(Out Of Nothing To Jayne and Suvi, & My Friends) 1 One places ones chair on the shared table, And stands behind it to pray. The night skies Cloak my head in an illuminable Beauty of cold, dark blue behind closed eyes - And torches, lanterns, candles lead sight on Through glades between star-candled firs as grace Is spoken by us all in hope, as one: Christmas guides us safely far from this place. The smells of floor-wax and an oil-fired stove Are pungent School like strip-lights that tickle Eyes open; that, through the too-long term, wove Lulling dimness between any pickle And purpose: yet now buzz brightly to show Each a gift-wrapped rubber ball and biro! 2 Paper of night-blue with snowflake-pattern Concealed a school biro and rubber ball Inside: our teacher, formerly thought stern, Could not have moved apace between us all In silence, and yet before we had shut Our eyes, there had been no parcels in view. Certain dreams had been in the class-mind, but Grace and home, and life itself, shape anew. I have always loved stylus-like biros For their slender-coned body and screw-in Hemispherical head, and, as it goes, The palm-fitting ball is perfect to win Friendship, too, as it came out of nothing. Home-time! Ways home to which the white stars sing! 3 Filled with the dark nights fairy-light dreaming, Skip down Robert Burns Avenue, the cold Tightening throat and chest, and breath steaming, As your shadow, in wide-spaced local gold Light of streetlamps, is no longer constant. Christmas trees gleam in oblongs of bold joy Or dark until the railinged bridge; enchant, Sharing the light of an angel-envoy... At the end of the avenue, my road - Bibury Road - the far side, homes, the near, Turf slope down to trees and Chelt. Big-windowed Semi-detacheds shine a child home with cheer. The world is Winter night and nests of love, And seen proofs of commonweal from above. Copyright, Mike Burrows, 18/12/14
Posted on: Thu, 18 Dec 2014 20:14:04 +0000
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