January 2, 2005

• First Poem of 2005
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I’ll soon by taking down the holly from the bar
  

  
  

  Putting the plastic Christmas tree back into the loft,
  

  
  

  Taking down the cards and placing them in a drawer
  

  
  

  Until the Spring clean.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I don’t know why I bothered
  

  
  

  No one seemed to care,
  

  
  

  No one rang me up this morning
  

  
  

  To wish me a happy new year.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Of course there are people worse off than me
  

  
  

  I’ve given a day’s takings to Oxfam relief
  

  
  

  And as I sit alone in my bed
  

  
  

  I thank the Lord that I am still alive
  

  
  

  With only a splitting head.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Tiffy Witherington
  

  
  

  _______________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  “I rediscovered the unworn world” (Patrick Kavanagh)
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Come easy to this unworn world,
  

  
  

  where life and death go un-treated;
  

  
  

  but where there is still the freshness,
  

  
  

  where there is still the unstale’d.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  It was never easy to see the world as new
  

  
  

  when one is their-self crusting old,
  

  
  

  when one has drank the wine of it’s soul
  

  
  

  and ate the plants of it’s dying light.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  But I know I have re-discovered you
  

  
  

  whenever I write a poem at all,
  

  
  

  whenever the clouds silk in cold
  

  
  

  or are baked in an oven of suns.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  An unworn world that’s still soaks life,
  

  
  

  billions of people each with different eyes
  

  
  

  that look in wonder out of different brains,
  

  
  

  and all using very different words.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  If I wore a crown every day
  

  
  

  I could not have so much power
  

  
  

  as when I touch a silver leaf
  

  
  

  or feel a redbrick factory.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  After all I have suffered in my days
  

  
  

  I still want to rise up again
  

  
  

  out of the ashes of silence,
  

  
  

  to re-discover the unworn world
  

  
  

  in the evening of my dreams,
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Poet Known as “Empty Chairs”
  

  
  

  _____________________________

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  “Stacey’s Poem”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  We did not celebrate Christmas this year
  

  
  

  Thomas is too small
  

  
  

  And I didn’t care.
  

  
  

  No one brought me presents
  

  
  

  I had no presents to buy,
  

  
  

  There were only the two of us,
  

  
  

  Baby Thomas and I.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Next year Thomas will have a Christmas
  

  
  

  He’ll like the pretty lights
  

  
  

  And I’ll tell him it’s a special day
  

  
  

  When someone died to give us life.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  But this year we did not celebrate Christmas,
  

  
  

  There was no reason why,
  

  
  

  For no one else really cared
  

  
  

  For baby Thomas or I.
  

  
  

  
  (Not a new personae, just a poem about another lonely person.)

  
  

   

  
  

  _________________________

  
  

  Depressed after all that? Want Fun and laughter and irony? go to the Three_Headed_Sarahs site, but mind the slurry!

  
  

  
   

  
  

  ps: Sophie’s blog pages has reached number 7! http://sophielucymorgan.homestead.com/S7.html

  
  

   

  
  

  Sorry: Just in, latest Edition Scoope!

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  Written for LordPineapple  (A true talent of Xangaland)…..

  
  

  
  

  The river of poetry flows in a somber fashion
  Penned by the hand of brilliance and flair
  Impersonating many egos, all colorful in ways
  With this, I give you sunshine in these words
  May your mourning become a beaming smile
  Your tearful raindrops be turned to radiance
  Cast your cares aside and revel in adoration
  Lavish upon us always, your poetical art…..
  

  
  

  Copyright © PoeticaC
   
  PoeticaC

  • 8:22 pm
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