This month I call you Saviour.

Mostly, instinctively
I call to you as Lord-God and Father.
Typically these are the names
I call to mind at early dawn.

But this month you are Saviour
as I become more acutely drawn
to my need to call on your saving grace
on your sacrificial willingness
to cast off the trappings
wrapped up with heavenly glory
to embrace the blood and the mess
that comes with small town nativity.

This month I address
my Hosannas to you,
my divine infant Saviour.

I had mistaken the embers for ashes.
I passed by, blind to the fire,
betraying the flames
and leaving the phoenix
for a more prescient pilgrim.

It was the first minutes of the morning after.  
The feast of Stephen boldly trod across the threshold
and waded through the leftovers
of Christmas delights and indulgences,
the echoes of family festivities,
and the discarded wrapping
still clinging to twists of Sellotape.  

The delights repeated,
the echoes faded
and all the discarded
lay deep and crisp and uneven,
even as we followed the heat
of the good King's steps,
into the cruel cold,
seeking the blessing of fresh fuel
for the wider feast ahead.

Always think before you move
This is no composition
Analyse
Strategise
Then move in combination

Always think before you move
Protecting your advantage
Concentrate
Evaluate
Take none of this for granted

Always think before you move
Always protect your king
Watch your flanks
Plan your attack
Push until you win

Then I woke

   The dream died
   like the faded marrow ache
   once the door closes
   and the fire invades
   to rekindle the embers within.

and my eyes adjusted to the light.

Can we skip the bit where I'm not sure what it is you feel
where I wonder if the feeling that I'm feeling could possibly be real
where I’m asking whether someone as amazing as you could be feeling it too?

Can we dispense with the fear that what appears to be actually here is
a figment, a fiction based on a misread permission
a tarnished mirror hiding the terror of being seen this clearly by another?

Can we move on to the unguarded laughter and the freedom
to touch the surface of your face and the assurance
to reach across a within-our-reach shared space?

Can we stay in this moment for as long as this path takes us
from our past on into a future without masks
to where we nurture each other onto greater and to deeper?

Can we do that?

Herbie ain’t no herbivore
He’s more of a feasting guy
His taste buds are testy
His jaws are real itchy
For a succulent turkey thigh

No, Herbie is no herbivore
And when he’s in the kitchen
He’ll alway stay focused
Ready to show us
Food is much more than nutrition

Herbie is no herbivore
There’s more to life than greens
But it shouldn’t be said
That his mum and his dad
Haven’t taught him to love chilli beans

Herbie is no herbivore
This Christmas there'll be no doubt
He’ll feast like a prince
On pies filled with mince
And turkey and maybe a sprout