Stocking fillers!
Time for some brand new poems. You’ve done all your shopping, but! You’re with a few gaps here and there. The pillowcase isn’t quite stuffed. The stockings hang somewhat limply where they ought to bulge. Time for some traditional Christmas top-up gifts.
Coal
A snowman’s plucked eye,a fire nest’s dislodged egg.
Stubby underworld agent
who vanishes in the crowd.
Coal, you’re a born tumbler,
bunker to scuttle to hearth
to skin you bright with dust.
Wooden Soldier
Mercenary, partisan or deserter –young, headlong from a skirmish.
His gloss the gloss of shined boots,
of blood, of a new glass consolador.
