In the days of Caesar

By Waldo Williams tr. Rowan Williams

In the days of Caesar, when his subjects went to be reckoned,

There was a poem mad, too dark for him (naïve with power)

to read

It was a bunch of shepherds who discovered

in Bethlehem of Judah, the great music beyond reason and

reckoning:

shepherds, the sort of folk who leave the ninety-nine behind

so as to bring the stray back home, dawning toward cock-crow,

the birthday of the Lamb of God, shepherd of mortals.

Well, little people, and my nation, can you see

The secret buried in you, that no Caesar ever captures in his lists?

Will not the shepherd come to fetch us in our desert,

Gathering us in to give us birth again, weaving us into one

In a song heard in the sky over Bethlehem?

He seeks us out as wordhoard for his workmanship, the laureate

of heaven

Today's 'Haphazrd by Starlight' poem, which I loved, stirred memories of this poem I encountered in one of the 'anthologies for schools' we had back in the 1970s.  I had some fun and games with the formatting, but the font that shows seems very approrpiate - reminding me of the old teletype character sets

jollymerry 
hollyberry 
jollyberry 
merryholly 
happyjolly 
jollyjelly 
jellybelly 
bellymerry 
hollyheppy 
jollyMolly 
marryJerry 
merryHarry 
happyBarry 
heppyJarry 
bobbyheppy 
berryjorry 
jorryjolly 
moppyjelly 
Mollymerry 
Jerryjolly 
bellyboppy 
jorryhoppy 
hollymoppy 
Barrymerry 
Jarryhappy 
happyboppy 
boppyjolly 
jollymerry 
merrymerry 
merrymerry 
merryChris 
ammerryasa 
Chrismerry 
asMERRYCHR 
YSANTHEMUM

Seasonal Ghazal

By Harry Gilonis

The silent starts descend to us

Come angel seraph sheep pear-tree

O holy o cold

Dawn come in snow

Offspring of day

Light is lily above us

Glory birds, calling birds

Sun, the fields shining

The day, the earth, skies

Peace, contemplation and music

Hosanna, no, holly stand

Suddenly tree displayed

The yonder star our comfort

Bring time again

Joy, excelsis a-leaping

World and hope embrace

Lullaby image and sing sing

A happy new begin

If you go into a large department store in any town or city, you will find tall, elegant Christmas trees, perfectly upright and tastefully decorated with matching baubles carefully arranged.  Or you could have a Christmas tree that's a bit like mine - more than twenty years old, a bit skew-whiff and shoogly.  There are matching baubles, those that have survived the years, but the lights aren't quite long enough to reach the top.  Then there are the tiny nutcracker dolls, a gift from my sister, the wooden letter 'C' a gift from a friend, and the squished, glitter laden decoration of dubious descriotion made by a godchild, to name just a few.  It is this latter kind of tree, in its lopsided loveliness that truly says something about Christmas because it overflows with love - given and received - through many years and in different places.

Our carol service cum nativity was, I ventured to suggest even before it began, more like the latter than the former, delivered with lashings of love.

At times laugh out loud funny, at others aching endearing, with small children singing solos, and a real live dog to visit the manger, as well as adult and childrens' choirs, poems, Bible readings, advent candles, a parol lantern (looking east) and prayers, it was a brilliant morning, loads of fun, full of life and love.

Thank you Gatherers and friends for making it such a wonderful service.

Ode to Winter

By Gillian Clarke

We hoard light, hunkered in holt and burrow,

In cave, cwtsh, den, earth, hut, lair.

Sun blinks.  Trees take down their hair.

Dusk wipes horizons, seeps into the room,

The last flame of geranium in the gloom.

In the shortening day, bring in late flowers

To crisp in a vase, beech to break into leaf,

A branch of larch.  Take winter by the throat.

Feed the common birds, tits and finches,

The spotted woodpecker in his opera coat.

Let's learn to love the icy winter moon,

Or moonless dark and winter constellations,

Jupiter's glow, a slow, incoming plane,

Neighbourly windows, someone's flickering screen,

A lamp-lit page, drawn curtains.

Let us praise intimacy, talk and books,

Music and silence, wind and rain,

The beautiful bones of trees, taste of cold air,

Darkening fields, the glittering city,

That winter longing, hiraeth, something like prayer.

Under the stilled heartbeat of trees,

Wind-snapped branches, mulch and root,

A million bluebell bulbs lie low

Ready to flare in lengthening light,

After the dark, frozen earth, the snow.

Out there, fox and buzzard, kite and crow

Are clearing the ground for the myth.

On the darkest day bring to the tree,

Cool and pungent as forest.  Turn up the music.

Pour us a glass. Dress the house in pagan finery.