Ambivalent Christmas feelings rise  with ease
They fly across the room like  whistling darts.
We need some special Christmas trained police

Oh,who expects no torment at this feast?
Shall we resent the piercing of our hearts?
Ambivalent Christmas feelings rise like geese

Some  enraged by Santa’s   late demise
Tear up parcels  and will not take  part
We need some  clever Christmas trained police.

What is Christian ,what comes from that beast
Slouching towards Bethlehem all night
Ambivalent, prayer-less feelings rise to tease.

They say the first are last for Christ’s release.
The Cardinals each hurry with their light
Who asks  wisdom  from disdained  old priests?

Will all the family stand and make a fight?
To kinder hearts that seems more wrong than right
Ambivalent Christmas feelings spoil our feast
We need some  well lit Christmas trees , at least.

Oh,tap with water pure and clean
I thank you for your brilliant scheme
Without this water,we’d drink beer
Guinness   makes the kidneys  fewer.
Gone would be my Yorkshire tea
And washing   up would  puzzle me.
What did Aaron drink, I muse.
It’s not in the Torah’s news,
The downside of the tap is this
No more by rivers do we mass
There the women could meet friends
As they   trampled with no end
They’d hit their washing with big  rocks
And help each other  find lost socks
And so the  home with its machine
Makes us lonely, we’re has beens.
No doubt launderettes are fun
As we sit down till  all  is done.
Dried and neatly folded  clothes
Stop many  couples  having rows
On the other hand,why not
Wear your clothes until they rot?
Then toss them out and  buy again
What a  thought  for  gentlemen.
Ladies would not  like it though
Dirty  jeans seem all the go.
Ripped and torn as well  is in.
Would it be a mortal sin?
If the washing drives you mad
Then in paper be you clad
Do not use the Evening News
In case folk passing by  abuse——
Try to read the  latest crimes ;
Complain you didn’t use the Times.
Maybe  some old  and plastic bags
Will hold in the bits that sag.
Like water in its own freedom
My mind meanders till it’s done

Now night has gone and  winter light returned
Bare trees  point  upward, as they fill with birds
I feel   the world is waiting for a sign.

The birdsong is so peaceful and benign
For they can’t read or speak a single word
And night has gone, will brightness  then return?

Is  pessimism   labelled as a crime?
As neighbour nations burn  their greeting cards
Though near despair, the lost wait for a  sign.

Although I’m old  my heart  and soul still yearn.
For love’s not dead, my ear says she has heard
As night has   fled and  lightness  quite returned

The refugees  seek help,  they are declined
As were  our Jews, with not dissimilar  words.
We,  love’s followers , must  give to  them  more time

We see the  leaders   brandishing   their swords.
The new crusaders Jesus’ words discard
Now night has come , Hanukkah  candles spurned.
Do the wise know fires of hell  can burn?

http://www.writerstreasure.com/poetry-writing-forms-terms/

Great poets convey the theme of their poems aptly and beautifully. There is something special about them.

But what makes them so special?

Are they God-gifted or do they learn poetry writing skills? Both. Let’s look at the latter, poetry writing skills. To acquire poetry writing skills, one must read and write poetry regularly. However, it also helps to know a few things about poetry, such as…

Poetry Writing Forms ..see article in full

I asked my husband to come home for Xmas but he says it’s a  lot warmer where he is now.So shall I buy some more fan heaters or just burn the house down and join him?

By Adam Phillips

Freud is showing us how conscience obscures self-knowledge, intimating indeed that this may be its primary function: when we judge the self it can’t be known; guilt hides it in the guise of exposing it. This allows us to think that it is complicitous not to stand up to the internal tyranny of what is only one part – a small but loud part – of the self. So frightened are we by the super-ego that we identify with it: we speak on its behalf to avoid antagonising it (complicity is delegated bullying). But in arguing with his conscience, in trying to catch it, with such eloquence and subtlety, Hamlet has become a genius of self-reproach; his conversations with himself and others about conscience allow him to speak in ways no one had ever quite spoken before.

http://www.cam.ac.uk/research/discussion/why-do-we-read-and-write-novels

“Albert Camus in his book The Rebel [L’Homme revolté]. Camus says that all artwork is a demand for unity, a ‘reconciliation of the unique with the universal’, an imposition of order on our chaotic, closed and very limited experiences of the world. His core idea is that narrative art organises life in such a way that we can reflect on it from a distance, experience it anew and deny the transient nature of the everyday.  Following Camus, I think fiction lets us press pause, rewind, zoom in, zoom out; it creates a space for us to think ourselves and our world in novel ways – to be titillated, frightened, disgusted, amused and surprised – often at ourselves – and meaningfully and distinctly from television or film, have significant control over that experience, to work with the author rather than be worked on by the author.

HT:  Yes, I agree with Malachi and with Camus’s answer.  Someone once said to me that it’s easy to recognise the people who don’t read fiction as their outlook on life is narrower and less imaginative, and they find it hard to put themselves in other people’s shoes. A generalisation, but with elements of truth.  The power of fiction begins with fairy tales, nursery rhymes and picture books  giving children ways of looking at the world and outside themselves.  As we grow up, ‘the compact between reader and writer’, working with the author, is a powerful personal and shared experience, and in recent years a more public experience with the meteoric rise of book groups.   The poet Billy Collins puts it well I think. On reading fiction he says: “I see all of us reading ourselves away from ourselves, straining in circles of light to find more light until the line of words becomes a trail of crumbs that we follow across a page of fresh snow…”

If
I whispered
I love you.
Would you hear me,
Love

I hate the shock of the doorbell early
I’m still half dreaming
Then I have to shout to the postman
I lie down again to get back  into my body
I am still in   a dream  about Ealing
I think for a moment there is someone in the other room
Then I remember.
At least I don’t have to worry about
How my mood might affect them
If I have a mood,that is.
Do we always have a mood?
I wonder why I don’t fill a flask with tea
I used to do one for both of us after washing up.
I open my  eyes and sit looking out of the window
I drink tea and ignore the newspaper.
It’s a bit hard to read that print.
Then a rush of gladness comes in.
Even now I smell the earth under the city streets.
I imagine cats prowling around the trees
Maybe a tortoise forgot to hibernate.
Where’s the robin?
Nature, not human, sustains.
Shapes and patterns of sunlight on the walls
I turn to you
You have left me.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturenews/4630043/AAAS-Writing-poems-helps-brain-cope-with-emotional-turmoil-say-scientists.html

http://www.cam.ac.uk/research/discussion/why-do-we-read-and-write-novels

TB: Until some neuroscientist cracks it, it’s an open question. We’re evolutionarily hardwired to look for patterns, for meaning; we crave narrative. This is a hindrance when unchecked but it’s also an incredible gift. Fiction brings you to places, emotionally and imaginatively, which you never otherwise would have visited. The psychologist Steven Pinker wondered once that, maybe, fiction is a kind of empathy technology. I like that. In its construction I think fiction is a skilled dreaming, and the story we construct in and from the dream is presented as a subtle thesis: given this set of people and this set of circumstances, this will happen. It’s a claim by the writer about the nature of some aspect of humanity, and that’s no small thing. The audacity of that is arresting; if you stick with me for the whole story, then it’s probably because you agree with me, you think, ‘Yeah, that’s how it is, you’ve told me the truth.’ And the truth is powerful.

On Not Being Able to Paint

Guardian UK photo

http://doyouwriteunderyourownname.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/a-miscellany-of-books.html

Coincidentally,words beginning with a hard k sound are found funnier than other words except for words starting with G
So get Garry’s cricket gear out from  the kitchen cupboard and crack his brain  to  guarantee  he’ll sign a contract.Gorillas are getting more intelligent but the kitchen cupboard keeps getting crowded ;it’s Christmas and my glass bowls are under the grill pan gathering grease and crumbs. I’ve got to say,going away for Xmas  is growing on me as I gather more gorillas are converting and the Kirk can’t cope constantly.

Was that funny?

No matter how often I sweep it, the kitchen floor is full of things like a jar of mustard,a pen, a tea towel and the Financial Times
I was stood there looking at it, then I picked up ten tins of tomatoes and threw them at it,screaming
How do you like this? Start putting stuff away NOW

I’ve still got my husband’s ashes on the table.
I can’t decide  whether to dust it or not.
I told  him to stop smoking  while we ate,but would he listen?
Would the Pope  use a skateboard?

http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/how-to-mix-humor-into-your-writing

Learning the Basics of Subtle Humor

Let’s be clear: The goal in adding some humor to your nonfiction project is not about becoming the next Erma Bombeck or David Sedaris (unless that’s your dream). The goal is to improve your writing by using all the tools available to you, including comedy. Imagine where the original authors of the For Dummies book franchise would be today if they hadn’t decided to take a lighthearted approach.

Whether or not you consider yourself a funny person, it’s not as difficult as you—might think to put humor to work for you. I’ve found that the easiest and best ways of doing so boil down to five simple comedic tools.

1. THE K RULE
It may sound strange, but it’s true: Words with the k sound (Cadillac, quintuplet, sex) are perceived as the funniest, and words with a hard g (guacamole, gargantuan, Yugo) create almost as many grins. This may be because much of what makes Americans laugh today has roots in Yiddish humor, the language of which includes many guttural sounds—and the k and hard g are as close as English comes. The K Rule is so widely used by comedy writers that Matt Groening’s team once referenced it in an episode of “The Simpsons” when Sideshow Mel explained that Krusty (note spelling) the Clown had laryngitis from “trying to cram too many k sounds into a punch line.”

The K Rule is a good convention for naming things and making word choices that will subconsciously or subtly amuse your readers. This tool is especially handy in crafting attention-grabbing titles or subheads. Consider this memorable section heading in the book You Staying Young: The Owner’s Manual for Extending Your Warranty by Michael F. Roizen and Mehmet C. Oz: “Your Memory: Don’t Fuggedaboudit.”

Choose your Priorities: Learning at the Feet of the Master

“Peter Ustinov, the brilliant raconteur could hold audiences spell-bound in his West End one-man shows. One of his favourite subjects was Russian farmers’ great love of tractors. Although a multi-linguist, he was funniest in non-verbal communication. He could, for example, mimic the sound of a Russian tractor. He would have audiences in hysterics as he rode an imaginary tractor on stage. One of his memorable illustrations was of an advert from a Soviet agricultural magazine, “Farmer seeks wife. Wife must own tractor. If interested, please send photo… of tractor.”

Who  or what can rise from Jesus’ grave
When holiness  has been destroyed or died
In what blessed water shall we bathe?
If there be a judgement,who is tried?

The rich got richer,what a cliche here!
The poor and humble infected  in their will
We are no better, they  have made it clear
They will accept no more and yearn to kill.

Who’s destroyed   they  care not as they push
Our so called culture nearer to the brink
Indeed they seem to feel an intense rush
To raise up fools who can’t use pen and ink.

Is it LSD or ecstasy?
Will they see  his wild duplicity

Oh,light bulb foreseen by our God
Save us all from darkness’ rod
You are our Saviour as foretold
In prophecy  by ancients  bold.
We will worship you at night
When sunken is the sun so bright.
We’ll watch TV and kindle fire
No more to play shall we aspire.
We’ll wear ourselves out watching screens,
As ,from a can, we eat  baked beans
We’ll send for pizzas with our phones
With which we never feel alone.
We might talk to our partner dear
Though to text is easier.
We see the  neon street lights gleam
Where once we saw the moon’s cold beams
And in bed we read our books
With a kindle or a nook
We put beneath out pillows fair
I phones which   we long to hear
Can one have too much new light?
From technology some take flight
For gone are seasons, and their fruit
As our computer we reboot.
New potatoes all year round
Avocados    once quite rare
Now are seem ‘most everywhere.
Melons,grapes and fresh green peas
As the birds sing,life’a breeze.
Oh light bulb,fluorescent tube
Electric candle, trapped by boob.
We thank you for extended days
Maybe we’ll find time for prayers.
God is great  in mystery
From his bosom  we should  flee.

Once the Soviet troops were welcome there
In Auschwitz   thousands.millions disappeared.
The Soviet Army came  in  winter’s  chill
Nazis were advised to speed their cull

It was not only  Jews    gassed daily  there
Gypsies,plotters  also disappeared.
Can Christian faith   permit such  genocide?
On this ground, the Holy Spirit died.

What God exists depends  upon our minds;
When we choose evil,   what God can we find?
The end of Christianity came here,
As Christ was killed again   in chamber bare

God is dead to us for we have sinned
Against the Holy Spirit whom we killed