I want Christmas all year

Bare with me, I have my reasons. A poetry round up...

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

It’s Friday, how has your week in poetry been?

Have you read any lines that gave you goosebumps?

Margaret Ann Silver

shared her response to a prompt from a few weeks ago which did the trick for me. If you missed it, find it here.

In our house the kids returned to school, kind of, snow played (continues to play) havoc but also makes the trees the sort of beautiful that brings tears to my eyes. Tbf my period is due so a lot is bringing tears to my eyes. But the trees….come on!?!

I already wrote my alternative resolutions so I’m sharing a poem I wrote over Christmas. Of course I don’t actually want Christmas all year. And I realise this is 100% the last time I can use the word even for another 11 months. But I was just musing about some of the feelings that I’d like to keep on with. And I’ve recorded it because I wrote it more as a spoken word piece!

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Year-round Christmas – An idea

How about year-round we thank the bin takers. On a wet day in March we light a candle and send out our best wishes. I don’t mean all the grabbing and gifting but how about mid-November we decide that it doesn’t matter if we can sing in tune and congregate to do it anyway. How about on a grubby day in October we put bells on our jumpers and smile at strangers, take boxes to food banks and write cards to our neighbours telling them how we are 'just next door’ via our first names. How about mid-May we share a laugh with the guy in the queue about “kids these days” and then when we leave the shop we say, with the same vigour and sparkle, we say, “I hope you have….” and we mean, “a moment of togetherness one day soon,” we mean, “food on your table, a reason to celebrate, a child you’re not worried about missing out on magic.” How about, year-round we keep stringing up our lights for each other, making our front windows welcome, wanting to hear about each-others plans, how about on a dreary day in September, when we might stand at a bus stop or a train station with the sun still struggling to rise we remember the smell of gingerbread and goodwill, we want for everyone to have a warm bed and a full stocking, we make our way over to the guy sat alone at the other end of a festive season and say, “I'm gonna love this world enough to wish you a happy Monday.”

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Has any poetry landed on your doorstep over the holidays? Oooh or any poetry books arrive in your stockings, I’d like to hear about those too,

Nelly x