24 December 2013


Yes..another poem! But have no fear mes amis, for this one isn't by the blogging magnate who operates this highly profitable blog. No. It's by my friend and former teaching colleague - Mike Trevorrow who now resides in south Devon - no doubt looking out over the River Dart even as I write - sipping vermouth and only vaguely remembering his working life in challenging Sheffield classrooms. But through it all, as this poem proves, he never lost his passion for language. It remains - a means by which it is possible to communicate tricky notions. Therefore, he is still - as the some of our pupils used to call him - Tricky Trev. I will be interested to read any responses to this poem and do not wish to prejudice your reactions with any thoughts of my own.
Mike Trevorrow
Deep Mid-Winter

Understandable that with skins-wrapped feet
Throbbing with damp or icy cold
In this shrunken cowering cruel time
Man yearned for brightness and heat,
Promise that sap will rise, bud will unfold.

Gathering and feasting are fundamental
As burning logs, greenery a desperate sign
Pointing through perished air to a belief,
A dusty swelling defiance of winter’s temper
Unfurling as flags-in-wind to spring’s design.

Such goings-on from these sexy ancestors,
Such sport and hot-couplings under skins
That could not be contained, not tamed
By lord or Lord - to them a time of terrors
Which could defy the strongest of kings.

How clever then to vanquish all this green,
Not with clanging armies wielding swords
But with a baby whose symbolic life
Unsexed the hot and hungry fiends
Brought them to their knees with words.

But now that same anarchy, bewitched by guile,
Holds power still, turns back on us
As we use the baby as a shield to defend
Against our own greed.  Full circle takes a while,
With our traditions, to sharpen way back into focus.

Some hope though that a spirit of giving,
And togetherness if only for a day,
Break through the chills of separation.
Tinsel’s only tinsel, but there’s signs of living
When it’s brought down from the loft again. 


  1. Wow. Amazing. I need to read it again.
    OK, Yes.
    I especially like
    "As we use the baby as a shield to defend
    Against our own greed"
    Some very powerful ideas here.

  2. Yes, please thank your friend Mike for the poem. He definitely has a way with words.

  3. Since Carol has been here, and since it's also important to have silly poetry at Christmas, here's one I posted on Carol's blog. She said I should post it on yours, so you can blame her that it's here.

    Obviously, it's supposed to be sung, and to the tune of 'Deck the Halls'

    Deck the halls with yorkshire pudding,
    Falalalala, lalalala!
    Take your anorak with fluffy hooding
    Falalalala, lalalala!
    Mushy snow and Christmas lights
    Short cold days and long cold nights
    Mustn't grumble 'cos adversity unites
    Falalalala, lalalala!

    Carol and I are down here swimming
    Falalalala, lalalala!
    Weeding the garden and doing the strimming
    Falalalala, lalalala!
    It's a bit too hot but we aren't minding
    knowing you're up there with snowstorms blinding
    Blogging's fun, its ties are binding
    Falalalala, lalalala!

    1. Funny? Funny? You are rubbing our noses in our climatic misfortune!
      (Below: to the tune of "The Holly and the Ivy")
      The Carol and the Katherine
      When they are both full grown
      Of all the girls that are in the world
      The Carol bears the crown!
      The snarling of the Katherine
      The pulling of the hair
      The scratching of the fingernails
      Typical an-tip-o-de- an fayre!
      (Err...not sure the last line works but I'm off for a haircut now)

    2. Funny Katherine ~ we sound like a couple of naughty school girls colluding to prank Santa.

      Happy Christmas to you Yorky and Shirley and the little puds. I hope your Christmas Day is full of laughs and love :)

  4. Merry Christmas to you and yours YP X

    1. Merry Christmas Earl! Have a nice one... but leave Cogburn alone!

  5. I'm sure that if I could understand it it would be wonderful. I looks a very posh poem.
    Too difficult for me though.

    1. You are more intellectual than your humility allows you to admit Adrian! Try reading it again or you'll be getting lines my lad!...And I'm not talking about lines of cocaine!


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