Shoebox
My festive jacket flutters in a humid wind,
crackles with the onslaught of whipped up sand.
Smiling brown reindeer sweat beneath a giant sun,
casting amber shadows towards the horizon.
Sturdy jeep wheels plough through a gritty terrain,
jostling my cargo of crammed Christmas love.
The convoy descends the river-bed road,
it splinters and creaks like old, dry bone.
Fumes of jasmine rise in spirals from a
ribbon-bound soap buried deep within.
Blends with the odour of anticipation
caught in the sultry currents of nowhere.
Whispers erupt in a post-war silence,
where birds fly a circuit of endless circles.
The low hum of an ancient
African carol greets us.
© Ellen Johns 2005
My festive jacket flutters in a humid wind,
crackles with the onslaught of whipped up sand.
Smiling brown reindeer sweat beneath a giant sun,
casting amber shadows towards the horizon.
Sturdy jeep wheels plough through a gritty terrain,
jostling my cargo of crammed Christmas love.
The convoy descends the river-bed road,
it splinters and creaks like old, dry bone.
Fumes of jasmine rise in spirals from a
ribbon-bound soap buried deep within.
Blends with the odour of anticipation
caught in the sultry currents of nowhere.
Whispers erupt in a post-war silence,
where birds fly a circuit of endless circles.
The low hum of an ancient
African carol greets us.
© Ellen Johns 2005
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