We’re at the halfway point of this year’s Poetry Advent Calendar, so it’s time to bring some friends on board to enliven proceedings with their own beautiful verse. I’m thinking of it a bit like in a charity football match, Soccer Aid or something, where after 45 minutes of watching Lee Mack wheeze his way around Old Trafford, the teams come out after half-time and whoever’s managing (probably Harry Redknapp or someone) has given a cameo to Steven Gerrard or Jermain Defoe, someone actually good at football, to knock in a hat-trick and get us over the line. That’s my analogy for the guest poets that make this Calendar shine; I’m the asthmatic ex-comedian being nutmegged by Xabi Alonso, if you hadn’t worked that out.
Anyway, enough of me. I’m pleased to give to you now the beautiful Advent verse of the wonderful MJ Ayris…
My eyes are cold
Grandad covers the ceiling with an endless amount of baubles,
And Granny serenades them obnoxiously loud.
Grandad drapes the sky in tinsel
Nanna cooks whilst dancing around,
The kids as they come flying through.
“Dont eat all the peanuts”Dad shouts
“You’ll fill yourselves up and wont have room for your brussel sprouts!”
The conservatory is cold but she can’t help but lay on the ground.
Mesmerised by the lights that the lemon man had found.
The mice sing,
And the snowmen dance.
And if granted the time where given the chance,
I’d go back and tell her to soak it all up
as much as she could;
Because these are her favourite memories,
When life was simple and all days good.
Back to mum’s just in time for the grand party
In come the uncles, the cousins and aunties.
Lights spinning, the time they had a stage.
These were some of her favourite memories that they made.
Karaoke all night, someone playing the guitar.
She looks up at the tree and watches the glistening star.
Grandad’s cube game
That never gained a name.
The forbidden clock thats still being regifted every 365 days,
Over 20 years now, some traditions seem to never end.
She’s no longer one of the youngest.
She’s the new best friend.
Now she’ll dance with Rosie
And all the new bundle of joys.
Because those twinkling memories she holds dearly.
She wishes to pass to the next girls and boys.
She’ll wrap them in tinsel,
And tickle them till their tummies hurt,
Then seconds later they’ll ask for more dessert!
She’ll make them giggle and wriggle
And then she’ll sit back and watch fondly on.
She knows these are the days to hold onto because she understands all too well that you never know when they may be gone.
“My eyes are cold mummy” she cries
“I know” is replied
as she wraps the 6 year old in a hug
“My eyes are cold mummy” she cries
“I know” is replied
as she wraps her 24 year old in a hug
Magnificent, heartstring-yanking words from MJ. She’s one of the best spoken word performers that you’ve not heard of yet, and I’m so pleased to be able to host her on here. I asked her to write me something after a WhatsApp conversation about poetry open mics yesterday, so I’m doubly-confident in saying that 2024 is going to be a massive year for this massive talent. Here’s what MJ herself has to say on today’s Door:
“Like many people I often find this time of year very tiresome and difficult so over the past few years I’ve re-embraced my love for the festive period. The smells, the sounds, the lights. All of it makes me feel like an excitable kid again.
December always brings me a sense of nostalgia and is very much so a month of reflect for me. Not just for the year thats passed but for the small life I’ve lived.
This year has seen a lot of loss and my father had quite a serious accident a few months back. Wondering if his family were rushing to his bedside for a final time has lead all of us to remind ourselves how lucky we are to be here.So I wanted this poem to be an opportunity for me to acknowledge the people who I miss dearly, and express my love for the ones who are still here. Its Almost a hug and a thank you to my family really.“
I first MJ as a friend of Luci’s eldest son and his girlfriend God-knows-when – sometime around the end of the last decade – and it quickly became apparent she was a fine poetry slammer. We ended up on the same bill in a barn in the back of a smokehouse in Witney and swore to do a bit more of that sort of thing, and then Covid-19 hit, and we never really did.
Until May! When, as part of Witney Music Festival, I organised the town’s first-ever dedicated poetry and spoken word night, at Drummer’s Bar (or the Crafty Pint as it is now), featuring the brilliant local poets Simon Chambers, Khadj Rouf, Steve Larkin and MJ. It was a perfect night, with a perfect line-up of poets and a perfect, attentive audience – the night I’d dreamt of organising in my hometown for over a decade. MJ, naturally, brought the house down and blew the roof off. And demolished the conservatory, but actually I think that was more a retrospective Planning decision.
As I say, this girl is going places. I’m delighted she agreed to take part today, and chuffed to bits that she wrote this lovely piece as a result.
Here’s to you, MJ. Thirteen days to go…
Owen x
The Poetry Advent Calendar 