(for the switching on of the Christmas lights)
Stirchley village (or so it used to be) South Birmingham, it’s Friday
the advent calendar is on number 6 [ask kids in crowd to shout out]
the Christmas trees have started to go up
the slightly crumpled stars and angels have been dusted off,
revived from lofts and the shops are chock-full with tinsels
and all manner of intricate and extraordinary decorations
– glittered baubles, shredded or spray-on fake snow
everything jazzed up, gilded gold and silver,
us too – bedecked for Christmas parties in sequins, shimmering
hair glossed, shining in the darkest month
as though the glitz could tempt the sunshine back
and the leaves would start to grow again.
We are all drawn in -excited. The children who scoot, skip and cycle
along this stretch of street to school then home again
are somehow supercharged, blow dragon steam breath [KIDS JOIN IN]
the cyclists too, bobble hats on, smiling in the snarl
and flash of traffic – the passengers inside eager to be elsewhere
but smiling back, accosted by the flower-mirror flashing
outside the second- hand shop,
making mental Christmas lists in the city’s slow exodus.
Even the canal is somehow darker, more mysterious,
as if holding still its water, thinking, in the lull before the year begins
and the gnomes at Lifford tip are in party mode, decked in tatty tinsel
and joined by last year’s surviving pound shop snowmen
and chipped santas. In the gardens and wastelands
seeds and daffoldil bulbs are sleeping
and our own dreams are taking form now the nights draw in.
Meanwhile Birmingham – the metropolis – charges on regardless
of 2013’s new births or chapters, challenges or losses
its wheels racing endlessly year-on-year,
nightly clogging at rush hour
then releasing the cars, transits and people carriers
through Soho, Stratford and Pershore roads –arteries,
together – one giant pulsing urban star
radiating out like a Catherine wheel at twilight.
And we a part of it, standing here amidst the zoom
and neon flash of curry house
attached, embroidered in, made and remade
in this matrix of streets and terraced houses, dreaming of summer holidays
and home improvements yet held in this, shaped by it,
made to stop and marvel at the smeared headlights,
which make art of our urban evening.
Tonight we can marvel at the Christmas lights too
stop, temporarily, racing around our own wheels
to appreciate the gifts the year has made us…(??)
remind ourselves of fire, of sun, the energy returning in the spring
the birth of Jesus – what lives on in us, through us, in the darkest days.
These lights are for all of us – a praise song to community
A miracle of man-made multi-coloured spiders webs the colour of
cathedral windows – of tiny torches,
created for pleasure only
lit now like a candle by a child’s hand
their energy alone enough to ignite this
temporary fairyland… [LIGHTS SWITCHED ON]
Happy Christmas Stirchley! (KIDS SAY)
Writing 4 Life 