Christmas Poems

I have said it before and I'll say it again - I'm not poet. I'd love to be. Poets definitely do it better. Put all the best words in the best order and make them sing. Make you wonder at the world in a different way. Bring a tear of joy or empathy to your eye.

Why then am I attempting to write in a way not natural to me - poems for my siblings this Christmas? Because I want to, it doesn't really matter if they're good, bad -I wouldn't like them to be indifferent though. Anyway all seven of these poems (one for Dad too) are going to be of particular childhood memories, the child I grew up with that is etched on my heart.
I hope they like them.
If they let me - after Christmas I will post them all together here. Then you can all share in the happier moments of the lives of those of us at 45.

Now

Here's a poem for today, particularly resonant for those of you on the Dart line. It didn't ever win anything, but I like it. I like it very much

The 8.15 to Tara

His eyes daily dance
through the map
to the girl
with the high pony-tail
that swishes and flicks
to the
tch-chung, tch-chung tch-chung
And it tickles the nape of her neck
in that place
where he longs
just to once
sketch a kiss
‘Now then Miss’
he might murmur
when their eyes would engage
and they’d dance to the
tch-chung, tch-chung tch-chung
A slow Waltz
Or perhaps
a burning Tango
All around the second carriage
of the eight fifteen to Tara

Evelyn Walsh, August 09