Archives for posts with tag: Christmas
OldDesignShop_LadyHangingWreath-211x300

Another perfect image courtesy of the Old Design Shop.

A quiet night preludes the festivities” nods to the classic “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012

Image courtesy of the Old Design Shop, a vintage image treasury.

Image courtesy of the Old Design Shop, a vintage image treasury.

“Another drop in this week before Christmas” is a companion piece to “Without realising it the postman leaves a poem.”


Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012

‘Tis the night before
I head off to find Christmas.
with an inflatable bed
and homemade biscuits.

All through this lodging
there is hardly a clatter;
only Depeche Mode on my laptop
and my landlady’s patter.

To the front door she shuffles
and hooks up the chain.
Yesterday’s outside,
while we’re bolted in.

22/12/13

My paternal grandparents had a beautifully illustrated copy of The Night before Christmas published by Little Golden Books. To me those pages smelt of sweeter Christmases in the past where children ate candy-canes and hung up stockings over a fireplace. This was the same Christmas of The Nutcracker’s Sugar Plum Fairy, so it is not surprising that sweetness filled the nose and tempted the taste-buds. Magically, unlike the other books in the dust-coated shelves, it did not smell musty. The paper itself was sturdy and even in those days, to my childish eyes the illustrations had an old-fashioned look about them.

I’m sure my father read the long poem to us. It’s his voice, with a little added theatricality, that I hear when I recall the famous opening lines:

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
not a creature was stirring not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung from the chimney with care
in the hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The atmosphere of expectancy and magic built up at the poem’s opening inspired my musings on this quiet evening. With gifts wrapped, cards distributed, Christmas baking done, bags packed, and now even the front door bolted, it seems that all that there is left for me to do is board my train at Euston tomorrow.

The second part of The Night before Christmas bounds with abundance and jollity. With St Nick and the reindeer enters a quicker pace and the energy of the festival. It is that part of the holiday to which I’ll be travelling. However, here in the quiet before the fracas, here I write next week’s posts at my desk, muesli consumed and coffee at hand.

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

I’ll be quiet on Facebook and Twitter over this festive season, but I’d be delighted if you’d look me up:

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill

Something for you –

reads these cards.
They’re blue this year
for the seasonal drop.

This something
can be an item
Special Delivery, Tracked, Recorded Signed For,
An International Item.
That one excites people.

Or the item could be
a letter, a packet, a catalogue,
a number of items
or,
though never in my time,
a perishable item.

Yet again, an item that could not be delivered.
No-one at home.

The card through the letterslot.
Last one for the shift.
Back to the depot.
Turn up my music.
I could do with some tea.

19/12/13

A companion piece to Monday’s poem, “Without realising it, the postman leaves a poem”.  As an exercise, this poem is written from the point of view of the postman.

I’m now wondering about a poem in which the postman is the poet.

Twitter: @BeadedQuill

Facebook: BeadedQuill