Alexander Averin

Saturday 17 December 2011


Fleece on Earth
Wild faces Gallery

I wish we could put up some of the Christmas spirit in jars and open a jar of it every month
Harlan Miller


Her life was a predicament, a life of non-adjustment,
her wildness inexact but she did not falter
in spite of a malaise that’s seen as quirky, not quite normal.
(I tell myself and her that normal is boring).
Orphaned and unmoulded, she had no prototype to run by
and Christmas strangely always brings such pains to mind.
On shrinking days her heartstrings became broken;
there is so much she abhors, avoids or even tries to tolerate
for she’s learned false colours are a sham, a visual fallacy
and a false light always shows itself before a coming dawn.
Never one to fall in and march, she cannot sing in unison
while all her loathings move to stir and wake.
Getting up, going out, they all become too much,
planned events and obligations, grandeur, pomp and circumstance,
anything wide of the truth, deceptive or deceiving.
Pressure to spend precedes a runaway frenzy.
Her list of hates goes on, I beg her stop.
What does she love, I hear you say?
Ah, that could fill a book and would make a far nicer poem,
let’s celebrate,
there is so much, so much.

Cait O’Connor


Fennie said...

Let's celebrate indeed. There is some of most of us in that poem but there are all sorts of things that I love - the sheep with the blue face for a start!

Faith said...

Lovely header pic, Cait!

Dave King said...

Those last 4 lines make the whole poem a delight to read - and persuaded me to read it again. It is a very different poem second time around. I love that.