Decoration
A real Spruce or Pine in the living room
and one star shines brightest on the foreground
of a galaxy. Twelve angels turn around,
planetarily on familiar hooks. Soon
we will ask for the long flash of tinsel,
the charge of faeries, the wire of beads to dress
its splinters for electricity. Guess
work will be our creation, we will all
attempt to unravel the mysteries
of baubles, challenge gravity’s hand
and set the canes straight. Everything we planned
is not everything that happens. We will tease
the childish Decembers of perfection,
then stand back and quieten for reflection.
Christmas Fever
No wrapping but the gut
lining, no bow but the bile,
no box but the brittle bulge
of my projectile smile.
Ding dingaling and ding along.
Merry merry, very merry,
hear my Christmas song!
No manger but the rough
sleep, no advent but the wheeze,
no sugar but the colon’s
furious chocolate sneeze.
Ding dingaling and ding along.
Merry merry, very merry,
hear my Christmas song!
No fire glow but the fever
sweat, no chestnut but the phlegm,
no stuffing but the mucous balls:
it must be Christmas again.
Russell Jones Poet
Poet Russell Jones
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