Poetry

Christmas Holiday Daredevils

The snow fell softly, silently,
blanketing the town before daybreak;
it was deep enough to sledge in – and lose a boot;
out the window, a march had already begun,
street kids trailing sledges and inner tubes from old tractor tyres,
towards the hills of the golf course and their hills;
the walk took us past the bare hedgerows,
showing the families already there;
a dad and daughter skimming down on a black binliner,
and some of the older lads on an old car bonnet
spinning every which way.

At the entrance, scrambling over stile,
I was ready to tackle the hill,
dodging bodies to reach the top and the quick queue,
quicker than I’d ever seen;
it was tradition to share the first trip down with Ni;
he handled the steering, as we sped in a bullet-straight line,
all the way to the bottom,
so we went again and again and again – together and apart,
until my final solo descent, which was
headfirst, full of fear and peer pressure;
I almost made it until I ate a wedge of snow, hurting my arm;
one of the car bonnet boys had to pull me out of the way,
as the dad and daughter sped past my feet, binliner shredded to pieces,
their fun finished as well;
my brother left to trail the sledge
as we laughed all the way home;
full of childhood adrenaline, arctic air
and last night’s snow.

Appearing On… Eat The Storms – Christmas Episode

The Christmas episode of the Eat The Storms Poetry Podcast has been released. On it, you’ll hear me (!!!) reading four of my poems with a wintry and festive feel. I am so grateful that Damien (the host with the most!) invited me back to read. I love Christmas and the last time I appeared on the podcast was my podcasting debut, my reading live debut and was so much fun.

Some of the poems I’ve read you’ll find on Paul Writes Poems already; the others will be released between now and Christmas along with my daily Haiku Advent Calendar so keep your eyes peeled.

The last time I had the opportunity to appear on Eat The Storms, the other readers were amazing. The same is said for my fellow poets appearing on the Christmas episode, but, this time Damien has ramped things up for the festivities so it’s bursting at the seams like a vintage stocking.

I have released a poem this month already, you can find the piece of nostalgia by clicking, ‘At Christmas‘.

It was a massive honour and privilege to take part, especially with the calibre of the other poets reading. I may have been was awestruck! (I must apologise for the sore throat though.)

Merry Christmas Everybody

Ho Ho Ho

Paul

At Christmas

Christmas is my time of year
I can get drunk on the scents of clementine and clove
I like to sing along with Bing & Bowie, Wizzard & Wham
dance around the tree tryIng not to trip
over well-wrapped gifts and tins of roses
I get hypnotised by the shimmering of baubles
against twinkling lights and tinsel
every year I sit and lose myself in the magic of the snowman
like it’s my first time seeing it.

Get me round the table on Christmas day
pulling crackers with prizes I never win
a toast and then a race for the pigs in blankets
and last roast potato
smiles of happiness, wine and champagne
from all the faces,
leaves the best taste.

Does it really matter to you,
if the odd day, my breakfast is Bucks Fizz, coco pops and orange matchmakers
and afternoon hot chocolates
sometimes have Bailey’s in, sometimes not?
We celebrate in our own ways.

I’ve always enjoyed Christmas
ever since I watched letters with burnt edges
float up the chimney as a child
when Dudley Moore was a runaway elf
and presents spilled from tree to settee
and the whole family was happy and together.

Christmas is my time of year
let’s celebrate together
all in our own ways.

————

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem.

Take It Easy

Paul

Celebrating Being Published!!!

Today I’m celebrating  being published!!!

I recently submitted a poem to ‘Flight of the Dragonfly’, an amazing quarterly journal, and got accepted!

The poem is about a rite of passage for me and my brother growing up in rural Northumberland and I am very proud of it.

When my work is published, especially something so personal, is always a great feeling.

To read ‘The Lambs’, please click the link below;

https://flightofthedragonfly.com/paul-adam-short/

I really hope you all enjoy it.

Take It Easy

Paul

Firebird

Last night the sky was black velvet,
flecked with scattered diamonds,
and the snowdrop moon that shone over frozen earth;
the winter wind was biting,
but we were warm,
with hot chocolates, big coats and knitted headbands;
the world felt almost monochrome at minus two,
until the robin landed on the gatepost,
ruby chest pushed out,
flames dancing in its eyes,
a Firebird.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. I hope you’re all well and enjoying December.

Take It Easy,

Paul

Feeling

He sits with sadness in his eyes,
mercury-blue and moist,
no light shines on his face,
apart from the moon,
who cups his cheek,
from her perch in the sky,
she understands melancholy,
but he ignores her offer of help,
turning away from her slender illuminating fingers,
instead he pushes the pain down,
burying with the rest of his misery,
he shouldn’t show emotion or cry,
that’s not what men do,
how many times does he need to be told.

He takes a breath,
agitating the mercury with woollen sleeves,
he sweeps away the tears,
then paints a watercolour happiness over his face,
just in time, for his wife has returned to him,
and when she asks how he is,
in reply, with all his strength,
he let’s a tear fall and tells her how he feels.


Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. I am big supporter of men’s mental health and this deals with men being able to open up to their partners.

Take It Easy,

Paul

(image courtesy of Nik Shuliahin on unsplash)

Bobby’s Wake

The pitmen gather around the empty hearse,
standing like Davids around Goliath,
some with roll-up cigs burning,
a glowing tobacco-fuelled pyre for,
another brother lost to history.

The colliery band are gearing up,
it’s good to see them still looking strong,
a shame some of the brass looks dull,
but the sapphire and gold thread of the banner,
is still resplendent in the tender summer drizzle.

Bobby’s family give their thanks to the vicar,
with a handshake and bottle of whisky;
his widow unsteady from grief
– and a brandy she’d drank for his honour and her nerves –
is weightless in the arms of her daughters,
the sorrow they’re carrying is a heavy enough burden.

Some of his friends from the village,
wander around the nearby graves,
hunching over the headstones and fading flowerheads,
making empty apologies they aren’t there more often.


Everyone congregates at the roadside when the band begins,
ready for the march to the pub;
tubas and trumpets blowing out the tune to
‘The Bonny Pit Laddie’
a reminder of the man,
just returned to the earth;
close to the coal he used to dig.


At the pub – we all raise a ‘Percy Special’ in toast,
and the tales and tankards come thick and fast;
like pick-axes on silver-black mine walls,
did only a couple of years ago;
the only hush comes from the opening of the buffet table.


These ageing men who’ve fought the police and government;
legends in their own lifetimes;
know that they’ll be together again soon enough,
wondering if they’ll be the missing face, lying in the dirt;
some have a fleeting sadness on their hard faces,
quickly burnt away by the furnace behind their eyes,
and then songs break out with soft smiles

– this is a celebration.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem.

I really appreciate all your support.

Take It Easy

Paul

Stolen Voices

The worst kind of thief there is,
is the one who steals another’s words
then speaks them silver-lipped
and serpent-tongued
or writes them with crooked finger
and poisoned pen
without appreciating their weight
or realising their value
only seeing inked shapes on paper
not the skill it took in crafting those shapes
so when you’re caught
and our expressions of love,hope,pain & hurt
are reclaimed by us
the ones who have enough courage
to share our story with the world
I hope you are wordless, you are voiceless
a blank piece of paper blowing in the wind.

This poem was written following an issue where a few people were being plagiarised. The last straw was when war poetry was stolen from the pens of others , their name displayed as the original.

This is my feeling towards people who steal the words of others and say they are their own.

Take It Easy

Paul

Mothers & Daughters

Demeter wailed on the autumn’s eve
and all the gods could do
was to plant lavender clouds to soothe her
and comfort her
as the sky filled pink
to match her tear-stained cheeks
the same tears that roared to earth
as the last of the summer rain
Persephone was the last to hold Demeter
her bags already packed to return to Hades
she whispered sweetly and secretly
a skill her husband had taught her well
holding her mother’s slender fingers
she told her to watch for a robin
and when one flew across land below
to feed it with berries the colour of her heart
and the robin will accept graciously
so when Persephone returns she will be strong
and spring & summer will be theirs alone
their green dresses will sparkle with gold
woven by the sun itself
and they will dance as they’ve never danced before.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. Greek Mythology is something quite different for me to work with in terms of conveying a message and I hope I’ve done it justice.

Take It Easy

Paul

(Picture credit: unsplash Faiuan Saari)

Sarcophagi

The low autumn sun
blinding-white but bereft of gold
because the beech and sycamore stole it
to paint their leaves
before purging the dying
windswept sarcophagi of the season
everyone and everything
wants to be a king for a day
and all kings know kingdoms fall
crumble to decay
and history remembers in bronze
the colour of rotting leaves
atoms return to atoms
return to life elsewhere.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem about autumn.

I hope you enjoyed it, if so why not check some of my other work out.

Take It Easy

Paul

Photo from unsplash: Ilham Ramadhan