Advent Poetry 1

Posted on by estlh

Last year I tried doing a poem a day during advent – I had found a poetry prompt advent calender online. Bur I only managed about 6 before I got too busy with all of the other pre  Christmas tasks. This year I didn’t even start until a week in, but hopefully I can fit in more than last year in the next 16 days.

The first prompt was “Once upon a December” so this is what I wrote

Once upon a December night
When sky was dark but stars were bright
I took your hand and gave a smile,
We lost the whole world for a while
That frosty cold December night

Once upon a December eve
As snowflakes settled on my sleeve
We danced beneath the sky, care free.
So cold but happy as could be
That cheery crisp December eve

Once upon a December morning
As carols told of Christ child born
You took my hand and asked of me
myself, while down on bended knee.
Oh such happy December morn

Once upon a December day
While children wait to see the sleigh
You smile at them then pull me near
To breath devotion in my ear
This joyful bright December day



4.4.24

Posted on by estlh

Day four of the poetry prompt advent calendar and the prompt was “unseen presence”.

You are here
Beside me always.
I know you are with me
And though I may not see you
When I stop and breathe
I feel your presence.
When I lie quiet in the darkness
Your unseen arms enfold me
And I hear your whisper in my ear.

You are the peace I know in the midst of the chaos.
You are the beauty I find when all around is spoiled.
You are the hope I find when the darkness descends.
And when I feel ugly you remind me of my true beauty.

How sad that too often my eyes are blind to what you show
How sad that my ears sometimes close to your words of comfort
How sad that the petty distractions of the world oft obscure your truth
And when worried I often forget that your hands hold me

But still, I know that your patient love is mine forever
Your presence with me, though unseen, is eternal truth

3.12.24

Posted on by estlh

The prompt for today is ‘anticipation’

We await the day
When our certain hope becomes
A promise fulfilled

Our preparations
Build as we look to the day
of celebration

Anticipation
Fuels our frantic busyness
As the time draws close.

Frustrated we pray
Will we ever be ready
For the coming peace

2.12.24

Posted on by estlh

Day 2 of the poetry prompt advent and the prompt is patience.

The in-between
A time of malcontent
When what is no longer amiss
Is not yet as it should be
Patience does not come naturally
The grumbles burst forth unrestrained
By manners or propriety
And annoyed by my own agitation
My hackles strain skyward

Yet still you do not respond
My unanswered pleas for conclusion
Hang unrecognised between us
The strides we made in danger of being overlooked
When still our destination is not gained

All in good time my child, all in good time.

My petulant cry –
“Now is a good time”
Dies on my lips
As I finally meet your gaze
And am engulfed in the love within.

All in good time my love, all in good time

December 1st

Posted on by estlh

So I found a poetry prompt advent calendar. Day 1’s prompt was simply ‘A candle’

The room is still
Save for the flickering light of the candle on the mantel
It’s orange cast dancing on the wall behind.
The persistent motion is mesmerising as she watches through the window
The light shed by the candle does not spread far,
Showing her barely more than the silhouette of the familiar old chair
His chair
In its rightful position by the hearth.
But the hearth is cold and empty.
Summoning her courage, she takes the few small steps to the door.
She pauses, sighs, hand on the handle before,
Resigned, she pushes it open.
The sudden chill that floods the room
Is all-encompassing
And the feeble flame is no match for it.
As the door shuts behind her
All is
Darkness

If only

Posted on by estlh

If only days were dreams
And all not as it seems
If only time would fly
The hours racing by
To bring you back to me, my love
From far across the sea, my love

If all the sky were blue
And all earth’s colours true
If all the stars were bright
To guide you through the night
And bring you back to me, my love
From far across the sea, my love


Now all the world is black
The clock needs turning back
Your final bed of wood
Carried all it could
And brought you back to me, my love
From far across the sea, my love

At the well

Posted on by estlh

A few years ago I wrote a poem about the women in the bible who encountered Jesus. In my poetry journal today the prompt was to write a poem from the point of view of someone in a well known story. I chose the woman at the well.

He saw me.
I had come alone to draw, unseen, unjudged, from the well.
He spoke to me
Asking for a drink from one he should have ignored
He told me
That I should never thirst again – he would make it so
He revealed to me
The truth of who he was and why he came
He knew me
He knew the very worst but did not shrink from me

When previously I had felt judgement,
here I met compassion
And for the first time I felt free.
I found truth,
I found purpose,
And I felt beautiful.

Coffee & Cake

Posted on by estlh

Writing poetry can be a funny business. Inspiration can come from all sorts of places, and often a few lines will come to me when I am in the middle of doing something entirely unconnected to writing. This is why I am never more than a few feet from a notebook, and if one cannot be reached then the voice recorder on my phone comes in useful. At night I make sure my notebook is on the bedside table open on a blank page so if inspiration strikes in the night I can jot it down without turning on the light, (and just hope I can interpret the scrawl in the morning!) When it comes to actually sitting down and writing one of my favourite places to do this is in a coffee shop. With a sweet treat and a hot drink I can sit and write to my hearts content. And when the words are not flowing I can people watch and let my imagination tell me the stories of those around me. At times I will write something from scratch, but often I will use one of my notebooks or voice notes as a starting point. But just because I originally wrote a few lines or phrases inspired by X or Y, that does not mean the poem I actually write has anything to do with X or Y. It is not at all uncommon for the poem I end up with to have very little to do with what I was inspired by in the first place, and for the poem I write to comes as a bit of a surprise. Often something innocuous and unextraordinary can lead to a deeply personal poem. Poetry can sometimes feel a bit like opening myself up and letting my bare soul fall on the page, which is why not everything I write gets shared!

Coffee and cake, paper and pen

Thoughts pouring out of my head once again

Into the light of the stark black and white

No longer hidden from my own sight.

Forced to acknowledge what I would ignore

I knew this would happen – it’s happened before

I try to write fiction, to make myself smile

But unpleasant truths escape all the while

Sat in my seat watching people unwind

While I pour out the disquiet of my mind

And yet though this poem was not my intent

The words express all that inside me is pent

Releasing the tension, unwinding the coil

Freeing the ire that within my head boils

And so by the time I at last drain my cup

Unburdened, I pack up my pen and stand up.

Corner

Posted on by estlh

I am a dreamer. I dream often and regularly remember bits, if not all, of the fantastical tales and crazy adventures I have during slumber. The weird and wonderful worlds I inhabit whilst sleeping can be a rich source of inspiration for my writing whilst awake, and I keep a note book beside my bed to jot down anything I want to hold on to. Sometimes when I look back at them my night-time scribblings make no sense at all, but once in a while when I check my notebook I am amazed at the insight or poeticism I find there.

A few days ago I had an unusual dream, even for me. Instead of being in the dream, playing ny part, I was an observer. And as the scene played out before me it wasn’t live action it was a black and white cartoon, all rough drawn and jiggling. I can only remember a very small part of it but it was such a striking visual images that it inspired a poem.

I can see myself in the corner
In a small stark patch of light
All couched and folded inwards
In a world of black and white

The darkness that surrounds me
Is slowly pressing in
The fear of it constricts my chest
I feel it chill my skin

But flickering, and glorious
A white light comes to shine
And rages ‘gainst the darkness
In this corner small of mine

So sensing something easing
I dare to lift my head
And see the light expanding
And catch a glimpse of red

I can see me in the corner
In a growing patch of light
All couched, but less uncertain
In a world of colours bright.

Mashed Potato

Posted on by estlh

The prompt for today was to create a set of rules for something that wouldn’t normally have rules. Inspired by a recent painful experience, I have written the rules for mashing potato.

The rules for mashing potato

The first rule of mashing potato
Is peel them, remove any skin
Although it’s delicious on jackets
For mashed it goes straight in the bin

The next rule of mashing potatoes
Is boil them all up in a pan
Remove all their starchy robustness
Then drain them as fast as you can

The third rule of mashing potato
Is splash in some milk or some cream
Some butter, and maybe some pepper
- it really will taste like a dream!

Then make sure your masher is sturdy,
As that is rule number four,
Then pound them and bash, squish and mash them
Until all the lumps are no more.

The last rule of mashing potato
Is never do it in a vest –
To splash scolding spud down your cleavage
Will leave you not quite self-possessed!

The best way of eating potato
Is mashed, and although I agree
That fried, baked, boiled, roasted or scalloped
Are yummy, it’s mash that’s for me!