Christmas Eve

The birds make fake bird songs

that I heard in the Christmas shops,

the fake moon is spotted before dark,

the navyblue sky is waiting

for its absence to be filled,

houses stand like sentries,

men in windows sharpen knives,

dogs bark at the fading light,

black specks of carbon birds

circle my head

because I am one

who will not look up,

the small boy counts down,

radio and TV hop with expectation,

the weather changes,

the bookmaker gives good odds on snow,

all is meant to change,

the barometer moves up and down

the human heart,

cloying melodies bring tears

to those who depart;

it is a time of arrival

where the moss grows green

and the harvest that was gathered

can now be shared between

the angels carrying candles

and the drunk who sways in the wind.

From Rus in Urbe

In pbk and Kindle at .com or uk

and other epub devices at

and audio (listen to a sample or buy) at

Also translated into Spanish, French Portuguese and Italian.

Happy Christmas to all my friends and supporters.


Author: James Lawless

Irish novelist, poet and short story writer.

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