On the old piano keys
Jingle Bells is played again
and Jack Frost paints the window pane
with pictures from the fairy glen.
Children rush to look and see
the gifts in piles beneath the tree
wrapped in red and gold and green,
they sparkle in the magic light.
Merry, constant and unseen,
sweeping through the starlit night,
Santa flies above the towns.
The cake and drink we left is gone.
This childhood magic’s over now
but still I sing the Christmas songs.
When the storms of winter blow
and windows rattle, waters freeze
and the fire burns very low,
I’ll bring you home and wrap you up.
Our lights still twinkle in the dark
and we will drink the loving cup.
my heart is no longer an open book
not even to myself
it’s in a language i can’t read
the pages keep on turning
the pages are well-thumbed
I am tired of reading
i don’t know whether i should smile or groan
i am looking for a sign
a symbol
a fingerprint
that shows that it’s still mine
or is it yours
has it always been yours
all the time
to kindle a spark
of recognition
on this dim lit path
i am seeking an illustration
of a crossroads
in the dark
i have a friend
who gave me a blessing
she blessed my family
my kith and my kin
and all my tribal horses
my hearth and my home
and the warmth of my fire
it drove the cold from my heart
i wondered if i deserved it
only i can judge
but my horses are well-pastured
despite the hard frost of the winter
if you are sailing into a storm
you don’t seek a sinking vessel
i am being pragmatic
romance is alluring
a vision of paradise islands
leading to shipwrecks
it doesn’t save lives
I’m a sailor
it’s not a choice or by chance
it’s an anchor
but most sailors can’t swim
i will build my own ship
and be Captain
I wont name this ship Star of the Ocean
or Victory or even Endurance
if i ever recruit
the crew will be tried and tested
and walk the plank when found wanting
I name this ship Endeavour
I think of your sorrow
and of my own
and my troubles to come
but the news burbles on
in the background
a constant horror
what have I got to cry about?
there are no bombs in my street
my kids are nearby
I still have a floor under my feet
the tap gives me water
there’s no blood at my gate
or local slaughter
babies are born in this town
they survive
they have love
I’m alive
minds are filled with petty things
you look at the gossip columns
those things that concern you so much
who is with who, and why is that
and is he having an affair with her
it’s reported
mud sticks
it’s speculated
who knows?
who cares?
there are people in other lands
buried in despair
terrified
dying
no water
children who passed beyond crying
and no hope anywhere
slaughter
get a mind,
or stay silent
I hoist myself up by my bootstraps
to tread the well-worn path,
to battle impatient landlords
and recover from love that’s lost
same old, same old song
time to journey on
I don’t want to be bitter
I don’t want to be angry
I don’t want to be sad
I don’t want to think about us
Or the tenderness we had
I won’t stay in Winter
I was born in the Spring
And Autumn touches my soul.
For you I wish endless Summers
To keep you from this cold,
This cold that’s my bitter heart
Since you pushed us apart
I’m not going to bleed for you, darling.
I have sorrows enough of my own.
I wholeheartedly offered you home,
The one you rejected and left.
Now you must make your own.
I hope you find it within you soon.
My heart is a low-lit room,
I don’t forgive you yet.
Such an insensitive question.
Yes, there’s a ring on my finger,
A simple silver band,
Many long years on my hand.
I wear it for one simple reason,
To remind me I’m my own.
If my words trouble or hurt you,
I am very sorry for that.
I regret.
There’s only one place I escape to at night,
When I can’t get you out of my head.
I have to write.
If not, I would leave all my pages
Empty and woundedly white.
The Dreaming Path 