When we step into silver and gold
disguise all our sorrow
see faces of joy on each girl and boy
the stars shine much brighter
their magical twinkling light
full of rapture our spirits
with laughter good food and gifts
all wrapped in fine papers that crackle and tear
a sound filling hearts full of awe
at this life in the middle of winter
as we wait for the thaw.

I looked out,
Christmas decorations were already hung up in the sky,
even the frosting floated about
with the lights of the town dwarfed below,
such a glow, each ***** of a star,
the hills, hulks of stone, seemed warmed,
ready for celebrations,
annual explanations of our psyche and its exaggerations,
where the simple tale, just like the one stella, bright,
enacts its cycles in the dark of night.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 27th November 2014.

NATURE’S "CHRISTMAS"

Along the length of river’s rush
the sudden booms of stones in floods
the softened mossy sides and broken trunks
all moistened by the rains of days in grey attire
the padded path now red with needles
rocks with maps and lichens
bilberries now gone,
unless a wizened one hangs on,
high up above the flow
the waterfall
where logs were gathered long ago
a strange incongruous work of art
hangs above the roar in blue and white
as autumn’s voice falls silent
on the wings of faded leaves
she dots her constellations all about
in yellow flecks that decorate the trees
not decked for Christmastide
and yet
this could be used
we nature’s solstice celebrate.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 26th October 2014.

FLOWERS OF SNOW (Christmas roses)
Margaret Ann Waddicor 24th December 2012.

Flowers of snow,
they blow about the sky like birds in flight,
a sight that sends the senses in a spin,
for deep within our hearts
we love this dance,
this ballet-dance of nature,
as all is frozen, stilled,
and movement only comes
when winter wishes are fulfilled.

We wish, and wish, and wish again
for lightness in the dark,
for moments by the burning grate,
warm sparks of orange bright,
the contrasts of the darkest nights,
with stars of ice, that ******
****** bells on forest trees
of rainbow colours, fired.

For presents below a fir,
the reds and blues with ribbons silver, gold,
as Christmas comes and goes,
the hellebore, its ****** bloom
is plucked from frozen earth,
and brought right in
to Lord the full decked table,
celebrate Messiah's birth.

Following the waving trees, 
the same direction as the breeze, 
as if a thermal element 
was wafted with my gait,

as blown along beside the river, 
downstream with it's flow, 
I felt a kind of impetus, 
impulsive like a joy, 
that grabs the psyche, 
swings the spirit in high gear,

a thrill of moving onward 
through the day and year, 
as if time were anonymous 
and I a mere convolvulous, 
that happened to be flowering today.

Ann Waddicor August 2013.

Comes to fetch us
her shadowy form presents
it will be too late to relent a life
you will be lifted up
and placed upon a saddle of gold
and as you're sitting down
the earth will glow like magic
whisk you to the sky of no return

stars escort you
as they did the ancient ships of man
the elements of water air and fire
will swirl and with them help your last dance
as the music of the spheres
cradles your thoughts
and brings you through the gates of home

the name of where we all belong
becomes a part of us
a symbiosis of all we represent
grand and great will be the blaze
as night again fades into light
so bright you're out of sight

Margaret Ann Waddicor 20th December 2015

And yet we never know
we cannot tell the hour
time will pass
and time will go  
like the breath of evening changing slow

evolving night takes hold
the brightness fades
and into gloom of darkness we glide

which star above us shines
what moon is in the sky
or are there none that see
just when I die

life its ebbing slide
its silver slippered ride
towards the sea of matter
we now divide our beings
that coincide with fate
the breath stops its music

it's never too late to fly
yes fly into the sky
of subconsciousness and see beyond
into the beauty of existence
its own eternity
to take part in life's patterns
its infirmity

Margaret Ann Waddicor 20th December 2015