Written for the Christmas/Midwinter season 2016.
The Hairdresser snips
and the clumps of leaves fall
from the curls of the crown on the top of the head,
no one is here to sweep,
once finished
they all go back to sleep
and the dreaming begins.
What do trees dream of?
Do their branches flicker
as they imagine giving chase
to interesting sights and smells?
Do they wake up screaming
and hang woven 'catchers
on their arms
to capture all the nightmares of fracking and deforestation?
Do they become stiff when
thinking about
y'know
that other tree
or that bee?
Does hawthorn heart get the blossom pumping?
And
when waessael comes
and the bang of drums stir...
Do they hit snooze?
Do they beg 'just five more minutes'
and roll over, tucked under
quilts made of frost and chills?
Is there a Freud made of furze
who can analyse every encounter
and tell them
acorn wants to sleep with The Mother,
that they have attachment issues
and are too rooted in their old ways?
I see them chatting
in the May morning,
of the conjured delusions
that blew through the howling breeze,
gossiping
in their grove,
topping each story
with a dream of their own.
Darkest day is approaching
and they will need coaxing to rest,
and we will need coaching to not stress as light fades,
and we all go up to 'Bedfordshire',
awaiting the break of morning.
Songs will come.
First as lullaby
then
alarm clock,
tiny hammers,
a mallet,
primed
and waiting
for the sun to be reborn
and bring in, it's new rule.
Until then,
the Holly King rises,
borrows bag of dust from sandman
and uses as seasoning
to bring about
our cold winter mournings.
and the clumps of leaves fall
from the curls of the crown on the top of the head,
no one is here to sweep,
once finished
they all go back to sleep
and the dreaming begins.
What do trees dream of?
Do their branches flicker
as they imagine giving chase
to interesting sights and smells?
Do they wake up screaming
and hang woven 'catchers
on their arms
to capture all the nightmares of fracking and deforestation?
Do they become stiff when
thinking about
y'know
that other tree
or that bee?
Does hawthorn heart get the blossom pumping?
And
when waessael comes
and the bang of drums stir...
Do they hit snooze?
Do they beg 'just five more minutes'
and roll over, tucked under
quilts made of frost and chills?
Is there a Freud made of furze
who can analyse every encounter
and tell them
acorn wants to sleep with The Mother,
that they have attachment issues
and are too rooted in their old ways?
I see them chatting
in the May morning,
of the conjured delusions
that blew through the howling breeze,
gossiping
in their grove,
topping each story
with a dream of their own.
Darkest day is approaching
and they will need coaxing to rest,
and we will need coaching to not stress as light fades,
and we all go up to 'Bedfordshire',
awaiting the break of morning.
Songs will come.
First as lullaby
then
alarm clock,
tiny hammers,
a mallet,
primed
and waiting
for the sun to be reborn
and bring in, it's new rule.
Until then,
the Holly King rises,
borrows bag of dust from sandman
and uses as seasoning
to bring about
our cold winter mournings.