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Christmas poems by Gerard Rochford. Yareah magazine

Christmas poems by Gerard Rochford. Yareah magazine

Christmas poems: Mary Falls Pregnant; Joseph Looks at Mary; and Mary Sleeps with Joseph. Enjoy them!

Christmas poems: We are near Christmas and half of the world has arranged for a short holiday. We deserve some peaceful days with our friends and family. Meantime and preparing our mind for these days, Yareah magazine invites you to read these three awesome poems by Gerard Rochford.

English: Ceramic figures of Mary and Joseph. N...

English: Ceramic figures of Mary and Joseph. Nativity sets are popular in Mexico during Christmas. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

MARY FALLS PREGNANT

I hid within an angel’s wings,

for comfort, happed in cloud;

received a cover story

for my shame.

I feared my man would leave me,

but he smiles as a lover should,

into my eyes.

My mother tells me

god is everywhere;

in thorns and olives,

love’s rasped hand,

in sweeping, baking,

lighting the fire,

even in the burning of fingers.

My breasts are almost ready.

I eat and drink wrong things,

myrrh, shavings, vinegar.

Today I will walk through the village,

be blatant in the market, haggle,

buy swaddling of best linen,

food for three, a teething horn;

perhaps a song-bird in a wooden cage

to sing at my window as I work and wait.

JOSEPH LOOKS AT MARY

I work around her.

She is a knot in the timber,

her anger is rough bark.

I saw her in the hills,

she and her cousin, intimate as mothers.

Now she says she’s pregnant by ‘The Spirit’.

My friends mock me:

And rams give milk, they chant.

I ransack my mind for her lover,

search my dreams for the comfort of angels.

She promises after it’s born

that we’ll be lovers.

But her eyes darken my days.

I will grow old waiting,

the knot still proud.

I punish my work with rasp and saw,

cut my hands like a novice,

red olive wood, red sawdust.

I am making a crib for my Mary,

it is stained with blood.

MARY SLEEPS WITH JOSEPH 

He smells of fresh cut cedar and olive wood.

His hands are rough and scarred,

stealthily touching my breasts,

afraid of my belly, ashamed of his lust.

I reach down there in the bed.

There is sawdust still in his hairs.

He waits in the dark

for the waters to break,

and the birth to set him free.

Then, oh then, my love,

our days will be full of laughter,

evenings dipped with bread into the wine.

I will seduce you with my regrets,

you will unbind me with forgiveness,

until we lie together weak as leaves.

No dream, no vision, prophecy, angel, god,

will come between us.

We will live the mundane miracle of love.

 

By Gerard Rochford. (From:The Holy Family and Other Poems. Koo Press. Scotland. 2005.)

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Gerard Rochford was born in England, lived in Hong Kong, but has spent most of his life in Scotland His recent collections include: Figures of Stone. Koo Press. Aberdeen. 2009. Failing Light, a handcrafted limited edition from www.embershandpress.co.uk. 2010. Of Love and Water, a limited edition, Koo Press/Malfranteaux Concepts. Aberdeen. 2011. A collaboration with David Ladmore an artist from Victoria, B.C. Canada. Anthologies include: Erotica. Ascent Aspirations.Canada. 2008 and Silver. Polygon. U.K. 2009. His poem My Father's Hand was included in Best 20 Scottish Poems of 2006 for the Scottish Poetry Library, selected by Janice Galloway. He is the Makar (Laureate) for www.scottishreview.net to which he contributes a poem every month.

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