A Poor Poet’s Christmas

 

A Poor Poet’s Christmas         (with apologies to Clare and Bloomfield)

 

We sit around the fireside and call out merry oaths

Until there come the players in, plucking music from their throats.

With fiddles, horns and pipes they join in olden song

Of maids and lords and stable-lads, of all their rights and wrongs

Which to this day warn youth and child that behind each golden door

May lie a heart as black or red as beats inside the poor’.

 

The sack and beer are passed around and tatties and pudding too

Until our voices burst the door and raucous is the night.

‘Til cows and chucks bemoan the light that brakes their stalls

And e’en the moon forestalls the dawn to keep the sight

Of merry players and happy fools

Take rest from blistering tools

On this our Christmas night.

 

JJS

 

also tagged as  seasons

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About poetryparc2

Here goes: I write a bit of poetry, sometimes about poetry and any sort of books I take a fancy to. I seem to have a preference for seeing the changes from the Victorian period through to the 1930's, maybe 50's. But, and a big but, could carry that right up to current poetry/performance poetry. Though sometimes my seeming preference for 'imagist' and Nature' might unnerve me for too much too modern. However, I do like to range widely over poetry, and fiction, any and all periods. I also like finding (if only for me) regional or partly forgotten poems and poets. Maybe all this is too eclectic to have a themed 'Blog' but so be it....... I also attempt fiction that might add up to a small mole-hill one day. Plus reviewing new or old books that are relevant to my enthusiasms of Crime fiction, the Arts, Natural History and Special Education. This is on 'wordparc'. I try to record honestly what I think but if something is too bad (to my mind, others may love it!!) then I will not 'blog'. There, what's that if not seemingly random!
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