The coffee shop is using-up it’s final snowflake cups, But they feel like relics of another time. The frost is colder now, yet the mornings maybe brighter somehow, Though the streets are tinged with Winter grime. As I approach my desk, there’s still a hint of picturesque, As a few stray decorations dot-about. But the chocolates have gone, and the dieting upon us, As we all must learn once more to do without. But at least we get to start the waiting year by looking smart, That’s all courtesy of presents and the sales. Though I gather by the sounds that the cold is on its rounds, While the post-room brings a late card, postmark Wales. My meeting-planner grows as my inbox overflows, And the old year’s calendar goes in the bin – As the phone are busy ringing and the copiers are singing, And at last we fully let the new begin.
How long should we keep our decorations up Once Yule is done ? Should we pick the morning after Boxing Day To start the shun ? Or maybe on the drawn-out New Year’s Eve, When we must kick-around Just waiting for the final hours – We’ve plenty time to take them down.
The baubles and the strings of lights, We bid you au revoir – Along with snowflakes, swirls, and sprites, And finally, the star.
Or hang on till the Fifth of January, And the party’s gone – When we’ve likely all gone back to work already, Needing to move on. Or simply when the tree has lost its green, And tinsel lost its cheer – Then time to pack the season in the attic For another year.
The cards from off the bookshelves, And the wreath from off the door. It’s time that we regain ourselves – Normality once more.
Honestly, by the end of the year it looks like even the AI has given-up…
Annus Medius
Another year of not quite making it, Of lacking clout – Of languishing, but trying to break out.
Another year of not quite finding peace, Of getting stuck, Of pressing-on, but with decreasing luck.
Another year of getting side-tracked, Getting tied-up, getting trapped – Another year of getting let-down Getting threatened, getting browned.
Another year, but at least we get to say That we were there – We turned up for each day, When the days went ev’rywhere. Some lived in defiance, And a few lived in regret – It wasn’t all a triumph, But it hasn’t killed us yet.
Another year of middling-through, Another shift is done. I guess, for most of us, that’s true – We lived, and sometimes won.
Once, when the Winter was colder, And the Bridge more wall than hole, So the River would stall and dawdle Till the ice had won control. And a brand new street through the heart of the city was born, And paved in white, Where the tents and the stalls and the elephant put their faith In the Winter’s blight. For days and days, as the ferries sat idle, The waters were newly owned – Though the surface was a rocky road of blocks That creaked and groaned. For the tide was never still, Beneath this temporary town – Till the breakup happened suddenly, And dragged the slow ones down. Yet for a week, the world was changed For folks of ev’ry class, As even in the bitter cold, They’d promenade on mass. But in the end, the thaw must come, To even ice that’s strong – And Midwinter festivities Should not extend too long.
We’ve sung these songs before, These Silent Nights, these Gaudetes – We’ll sing these songs for evermore, I’m sure, All Christmas Days – Pious in their message, Dressed in angels at the manger – And how familiar they are, And not a one a stranger.
But in a thousand years from now, Shall these songs still be heard ? You have my word…
But other songs exist, Like Deck The Halls, like Jingle Bells, That long were added to our list, Persisting each Nowell. Joyful in their scoring, While ignoring Mary’s son – And how familiar they are, When sung by ev’ryone.
But in a thousand years from now, Shall these still stop the show ? I think we know…
And ev’ry year come songs, These All I Wants, these Fairytales – But will they still be sung-along so strong, Or will they fail ? Hopeful in their jingle, Mingling underneath the tree – But how familiar they are, We’ll have to wait and see.
So in a thousand years from now, Shall we remember still ? I think we will…
The angel said to Mary, You must bear the Son of the Lord – And you shall name him Joshua, Before you cut the cord.
But why, she thought, such a common name ? For a most uncommon child ? Who shall remember what he does When he’s quite so blandly styled ?
For Nazareth was full of Joshes, And Judahs, and Jacobs, and Josephs, and Johns – She wanted a son who shone like marble Amongst the lumpen bronze.
Why can’t he be an Emmanuel ? Or a second Moses ? Or David ? Or Job ? But those were far too sacred, she guessed, Or seeking to conquer the globe.
No, it seems that the Lord wants his son to blend, And to not-stand-out from the crowd – She’s disappointed, but understands – Best not to proclaim too loud !
Yet, if he makes it, then one day perhaps, His average name shall ring ! And the other parents will all then avoid This moniker of a king !
Just as long as he wouldn’t end-up as a curse, To be spat in disgust – She’d hate his name to be taken in vain, Or exclaimed in moments of lust…
But anyway, it was out of her hands – She’ll love him, whatever his name. And if God wants Josh, then Josh he must be – For the world has a prior claim.
Who’s that in our garden, hey To sing on Christmas Day ? A chirpy robin redbreast Who has come to lead the way.
Who’s that in our garden, hey To sing on Christmas Day ? The cooing of a pigeon Who will counterpoint our lay, And a chirpy robin redbreast Who has come to lead the way.
Who’s that in our garden, hey To sing on Christmas Day ? The croaking of a crow To bring the bass beneath the fray, With the cooing of a pigeon Who will counterpoint our lay, And a chirpy robin redbreast Who has come to lead the way.
Who’s that in our garden, hey To sing on Christmas Day ? The drumming of a woodpecker Who’s beating on the bay, With the croaking of a crow To bring the bass beneath the fray, And the cooing of a pigeon Who will counterpoint our lay, And a chirpy robin redbreast Who has come to lead the way.
Who’s that in our garden, hey To sing on Christmas Day ? A choral flock of starlings Who arrive to dance and play, And the drumming of a woodpecker Who’s beating on the bay, And the croaking of a crow To bring the bass beneath the fray, And the cooing of a pigeon Who will counterpoint our lay, And a chirpy robin redbreast Who has come to lead the way.
Who’s that in our garden, hey To sing on Christmas Day ? A bright soprano blackbird With an awful lot to say, With a choral flock of starlings Who arrive to dance and play, And the drumming of a woodpecker Who’s beating on the bay, And the croaking of a crow To bring the bass beneath the fray, And the cooing of a pigeon Who will counterpoint our lay, And a chirpy robin redbreast Who has come to lead the way.
Who’s that in our garden, hey To sing on Christmas Day ? A special guest-star parakeet Who’s song is here to stay, With a bright soprano blackbird With an awful lot to say, And a choral flock of starlings Who arrive to dance and play, And the drumming of a woodpecker Who’s beating on the bay, And the croaking of a crow To bring the bass beneath the fray, And the cooing of a pigeon Who will counterpoint our lay, And a chirpy robin redbreast Who has come to lead the way.
Working abroad in the Eighties, Those were strange December days – When the office was open as usual, And the Sun beat down in a haze. But a few of us Johnny Foreigners Exchanged a card and a smile – With a token string of tinsel about our desks, For the extra mile. We offered round choc’lates to hesitant colleagues And kept stopping work for a chat. Someone must have produced a cracker, For they wore a paper hat. We would have shared a tot or two, As we briefly engaged in hugs – Though booze was out of the question, of course, So we chinked our coffee mugs. The world was becoming more American, More awareness year-by-year – And so each time, another trapping of the season Would appear. We’d phone our fam’lies later, not yet, As the locals were called to pray – But we hummed a carol in the long afternoon, As the town got on with its day.
I asked AI for impressionistic carollers, but they just look blotchy…
The Lantern Carol
There may have been snow, There were surely scarves, As they stood on the corner Beneath the stars. They may have had sheets, But they knew the words – And the harmonies That they sang in thirds. And we hurried on by, But we heard their songs – The old familiar Sing-it-alongs. In a pool of light, They played their role – Under the lantern Hung on a pole.
And their breath was hung With the notes they sung, As a frosty white, By the lantern’s swaying light.
There may have been snow, There were surely mitts, As they stood on the corner Singing the Ritz. They may have had sheets, But they knew the text, And no hesitation On which comes next. And we hurried on by, But we heard their cheer – The old familiar End-of-the-year. In a pool of light, Their heart and soul – Under the lantern Hung on a pole.
And their breath was warm With the notes they form, In the inky night By the lantern’s only light.
Here’s to a lively, theatric season, Where we all act nice and play along At ev’ry gathering we can squeeze-in – Any excuse for a drink and song…! We seem to arrive before we’re asked, With a crowd to help us deck the halls – We enter late, them we stay till last, In a round of endless curtain calls.
Rhyming Couplets 