After the snow was cleared, a new drift,
silent and silver, a spell in street light.
In crisp and cold, Christmas lights sparkle and through
doors, a stove is warm. In the dark of a room,
the halo-flame lights a face, the hunched figure
before a bright hearth. In crackle and smoke
images are kindled: the winter king’s burning ship;
the infant Christ, star-cradled; wild-eyed Saturn
and his stumbling train and deeper, an older time:
a forest in bitter mid-winter, where drums beat and
shadows rush and run. A heavy bough of holly prickles
and berries, sweet and bloody, are trampled underfoot .
A second poem from Matthew M C Smith. Matthew is a writer for Swansea. He loves winter Christmas and wants to write more festive poetry. Matthew has just edited Black Bough poetry’s Christmas and Winter edition, available on Amazon.
Matthew is also the driving force behind #TopTweetTuesday…
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