The ouroboros of eight,
mouth full, speaks forever
of doors and portals cautiously opened
from times past when scared eyes
scoured woodlands for sacred evergreen
and feasted to last the dark,
through the missionary rewording of the same,
to now, the snaking trucks
of the cola company

The cursory glance at the gingerbread man,
today’s tenuous character,
only momentarily takes my mind
off the biro circles, patiently drawn
in the catalogue downstairs
since September

With overflowing hearts
a man and a woman
younger than I am now
watch their kids’ fascination grow
opening a paper square to show a busy sleigh.
For now, they can avoid the fact
that the thing that keeps
the young girl’s hands warm in the picture
is called a ****.

Peel the door - Five go-old riiiings!
Though my dazzled, growing mind
struggled with partridges, pears and all
I loved that daily
school held teachers term-tired enough
to do singing practice for hours,
consigning maths
to the grey stretch of January

Coaxed awake through floorboards
by the kitchen radio, distracted then
from the holly behind the fourth door
by Shakin’ Stevens’ parties and celebrations.
Now, looking back nostalgic for eighties
nostalgic for fifties,
the true meaning of Christmas appears

The single figure get ups
still felt an age away from the main event
mocked by a shooting star
behind today’s door
when even school still had writing and sums
without a hint of the glitter to come

Even with identical calendars
the need to compare remained,
perhaps by some quirk
both brother and sister
had a different donkey behind door two,
but like the love that sang through the house
it was stubbornly the same

Little fingers picked
at cheap cardboard corners
and although the stories
never quite hit home,
there was wonder
in the tiny watercolour shepherds

I hold with care the value of
The Wait
despite the loud backdrop of
The Immediate.
I relish
The Not Yet,
not looking for a premature rush into
The Unfinished.
I anticipate
The delicious Hope,
ignoring the clamour of dissent.
And not taking anything for granted,
I do all I can to clear space:
space to listen with intent
and space to herald
The Promise of the Soon,
The ready-coming-King,
and space to embrace
The God-with-us
Now.

I hold with care the value of the Wait
with a backdrop of the intrusion of the Immediate;
I relish the Not Yet,
not looking for an untimely rush into the unfinished;
I anticipate the delicious Hope,
ignoring the clamour of dissent;
and not taking anything for granted, I do all I can to clear space,
to listen with intent
and to then herald the Promise of the Soon,
the ready-coming-King,
and I embrace the God-With-Us
Now.