Posted by Simon Parke, 14 December 2017, 5.26am
My poem of the week is a winter-bound approach to Christmas.
We journey to the stable through falling leaves, mould, frost, red skies, restlessness and dark.
It’s by Rowan Williams, and called ‘Advent Calendar’.
He will come like last leaf’s fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud’s folding.
He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.
He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.
He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writes to toss him free.
He will come like child.