1. 13 days to Christmas, 4 days to enter the competition

    Written by Jenny Wong at December 12, 2012 0:00

    It’s never too late to write poetry…

5 Responses to “13 days to Christmas, 4 days to enter the competition”

  1. Christmas is for children. I loved Christmas when my children were young. Now i think it’s just a shopkeepers holiday.
    If any one is interested here is a poem I wrote for my children when they were young enough and wise enough to believe in fairies.

    THE TRYSTING TREE.

    Hold my hand and I’ll hold yours
    And we’ll go dancing to the shores
    Of sunlit lands where happy grows
    The Trysting Tree, beneath which flows
    The sunbeam stream where fairies bathe
    And ships with sails of breezes take
    Cargoes of cares to the secret cave
    Where the wisest fairy works to make
    Them into new and shining joys,
    And all the tears of girls and boys
    Are made into a necklace for
    The loveliest queen of all that shore.

    Beneath the Trysting Tree we’ll tell
    Our dreams into a singing shell
    And read the stories of the flowers
    As page on page we turn the hours.
    We’ll talk as brightly as singing birds
    Of things untaught in any school
    In a laugh of language gemmed with words
    Shaped newly with our twist tongue tool.
    We’ll eat our fill of fairy food
    And drink the wine no grownup could.
    Then on a magic spell we’ll ride
    And see all from the other side.

    Whenever you’re sad remember we
    Can meet beneath the Trysting Tree.
    Just call my name, you know it well,
    It has the name that none can spell
    And we’ll romp again through magic fields
    And from our purses stuffed with stars
    We’ll pay for all that dreaming builds,
    Those castles in the sky and cars
    Drawn swiftly by a lightning streak;
    Who knows, perhaps we’ll even speak
    To that loveliest Queen who proudly wears
    The necklace made from pearls of tears.

    Harry Haines.

  2. How about this for very young kids?

    THE LAND OF SINGINGLYSAID.

    When you are sleeping
    The fairies come peeping
    Around your sleeping head.
    From where you are lying
    They take you by flying
    To the land of Singinglysaid.

    And there on alighting
    You’ll be given in writing
    Rules that cannot be read
    And it’s no good you trying
    For they’re not applying
    Rules in Singinglysaid.

    There you’ll go laughing
    To washing and bathing
    In water that’s blue and red.
    And when you go walking
    Your toes will start talking
    To the flowers of Singinglysaid.

    And there when you’re singing
    The bluebells start ringing
    While trees clap there hands overhead.
    And each hour you’ll be humming
    To the dancing days drumming
    Out tunes of Singinglysaid.

    Till when the sun’s rising
    There’s nothing surprising
    Can’t happen in Singinglysaid.
    But when you start waking
    The fairies are taking
    You home from Singinglysaid.

    That’s why you wake singing
    Though fairies are winging
    Away from your dreaming bed.
    But again when you’re sleeping
    The fairies will come peeping
    And take you to Singinglysaid.

    Harry Haines.

  3. Margaret Drake says:

    Absolutely brilliant.

  4. Thank you Margaret, your kind remarks, much appreciated.

  5. Mike Alderson says:

    Crime Scene

    The forensic team are in the yard
    measuring footprints in the snow.
    They’ve bagged up vegetables for DNA
    and photographed a hat and scarf
    left at the gate.
    There are no finger prints.

Leave a Reply

  • Views expressed on this blog are those of the individual authors -- Magma seeks to present a range of views, not a single Magma view.
  • Receive the Magma Blog for FREE

    All the latest news, features and comment from Magma Poetry delivered to you for free.

    You can receive the blog via either e-mail or RSS.

    For more details, see the Free Updates page.

  • Recent Posts

  • Categories

  • Magma on Facebook

    Facebook logo

  • Follow Magma on Twitter