Archive for the christmas Category

Rolande Barthes Proved Right by Text Message

Posted in christmas, love, Poetry, Uncategorized, work in progress, writing with tags , , , on December 3, 2013 by Graeme Cooper

“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

What a lovely text to cheer

Me up when I’m working


“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

That’s nice. I’m glad

You’re thinking of me when

The week must have been hectic

For you.  I’m glad

You don’t resent my being

Away.  I’m glad

I have you to come home to.

“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

Do you? Am I being naïve?

Do I need an irony app?

Is this the face of festering


“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

The missing vowels denote

Lack of warmth.  Is this

A throwback to that disastrous

Date just after we met?

When you said,

“At least one of us had a good time”

Maybe you think I’m having

Too much of a good time.

Should I feel guilty?


“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

What awaits me,

When I get home?

Cold shoulder? My things

In a bin bag on the pavement?


“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

Well, you know what?

Screw you! I’ve been working, trying

To make a little extra for Christmas.

If you didn’t want me to go

You could have said.

I wouldn’t have gone.


“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

Yes I know, you

Had the kids all week but I’ve not

Been living the high life you know.

It was one drink,

An old friend from school I

Hadn’t seen in years.

I missed you, you know,

You obviously didn’t miss me.

“I hope you hd a gd time. x”

No need!



“Did you have a good time, love?”

“Get stuffed. I’m going to the pub.”

And so a perplexed, tearful, wife,

Wonders what she did

To be so harshly treated

After missing him like crazy all week.


Posted in christmas, Poetry, winter with tags , , on December 4, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

Heavy sky offers no consolation today,

Clouds are cold and remote,

And sterile air hangs clinically,

Around the leafless trees.


No breeze,

To offer encouragement nor respite,

The red end of light’s spectrum,

Is gone with the absent sun,


Leaving blue to penetrate each crack,

Impotent to freeze,

It simply clings to living things,

Leaching each morsel of warmth,

From immobile, leaden, muscles,

Whilst evening slowly oozes,

Through the indifferent afternoon.


Soon, it will be time to eat.

The warm, easy babble of young voices,

Eagerly telling of school and play and friends,

Will fill this silent room,

Breathing life into artificial light,

Warming the night inside spreading,

Smiles that widen until,

The winter is forgotten.


Then, it will be time,

To put up the tree,

And to breathe in the safety,

Of its twinkling glow triumphant,

Leaving real winter outside,

Where it belongs.

Snow Day

Posted in christmas, love, Mental Health, Poetry, therapy, Uncategorized, winter, writing with tags , , , , , on December 4, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

When I went to bed last night,

It was snowing.

The garden lay crystal white,

And I slept imagining,

The beautiful wintry sunrise to come,

But when I awoke, rain,

Had the promised beauty undone.

The world was grey and cold again.

And I remembered when I asked you,

To be patient with me a while,

Saying I needed to work out a few,

Niggling doubts and then I’ll,

Be the man you believe in.

It seems long ago now,

Your patience is wearing thin,

And my faith in me is low.

Miracles did happen but I,

Didn’t see them, they couldn’t find,

A dry place to settle upon my,

Gritted, brown-slush mind.

Though my trust in finding answers,

Has faded, please don’t let go,

We might yet see those tiny dancers,

Floating with the snow.

No, I don’t believe it either,

But what else do we have?

Too late to admit our error,

Only faint hope keeps us alive.

Though regret’s black shadow stalks,

Pay no heed, hold on to this,

That within our threadbare velvet box,

We are perfect still as that first kiss.

As the spectre of promises unfulfilled,

Whispers “There will be no snow days”,

Like a bitter wind, my bones are chilled,

And the weight of waiting weighs,

Heavy as the sky,

Crushing us both.

I love you is the only truth I know,

But if to love you is to let you go,

Then that truth will surely kill me,

And the dreams we clung to will be,

Scattered, soiled, debris.

Hold on for the morning, dear love,

For it will surely come,

And these night terrors must, love,

Thaw these senses numb.

And so,

Through a sharp entanglement,

Of grasping hands,

Like barbed wire around my heart,

Hold on, please,

And never let me go.

Josephine Corcoran

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