when it is
officially a day off
|
LB
In
next-door-but-one,
annual Christmas
drinks
for neighbours.
Chatter, between
doorbell chimes:
concerns and
irritations
of elderly
parents;
nuisance
neighbours
who moved on.
Someone spills red
wine
on beige carpet:
hostess kneels
with paper towels,
wet cloths; we all
advise.
Splash of white
wine,
vigorous scrub;
enthusiastic
congratulations
on stain removal.
With dishes of
crisps, nuts, olives,
conversation turns
to local hotels;
I say, much as I
enjoy
Captain’s Club
cordon bleu menu
and crab
sandwiches,
I miss summer
families
at the Pontin’s it
replaces;
smile at
everyone’s disapproval.
|
|
Tuesday 29th December 2009 |
|
LB
Raining, dark,
cold.
We stay in, get
ready
for a new year.
furniture
reconfigured,
bookshelves
rearranged,
language CDs lined
up
to revise for
excursions
(if we ever dare
fly,
since threat has
reared again).
Now the filing
cabinet
shows a different
side
I move magnetic
poetry.
First words up:
summer
what
how
|
JB
yesterday
I had pulled the
bin out
down the back
entry
onto the pavement
the neighbour
two doors away
who had sent
cards
"to everyone at
number one
from all at
number five"
no names
just the safe
anonymity of a number
they had not seen
the change
of day for
putting out bins
or had forgotten
I dragged their
bins out
to join mine on
the pavement
this morning I
heard a noise
by the garden
door
through the
window
saw the man from
number five
put my bin back
in its place
he looked up saw
me and waved
then retreated
back
into anonymity
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Thursday 30th December 2009 |
|
JB
sitting in Cafe Nero
looking out onto the square
some people looking for bargains
others taking things back
in the trees strings of blue lights
hang from branches
where starlings watch
as a shop worker removes
Christmas decorations
from a window
replacing them with posters
“up to 50% off”
we drink up our coffee
and go off to find a bargain
|
LB
In Comet, the
same cartoon
showing on
twenty or thirty screens,
crowded
escalators
clambering
between floors;
gold-shirted
staff
collared at
every display cabinet
by customers
impatient to buy
anything
labelled in knockdown red;
T-shirted
staff with trolleys
shunting
cartons
from
stockrooms to cars.
This is the
way the year ends:
the noise of
spending
and whisper of
debt
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Thursday 31st December 2009 |
|
JB
it is cold today
the tree dripping with
last night's rain
in the garden birds are finding
the new bird feeder
we can stand here
awhile
identifying the birds
and looking at the
chasing clouds
tomorrow the start
of a new year
but for today
this is where December ends
with the cold ache of winter
and my jacket once more
lying on your shoulders
|
LB
This is the year’s
end:
sodden earth,
dripping trees,
central heating on
overtime
throughout the
dark day.
Blackbird on roof
sees
me throw sultanas
onto patio;
in rivals’
absence, dives and feeds.
Pied wagtail
picks, pecks,
whirrs through
puddles on thread-legs.
Already green
shoots show.
I can see them if
I only
pull away last
summer’s
leftover stalks,
twigs, dead leaves.
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