Hi Arthur,
I love how you have focussed in on the people who are shopping. We so often
just see a mass of faces and forget they are people like us. An excellent
viewpoint to comment from.
bw
James
>From: Arthur Seeley <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New Sub: Christmas Shopping
>Date: Mon, 6 Dec 2004 17:26:40 -0000
>
> Christmas Shopping
>
>
>
> The Carols
>
>
>
>(i)
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>
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>The cold came sudden and hard.
>
>
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>Through the city's back ways,
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>metal on metal, heavily
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>over the tangle of bright rails,
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>the train shudders and terminates.
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>
>
>( ii )
>
>
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>frost along the leaf
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>sunlight golden through the frost-
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>the city swung with lights
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>
>
> (iii)
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>
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>The open market is a cornucopia
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>crammed for a heaving hoi-polloi.
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>
>
>Perched on a roof, a starling, beak agape,
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>boot-black beads half-lidded in bliss
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>
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>harks to the rippling murmurs
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>that flow from the dark rainbow of his throat;
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>
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>and then above the traffic noise,
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>from every shelf and ledge,
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>
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>the thrilling murmuration chimes.
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>Milk-white, the moon breasts the profile of the city.
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> (iv)
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>Mother Earth billows up Briggate,
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>all arse and anorak,
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>rolls like a laden galleon along Kirkgate,
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>four carriers per fist,
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>and a family to feed, for God's sake,
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>sashays to the music of the streets.
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>
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> (v)
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>
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>Insulted by poverty, badged with age,
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>he musters the last crumbs with his grimy thumb,
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>drains to the dregs and dares the streets.
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>
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>Away for the day,
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>from the unreasoned rages of the estate
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>that lap against his window
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>like a morning tide of pain;
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>shits through his letterbox;
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>tries the latch after midnight;
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>wants him dead.
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>
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>The night wind down by the bus stop,
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>sharp as thorns, cold as malice,
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>plucks at his trousers,
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>burns portents in his eyes.
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> (vi)
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>The city falls away, dark grips the train.
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>I hold my granddaughter tight.
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>We watch oases of light drift past.
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>I marvel at her small hands
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>pressed against the pane of night,
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>the miracle of her spread fingers.
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>My ear to her back
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>adores the tides of her young life.
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