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Toddler Group – Incarnation
she is storytelling the glory of God
in gold annunciation
threads spinning from the messenger
shining round and through the frightened girl
which settles to a nub of joy
beneath her beating heart
she tells of journey
and the anxious tramp from no to no
until at last there’s somewhere
a blessed anywhere
a billet in the shed behind the pub
straw stacks shelter from the bitter night
and then the baby
she tells of shepherds on the hill
of stars the sudden blitz of light
all through the telling
the toddler stays on note
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah loud
unwavering aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah
but now the storyteller smiles
moves closer
yes she says that’s right
the whole sky’s singing aaaaaaaaah
child and teller eye to eye
he gives voice she meets the cry
together they are aaaaaaaaah
you’re right she says that’s how those angels sounded
that’s what they sang – aaaaaaaaaaaaa – llelujah
aaaaaaaa – lellujah aa – llelujah
together they fall silent still
now the boy listens
for the coming of the kings
the jingle of the harness bells
the long stride of camels
strange gifts
gold incense myrrh
a long determined human cry
Image
December 9, 2016
Tagged Bethlehem, Faith, incarnation, jan dean, poem, poetry, story
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What’s the point of jellyfish?
I asked another jellyfish
who being all curve and wobble
could not compute the concept ‘point’
direction was a problem too
we float we float
our liquid selves within the liquid sea
and then I understood something about tears
and grief
and oceans
and remembering you were lost
I cried for you
Posted in Lost and Found
Tagged animals, jan dean, nature, poem, poetry, strangeness, transience
1 Comment
Mr Brough
brisk sharp
has been elbow deep in me
I imagine my intestines lilac blue
and steaming gently in the unexpected air
unravelled they can stretch
the whole way round a tennis court
they told us that in school
I never thought I’d put it to the test
the bowel reacts to being handled
can be skittish might flounce
peristalsis – that squeeze that starts as swallowing
then ripples sweet and regular right through –
must settle down into its proper rhythm
meanwhile strange surges flutter
as if a trout is netted in my belly
and now it flexes slippery and strong
I think of Mr Brough
and riverbanks
of skill honed by practice
the sly gutting of a fish
Jan Dean
Posted in A poem a day for April
2 Comments