This fabulous poem was written by Peterborough Poet Keely Mills for my christmas Open Evening in my Peterborough Studio. It went down a storm! Thank you so much Keely for writing it especially and what will you do next year?
Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas if it’s…
the Christmas creep, retailers pushing the season earlier to September and August.
Its light switch on’s, pink foil honeycombs and blankets out of the attic.
Its three for two with shiny catalogues, bonus points and spending every crust.
Its the onset of potential indigestion and your bones become rusty rheumatic.
Its that faulty fairy light that needs replacing and the epic quest for the spare bulb.
Its paper chains, animated Santas and dishevelled angels in tinsel halos.
Its spicy wines, as dark as the four o’clock rush hour and hot with every zesty gulp.
Its Dean Martin telling everyone to Let it Snow, Let it snow, Let it snow.
Its rotund, white bearded men, all jolly in red and at every out of town garden centre.
Its the worst winter for a 100 years on the news, well since the last one.
Its icy pavements, compacted snow and feeling like Torvill and Dean on each venture.
Its kids wrapped up as fatted seal cubs, Mums hold them close like loaded whaling guns.
Its stepping back into my childhood when the tacky 80’s decorations go up in Wimpy.
Its the clamber into the loft for boxes and it smelling like the nativity cattle shed.
Its cat’s going tipsy about twinkly ribbons and lying amongst the garlands all proud & silly.
Its knowing that the same cat will knock the tree down when you go to bed.
Its Advent calendars in cupboards and on shelves with the 24th as the biggest door.
Its Noddy screaming Its Christmas in every shop, pub and chippy.
Its when glitter, evergreens, metallic colours and stars come to the fore.
Its local firemen collecting funds by parading St Nick on a trailer across the city.
Its getting the Crimbo edition of the radio times and circling the Morecombe and Wise special.
Its wolf fleece wearing pensioners crushing you in Waitrose.
Its hoping that you saw snow in every frosty breath and each sleety raindrop speckle.
Its Antarctic toes, scratchy throats, chilled to the bone and runny nose.
Its people be-moaning the festive season as they shove the third mince pie in their gobs.
Its flavours topsy turvy, with marzipan fruits, pigs in blankets and sprouts.
Its crying at tea- towelled sheperds in school plays and hiding from the donkey your sobs.
Its cramming the house with people and bursting the buttons of your blouse.
Its photocopying your bum at the office party, kissing the post boy in the month of misrule.
Its wrapping paper, gold bows and lips blistered from tearing off sellotape.
Its slathering chocolate on a Swiss roll, feeding fruit cake brandy, fattening them up for Yule.
Its being with those who made you by travelling 195.6 miles through any landscape.
Its Christmas Eve a day full of anticipation that touches every hour that passes.
Its Christmas Eve, you join the car park and the last minute squeeze.
Its Christmas Eve where husband’s race to get their wife’s presents in shopping dashes.
Its Christmas Eve the hardest night to get the kiddies to sleep.
Its 5am starts and its Dad’s making sure they ate the carrot that was left out the night before.
Its turkey slowly cooking filling the house with warm meat smells.
Its opening presents, some you wanted, some unexpected and some you did not ask for.
Its sleeping through the Queens speech and the tenth time you have heard the song Jingle Bells.
Its the only time in the calendar, when the road is silent and the pavements calm and sparse.
Its for some, either working Christmas day or the New Year.
Its fitting in that extra Clementine after letting out a jumbo sage and onion stuffing fart!
Its often loving then despairing at the family we hold dear.
Its the reason to stop in the Winter and say thanks for all that we are given and know that Spring is near.
Its for us to celebrate in our own ways.
Its finding what is special to you and doing those things which can give Christmas cheer.
Its ok to remember that unlike the song its not really Christmas every day, so on that note don’t fear it, just be merry and eat, drink and play.
By Keely Mills
20th of November 2014