The Prodigal Son
December 29, 2012

Estranged for most of the year,
Through actions of his own doing
Rolls up to the door
But there is no trouble brewing
Forgotten in what seemed an age
And arrived after about a year
The prodigal son walks through the door
And allays every single fear
Greeted with open arms
and kisses to the cheek
Christmas feels like it did years ago
Light at the end of the tunnel, tis not bleak
We take out a chair for him
The cry goes out “Make room for one more at the table”
He tells us about move abroad
And how his marriage was not stable
Family torn up
And in need of a break
We’ll always have room for him
We are all allowed to make the odd mistake
It doesnt matter what has been said
Or for that matter, what has been done,
For we now have back a member of the family
No longer a prodigal son

Öèôðîâàÿ ðåïðîäóêöèÿ íàõîäèòñÿ â èíòåðíåò-ìóçåå

Fluffybiscuits – 29/12/2012

Christmas In Captivity
December 26, 2012

There was a certain collective gloom hung over Christmas in Gaol, as I recall.  On every face you could sense that mood. Especially amongst the first timers.

Come the hour  (midnight xmas eve) you could hear a pin drop, sometimes a tear drop amongst the uncanny silence in the dark.

Individual men were having their ”Dickens of a Christmas” confronting Ghosts of Christmas’s past, Christmas present and Christmas’s yet to come. As with ”Scrooge” in” A Christmas Carol”

Psychologically, Christmas caused them to recall happier moments/or not, in different environments and so ”the seasonal spirit” had their minds elsewhere.

I’m not the greatest of singers, but Prison bars and yards and concrete blocks produces a hauntingly toned vibration that suits my voice and can be heard through every cell and beyond the block.

In eerie silence I began to say the words in rolling rhyme  (slow song)  ”Silent night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright, Round yon Virgin, Mother and child”

After ”Holy Infant” and so on, I caught the sound of the first tears with the words ”Sleep in Heavenly Peace”

For days previously the screws had placed a wee Christmas Tree near to the prisoners phone booth. A wee mind game they enjoy.

As I went to the phone I was singing to the tune of ”Walking in a Winter Wonderland” but changed the words to ”Later on, If you wanta, You can dress like Madonna, ”Walking round in Women’s Underwear!”  (Reverse Psychology)

Being a mixed Religion remand wing I’m surprised I got beyond ”Round yon Virgin” without an uproar from opposing religious based groupings.

Not a word.
Silent remained the Night and the Peace was Heavenly.

snow prison

Trow – 26/12/2012

The Season of Love and Hate
December 25, 2012

A procession of visitors descending without warning.

Once a year hellos and hugs the veneer that covers the scars.

Opening frostiness thawing as conversation begins to flow.

Smiling through gritted teeth at inane chatter and enjoying the gossip.

Then news of an unexpected death at home that leaves us deflated.

Thinking why couldn’t it have been one of you and not really meaning it.

Another cup of tea and biscuits, a drop of whiskey, it must be half-time by now.

Old ground gone over for the thousandth time, the career news and boasting.

Okay that’s enough friendliness for now and we’re all sick of each other again.

Finally the end comes as they must be on their way while it’s still bright.

Wistfully waving goodbye knowing that for some this meeting might be their last.




Shaadi – 25/12/2012

Christmas Morning, 5am
December 24, 2012

The novelty of untimely bottles
Had passed.
Christmas would mean nothing to you
As we rocked down the stairs,
Cradled in farm animals,
Too early for the radio.

It’s bright for late December;
The kettle coughing to find rhythm.
I tugged a curled curtain cuff,
A sleeve of fleece clustered on the D-rail,
Bonnets perched on post-caps.

We stepped into the dull sound-box
Of snow,
Shallow where the pipes ran.
The ritual of whimpering had stopped
As you strained to pick a single flake,
Big but slow enough to avoid,
I thought.

Your eyes were blue at last
Sparkling twitches
In a silence absolute
And deafening.
A crystal glittering, finds a path
To your cheek
And you smile at me in confusion.

Our first real moment together
But I tell you,
‘She’ll hit the roof if she catches us
Out here.’
So I cóck the door handle gentle behind,
Closing Christmas to the bigger children.
The kettle has boiled.


Image: 5intheface

5intheface – 24/12/2012

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