Poo Corner – Issue 16


In idle moments, my mind, unguarded
Snaps back to a time fondly regarded.
An age when cares were scarcely worth the name
An age free of worry, free of stress and blame.

Anxiety may induce strangulation of the mind
But remembrance can produce emancipation of a kind.
Remembrance of pastimes in times passed
Of bookish pursuits of a voluntary outcast:

Card games and puzzles (jigsaw and logic)
Crosswords and chemistry, matchsticks and magic,
Monopoly and Scrabble and games of adventure
Played out on PC in a time without censure.

One time above all, though, enlightened my youth
This now the unabashed, incontrovertible truth!
(And without exception, I still follow this rule)
I had an obsessive love of the Yule!

As a child I was spellbound, simple and pure
By A Night Before Christmas by Clement C Moore.
The images he conjured with a wave of his pen
Left me jingling with happiness again and again.

The frosty, chilled air and the snow-covered night
Were as real to my senses as the reindeers’ flight.
Santa, the elves, the lights and the tree
Were intense and vivacious, everyone I could see.

Even now, at an age when dreaming seems rare
If I half-close my eyes, I can still see them there,
Playing and laughing with my childhood self
While filling the stockings on the mantle-shelf.

The fire in the hearth, roaring and spitting
The orange glow in the tinsel, dancing and flitting.
The tree resplendent with bauble and bead
The cookies and milk, a feast indeed!

My list on the table for St Nick to peruse
A racing car, cycle – how could he refuse?
More toys and games I had a right to request
But I’d been good all year, close to my best!
I see them from here, how clear they seem,
Though mere spirits, they’re so real, not a dream.
I’m not far away – yes, in time, but not space
So a wish expressed dearly may still reach that place.

From deep in my heart, from the depths of my soul
Rid me of these cares and reverse their toll
So when I as a child am free again to roam
I can meet with those spirits and they can carry me home.

Heart and Mind
Your smile murders reason,
Philosophy is dead in the face of such loveliness
I am disabled, in joy, irrational, spirit lifted beyond the red.
You are oblivious of this wonderful carnage
Why should you know, it’s none of your business
You, being real, don’t need to concern yourself with lenses,
And perspectives merely reflecting surfaces
Happiness you make yet are not responsible for must not hitch your step
nor should the fact that your authenticity slaughters thought.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *