Christmas is done with, The New Year is come, The feasting is over, The outlook is glum, Our work is resumed And the weather is cold, So uproot the glitter And out with the old.
They’re sprouting on pavements And swarming on greens, They loiter on verges Like unruly teens, They cluster round dustbins And litter our lanes – Straggly and soggy, These sorry remains.
They served us so proudly A fortnight ago, They warmed up the winter And gave us a glow. But now they are cast out With scant a goodbye – Destitute, homeless, And waiting to die.
The council is working To round up the strays And shred them to chippings For Agas to blaze, Or sit beneath see-saws, Or borders to don. By Twelve Night they’re coming, By Burns Night, they’re gone.
Heard the news this morning on my radio – Not the news on the hour, though… This was news I had to know. The DJ didn’t want to say, but did his best Well, sometimes that’s the job, I guess.
Heard the news this morning on my radio – But first they played a song of yours, Though which, to my half-asleep ears, I couldn’t be sure. My room felt like it were ten below And I hoped that I were dreaming, But it didn’t feel like dreaming, So I rolled out on the floor.
Heard the news this morning on my radio – Hell of a way to start Monday morning, Making Winter that much greyer. I always knew, but never thought you’d have to go Always popping-up without warning, Always working on the next long-player. My room was cold, And suddenly the world felt very old.
I tried to whistle you as I shaved, But I couldn’t get a tune to sit, And I ended up nicking myself a bit. But I kinda didn’t mind, Like you were still messing with my head. And anyway, we shouldn’t wear black today, But now, for you, I’m wearing red.
And hey, I only learned today Just how to say your name, Cos there was a right way all along. But then, you always loved to play – At being never twice the same, And even your eyes could not agree… So, I dunno, but maybe it was right that I was wrong.
Oh like Otis, Ode and Oaktree. Oh like Oberon.
Not sure I ever understood What any lyric meant, Except the meanings that I brought myself, I guess. But then, the tunes were good And those hours that I spent Decyphering your gorgeous mess, The catchy lines you cut and pasted, Never felt like they were wasted. Anyway, they left their dent: Each turn of phrase and smoky haze Just made me wonder at what madness had I tasted ?
Heard the news this morning on my radio – I have to drag myself to work, But first I’ll put your record on. What can I say ? You made me glow For twenty, thirty, forty years or so. And then I woke this morning, and you’re gone.
Sooner or later, we all sing a song to the rain, And those who have sung them before can all sing them again. Later or sooner, we all pray a prayer to the skies, And those who have prayed them before can all lead the replies.
A cellar spider hangs in his web, Head down, just where he always hangs – He’s always on the same old strands, Just waiting with the same old fangs. Actually, is he dead ? Or is this just his old skin suit ? A gentle blow, and a gentle twitch Confirms there’s life in the little brute. I’ll pass again in a week or so – I guess he’s eaten in between, And maybe even met a girl, And kept his cobweb nice and clean. But then its back on the web to pose, The same old web he proudly spun – Until one day it’s time to go, And pass the business to his son.
We never shall be cast in bronze, Nor cast in Hollywood – We never shall out-cool the Fonz – For all we think we should. We never shall be cursed in print, Nor quoted, much less taught. We never shall be worth a mint, Nor worth a second thought. And yet we’re sure we matter more Than all these other mugs – But genius the Hordes ignore, And History just shrugs. We never shall be cabaret, Nor glorified in fame. We matter not so much – but hey, We matter all the same.
“There came wise men from the East to Jerusalem, saying…we have seen his star in the East.”
– Matthew 2:1-2
When we first saw the star, we knew. The whole of our lives we were waiting for signs, And here was just such a clue – And oh, what a clue ! How she shimmers and shines. What is her news ? A King of the Jews ! And just in time for the midwinter feast ! A saviour is born, So set off at dawn, And follow His star in the east.
As we followed that star, we thought That our route would take us a strange way yet – For if Judea were sought, Then why does she lead us on into Tibet ? But on we must trek With the star as our check, Until the ocean was stopping us dead. So we chartered a ship To continue our trip, Because she was waiting ahead.
So we followed the star by sea – Always due east would she lead our band, Until we wise men three Were finally washed on an unknown land. And on we went ’Cross the continent And strange were the people and customs upon. Then at the next moat We hadn’t a boat, So we build one – and so we sailed on.
And we followed the star some more, Across the African sands we were coming, Until at last at the Jewish shore We reached the land for which we were plumbing. We took from our camels Fine skins and enamels, And spices and lapis, all fit for a priest, And strange silks and feathers We’d gathered together From all of the lands of the east.
We knew we could trust her, we sighed, She brought us all safe where we needed to be. Now where is the child ? we cried, Where is the one who we travelled to see ? We told the bazaar How we followed the star To the King of the Jews, of whom we bespeak. Then up spoke an urchin – “How long you been searching ? They just nailed that guy up last week.”
Twelve days waiting in a barn for them, we were, For two weeks, nearly, with the horses. Two weeks waiting for a bit of gold and myrrh, And a warning not to fall to Herod’s forces.
The shepherds came by early, but they couldn’t stay for long: As they’d left their sheep all grazing in the pasture. (I hoped the wolves weren’t prowling, nor the north-wind blowing strong, And their truancy not noticed by their master.)
Surely now the census had been tallied up and done, There must have been some room back in the inn ? But there we slept, and waited, till the angel told us “Run”… …Or was it we went home, back to our kin ?
And that, my lad, is how you spent a fortnight in a manger, Upon the hay – or so we’ve always spun. They must have used the Julian, those fine-attired strangers, While you were pure Gregorian, my son !
Your tetrastich hits up the top of your page, And lonely it sits on its white and crisp stage, Too precious to muck in, too scared to engage, Your verse gives no truck for a cut in its wage. Those unsullied acres were begging to share, An ocean of paper that’s nothing but spare. Have you, as its poet, no other to air ? Then come on and show it ! Let’s put it in there !
As she wakes to the wrench of the radio’s blare, She’s not there. As she tries to decide on the blouse she should wear, She’s not there. As she dawdles her breakfast of yoghurt and pear, As she spends all her morning with coffee and stare, As she foregoes her lunch for pilates with Claire, She’s not there. And all her afternoon that passes in her chair, And on the bus and on the train while fishing for her fare, And waiting at the checkout as she vaguely winds her hair, She is always and never quite there.
Soothe the fridge its fears of less abundancy, Let it know it must cut back its stocks. Tell the ashtray straight of its redundancy, Warn the sofa and the gogglebox. Brace the bathroom scales still anticipating weight: Notify them of reducing bulk. Rouse the bike and treadmill from their hibernating state – And disappoint the wine-rack – let it sulk.
Rhyming Couplets 