Merry Christmas

Christmas 11 063

They don’t tell you about
the dark and drizzly dawn,
or the slippery grey slush
should it ever really snow at this time of year.
Nor the hideously over-crowded shops,
or that early-waking panic
that there’s still so much to do.

I wish that it was over.

Neither do they mention
the endless frustrating wrapping
when the sticky tape sticks
only to itself,
the ribbons tie you in knots,
and you find that every single gift
that you bought is
oddly shaped.

I’ll be so glad when it’s over

And did they tell you how
difficult it is to dust decorations?
Or how the tree starts to droop
and drop needles
and baubles to the floor,
and the poinsettia starts to die,
way too soon.

It better soon be over

No-one said that we’d have
nothing to eat for a week
because all that food that
is crammed into cupboards
and covers the worktops
in the kitchen is
for Christmas’.

Oh, when will it be over.

Ah, but did they tell you of the unbridled joy of it?
The shredded un-wrapping paper wantonly strewn about the floor?
the mince pies and mimosas for breakfast?
The jolly music that you were so sick of yesterday?
The luscious smells of long roasting
permeating the festive rooms,
flavouring the laughter with anticipation?

The pulling of crackers?
Silly jokes and hats and clinking of glasses?
The sated sleepiness of afternoon,
watching Christmas specials,
then silly games in the evening
and staying up ‘til three
not wanting it to be over?

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Green sleeves…

… Green trousers, green carpet…. errr… that’s what I ended up with while I was having a bash at this painting.

I present to you my latest adventure with acrylics.  My very first landscape. Lots of green.  I know it’s a bit heavy handed, and some of the trees have gone a bit awry, but since I’m still trying to master mixing good greens, and I always shy away from attempting to paint anything with a suggestion of water in it, I’m reasonably ok with the result.  I feel as if I’m very, very, slowly improving and beginning (beginning) to enjoy the (oh god, here it comes…) Journey.

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Lighting

Posted in response to the Daily Post weekly photo challenge. This week’s theme ‘Favourites – your favourite photo from 2017’

Ok.  This is a terrible photograph, out of focus and indistinct. All the magic tools of photoshop couldn’t redeem it. It’s dreadful.  And yet I share it with the world.

Why? you may ask.

Well, one of the main reasons for our visit to Iceland in November was so that I could cross another event off of my bucket list – namely, to witness the Northern Lights. Of course, I’ve seen them on TV, and in books, and there are many, many photographs, but to see them for real….well, it was a dream.

So when it came to it I made a conscious decision not to take my camera, but, for a change, to just live and experience the moment.  At the time, there were hoards of others fiddling with camera settings and peering through lenses and I could have been doing exactly the same.  Instead, I was standing with my jaw dropping, watching the most fantastic natural phenomenon you could imagine.  The lights danced in the sky in rainbow colours and I don’t believe that anyone could every capture the most wonderous reality of it no matter how skilled or fancy their camera.

Of course, I had to just take one snap with my phone, and this is the result.  So sorry an’ all, it’s a duff old picture, but for me it captures an absolute dream of a memory, and certainly one of my favourite moments of the year. 🙂

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Rage in old age

It always starts here
with a wrong word
that makes your skin prickle
and your hackles rise.
It was a thoughtless aside,
beneath the breath
a whisper of discontent
you shouldn’t have heard.

Yet with pursed lips
you broil and fester,
avoiding my eyes
by watching the distance
stretch out between us.
That which once was a hairs breadth
is now a snow filled rift.

We usually welcome silky silences.
The mute knowing of each other,
the glances and winks
touches and nods.
Our minds perfectly tuned
in harmonic melody.
Our own love language.

Now discordant and jagged,
I shrink from this quietness,
attempt a soothing sound,
offer my arms in submission,
allow the tears
and beg forbearance.
It was only a careless word.

I take up an old photograph
that sits on our sill.
A snapshot of a joyful time,
Champagne smiles
and clinking glasses,
so young in black and white
togetherness.

But still you stare ahead,
jaw set in defiance of compassion,
resisting the weakness of relenting.
But I glimpse the sadness
in your moist eyes.
Just the smallest notion
that the moment will soon pass.

So I make us some tea.