In The Light of Thieves

In The Light of Thieves


An unmistakable presence in the room,
lingering without revealing,
observing through unopened eyes,
the ghost of the season watches all.
He sways in a draught like a reed by a river
as fluid as the moonrise and
gentle as a warm summer night;
but it is not summer, not now.
We feel him testing the presents under the tree
teasing the corners of carefully wrapped extravagances
whilst casting looks to those without.
Thieves he calls us,
though not with malice.
We sit in the hues of myriad sparkling lights:
vermillion; sapphire; citrine and more
wondering if everything we’ve never asked for
has fallen from the stars;
there are those who only have the stars,
and even then only if roofless tents
are granted cloud free skies.
Christmas, a time of such joy and good will,
yet so hard to understand.
The seasonal ghost turns from us now,
he can’t bear it any longer.
He has dawdled as he dwindles,
as have we.
There was so much more to see
in his short window of time.
There is so much more to see
in our own.
But will we?
Shall we?
Can we?

50 Word Stories: Expectant

Better than the day itself, the unwrapping, the short, sharp shock of enjoyment and disappointment in equal measures, comes the hope. We feed off it eyes wide, breaths held. We taste the allure of red and white from weeks before. Yes, it’s the expectancy that’s best, but it’s almost over.

50 Word Stories: So Many Questions

"Who woke me up?"
"Not me."
"Why’s the living room door open?"
"I don’t know."
"What’s all that rustling?"
"I can’t say."
"Why’re the Christmas presents all shredded and ripped?"
"Who knows."
"Why’s the dog got chocolate all over his face?"
"Father Christmas put him up to it."

Santa Robin?

I opened my door and what did I see,

But a smart little robin there looking at me.

He gave me a wink and a slight little nod,

And strangely enough, it didn’t feel odd!

I invited him in and held the door wide,

And quick as a flash he flew straight inside.

He stayed with me hours just sipping at tea,

Whilst I talked of Christmas he chirruped at me.

Never so happy had I ever been

As chatting with robin in my Christmas dream.

Until when the dark came he chirped he must go,

I guess that my face must have shown I was low.

But on my return to the room warm and pleasant,

I realised the robin had left me a present.

But not one of wrapping, a gift me to you,

No, that crafty fellow just needed the loo!

(Image courtesy