On the 4th blog of Christmas…

My mother always told me
That there’s more to a mince pie
Than the pastry on the top
and the filling that’s inside

But one day I did ask her
full of curiosity
What is actually in a pie and
why is it called minced “meat”?

“Well Tilly,” she began to say,
as she knelt down to my height
“Maybe you should ask santa
what you’d find in a mince pie…

Because it’s santa’s elves who make them
And they really must be proud
Because they are so very yummy
and they are so perfectly round…”

“Yes but mummy what’s inside them?”
I asked her, my voice becoming low
She just laughed, tapped her nose 
and said:
“wouldn’t you like to know!”

But that night I lay in bed
and dreamt of what could be
Inside of those mince pies…
Why wouldn’t she tell me!?

So I waited til the morn
And asked her once again
“What is in a mince pie!?”
and she told me something strange

“The reason they never tell you
is they’re quite misunderstood
Because the elves who make the mince pies…
Are why they taste so good…

They mix them up so well
And they make them all themselves…
but the reason no one tells you,
is because they’re made of ELVES”

I looked at her in shock
And a shiver cut right through
But she gave me such a look
That I knew it must be true.

“But it’s not a bad thing!”
She quickly told me so
,
“For them it is a good thing,
and I really hope you know –

They do it to the old elves
Who have served santa well
and they line up by the mincer
and wait to hear the bell”

I listened very closely
Because I didn’t know what to say
and my mother told me something
That blew my mind away

“When the bell starts ringing
The elves all dive right in
And the younger elves start singing
to celebrate their win

Only the kindest elves
Get to become a mince pie
Because it’s very important to santa
That the mince pies taste just right”

And then it all made sense
“That’s why they’re so delightful!
But I wonder what they do to the elves
Who have been a little spiteful…”

“That,” said my mum
“Is not a story for tonight,
after all how do you suppose,
Santa’s beard is quite so white?”

The Headless Dance

pexels-photo-129932

The music slowed to a grotesque tempo as the headless men lined the walls, their lined jackets flickering under the light of one thousand wax candles suspended from the ceiling.
The dark, dim room span in slow circles, making the men dizzy with anticipation.
Months had passed and tonight was the night.
Tonight was the night that the headless dance would commence once more.
The headless men waited in the light for their counterparts to reveal themselves from the shadows that they thrive in for weeks at a time, their eyes glinting in the flames of their own dark desire.
As the music picked up speed, the women were enticed forward.
They step in time, their high heeled boots clicking on the cold ground, to the tune of each man’s heartless corpse.
The shadows twirled towards the waiting line, each bony caress of their hands encouraging their heartless chests to beat harder and with an elegant longing
The bodies two by two joined the ballroom floor in a jolting harmony.
Heartbeats beating in heartless ribcages in time to the songless symphony.

They dance in shaky circles; one step left, two steps right,
a simple lift and a silent plight.
Backwards, forwards, left and right,
into the dark, then in to the light
the heartless men come dancing
Their footsteps are advancing
The men move faster, the women resist,
he places a kiss against her wrist,
the blood pumps round to her heart and back,
but the man’s shrivelled heart is empty and black.
His hand takes a hold and she shivers with cold,
her skin becomes pale, his breath becomes stale,
her eyes become wide, he soon slips inside…

Her neck stands alone
She no longer exists
Her heart has been thrown
From the blood on his lips
So the men line the walls and they wait for their chance,
to find their new prize at the next headless dance.

Mine

Your heart beats like mine
A little bit soft a little bit sad
Slowed by the dust and the grime
And the sound of the girl I never had.

You miss her too
I know you do don’t you?
I can hear her laugh in your tears.
Don’t you know I feel the same?
I feel that pain and my cries laugh with her smiles too.
You could be my new laugh and I will be your smile
Maybe then you’ll see it’s worth the while
To love someone who isn’t worth loving at all.

Something

Something’s not quite right in the way
She moves and the way she seems to
See everything and think so deeply yet
Feel so empty and full at the same time.
Is she worth something? Or is it just a way
To make the lonely nights seem a little less
Lonely as she dreams of the future that she can not
Touch.
Just a life time away and yet so far
She stares in to the distance
Where the best of her dances around in the
Grass and the wind and the rain and the sun
And the dance of her life has barely begun
So she lies on the floor and looks up at the sky
Hoping that this will be how she will die.

The sky

pexels-photo

The crack in the sky opened and the

Rain poured down

with the pain of one thousand sunsets

in the space of a few hasty seconds.
The pain concentrated on my heart

and pulsed the feeling through my

Veins, cracking my blood and drying 
my tears and reminding me that
I was barely there yet
No further than you were
In that moment.