Christmas Tree 3

Christmas Tree 3 ( A rough guide in Ukrainian after the English.)

An annual gathering for an evening of celebration

Tens of candles burning brightly in the square

Families huddled together awaiting the declaration

Carol sheets held high in the frosty air

A sound of brass and a beating of a drum

Notes from a familiar tune signals a start

The words ring out better days are to come

Words of joy and hope leap from the heart

Lights strung across the High Street sparkle then glow

Children dashing back and forth with lantern light

The joy from the chorus enhanced by falling snow

A red figure on a sleigh enters the night

Through the kissing gate and past the memory stones

Before the church door the procession will pause

Silent night floating over frosty air in dulcet tones

A young boy’s prayers are going out to Santa Claus

The priest steps forth from the door dressed in white

The countdown now Five Four Three Two One

Coloured lights now bring forth exclamations of delight

A brightness shining forth and the darkness has gone

The blessing of the tree by all is now complete

Gifts for those in need placed around the base

A memory of One who washed the others’ feet

Love tonight can be rebirthed in this place

Midnight passes with the mass and all go home

Taking the gifts to the shelter from beneath the tree

For on this day nobody should go hungry or be alone

A young boy unwraps a gift his face lit up with glee

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2022

Різдвяна ялинка 3.

Щорічна зустріч для вечірнього святкування.
На площі яскраво горять десятки свічок.
Сім’ї збилися разом в очікуванні оголошення.
Аркуші колядки підняті високо в морозне повітря.

Звук міді та бій барабана.
Ноти зі знайомої мелодії сигналізують про початок.
Слова звучать кращі дні прийдуть.

Слова радості й надії вириваються із серця.

Вогні, розкидані по Хай-стріт, блищать, а потім світяться.
Діти кидаються туди-сюди зі світлом ліхтаря.

Радість від приспіву підсилюється снігопадом.

Червона постать на санях в’їжджає в ніч.

Через ворота поцілунків і повз камінь пам’яті.
Перед дверима храму процесія зупиниться.
Тиха ніч ширяє над морозним повітрям у солодких тонах.
Молодий хлопець молиться до Санта-Клауса.

З дверей виходить священик у білому вбранні.

Зворотний відлік зараз П’ять Чотири Три Два Один.

Кольорові вогні тепер викликають вигуки захоплення.

Яскравість сяяла, і темрява зникла.

Освячення ялинки всіма завершено.
Навколо бази розставлені подарунки для потребуючих.
Спогад про Того, Хто омив ноги іншим.
Любов цієї ночі може відродитися в цьому місці.

Проходить опівночі з месою і всі розходяться по домівках.
Забираючи подарунки до притулку з-під дерева.
Бо в цей день ніхто не повинен голодувати або залишатися на самоті.
Молодий хлопець розгортає подарунок, його обличчя світиться радістю.

Авторське право: Девід Хопкрофт, грудень 2022 р

Kolyada

Kolyada

There’s a gathering in this village upon this eve

A tale to be told of a past that is rebirthed

Harken carefully unto the tale I shall weave

Where perchance a sun king has emerged

Magic upon this special eve descends upon the square

The eldest of the elders parades in embroidered cloak

Beneath church towers old and young are gathered there

The old ones are prepared and the young have brought the goat

The sun has opened up the lazy eye

Now slumber of the winter shall lessen by the day

Sweet music in the air signals merriment is nigh

Let the eve begin and climb upon the sleigh

Light your candles and let your lanterns be held up high

Knock upon each door and let the household hear your voice

A greeting poem written with care begs a welcome cry

Ask of your host permission to sing a carol of their choice

Sing well for the household then prepare the dance

Let sweet notes to mark this eve echo from your throat

Make way there is one who wishes to advance

For now comes the moment to lead out the goat

Let the blessing be recited by all who know

For those present know the goat must stamp its feet

Where goes the goat ‘tis where the wheat will grow

For each stamp shall yield the seven sheaves of wheat

Now the goat this night has risen from the dead

Let the children bless each room about the house

Where those ready for slumber kneel and prayers are said

For every creature large or small from ox to mouse

The kutya with such care has been prepared

The wood upon the stove is burning fierce and bright

Berries nuts butter fruit and honey shall be shared

A new year begins so sing to greet the light

There’s a didukh proudly standing near the table

Heads of oat wheat and rye together have been bound

A ribboned grandfather preserved by fable

Sleeps until Mara dances and seeds leap from the ground

Time now to move on my lads and lassies fair

Twixt dusk and dawn every home must be blessed

The seeds of sunflower shall subdue the bear

For peace and prosperity make this kolyada request

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2022

didukh is the grandfather sheaf, kolyada is the winter solstice, kutya is a food prepared for the solstice, Mara a pre-Christian goddess of spring

Коляда

У цей вечір у цьому селі збираються
Розповідь про минуле, яке відроджується
уважно слухай казку, яку я зіплету
Де, можливо, з'явився король-сонце
Магія в цей особливий переддень сходить на площу
Старший із старших дефілює у вишитому плащі
Там під вежами костелів зібралися старі й малі
Старі готові, а молоді привели козу

Сонце розкрило ледаче око

Тепер сон зимовий з кожним днем ​​слабшає Солодка музика в повітрі сигналізує про наближення веселощів Нехай вечір починається і лізе на сани Запаліть свої свічки і нехай ваші ліхтарі піднімуться високо Стукайте в кожні двері, і нехай домочадці почують ваш голос Вітальний вірш, написаний ретельно, викликає вітальний крик Попросіть у господаря дозволу заспівати колядку на свій вибір

Заспівай гарно для домочадців, потім приготуй танець Дозвольте солодким ноткам, щоб відзначити цей переддень, лунає у вашому горлі Зробіть дорогу тому, хто бажає просунутися А поки настав час виводити козу Нехай прочитають благословення всі, хто знає Присутні знають, що коза повинна тупотіти ногами Куди коза піде, там і пшениця виросте За кожну марку дадуть сім снопів пшениці

Тепер козел цієї ночі воскрес із мертвих Нехай діти благословлять кожну кімнату в будинку Де ті, хто готовий спати, стають на коліна і читають молитви За кожну істоту, велику чи малу, від вола до миші З такою дбайливістю готувалася кутя Дрова на печі горять люто й яскраво Ягоди, горіхи, вершкове масло, фрукти та мед слід розділити Новий рік починається, тож співайте, щоб світло привітати

Біля столу гордо стоїть дідух Головки вівса, пшениці та жита були зв’язані разом Стрічений дід, збережений байкою Спить, поки Мара не затанцює і насіння не вискочить із землі Тепер час рухатися далі, мої хлопці та дівчата У вечірні сутінки і світанок кожен дім повинен бути благословенним Насіння соняшнику підкорить ведмедя Для миру і процвітання зверни цю коляду

Авторське право: Девід Хопкрофт, грудень 2022

р дідух – дідух сніп, коляда – зимове сонцестояння, кутя – їжа, яку готують на сонцестояння, Мара – дохристиянська богиня весни.

A Walk Along The Street

A walk along the street

I listened carefully to the preacher man cry out Rejoice

He claimed that he could put the world to right

He had listened carefully to the voice

That spoke to him in the darkness of the night

There were no others he had made his choice

So he rejected others proclaiming his might

Then came a wise man who declared

That his voice had to be the only one that mattered

My soul was in danger and my body must be repaired

Evil had come to live with us morality had been shattered

Why was it that I stood in disbelief and stared

Could it be that seeds of love had been scattered

I heard a woman crying out in the street

There was a goddess who was supreme

I should join the coven and then I would meet

One who would restore my self-esteem

But the leaflet that she handed me was incomplete

When she caught a whiff of me she shouted something obscene

So my journey continued along the busy side-walk

Dodging those signs that called upon me to repent

The end of the world was nigh I could hear the talk

All my sins were the reason for my descent

Some had books which they were trying to hawk

A letter from the bank said I was overspent

We can’t heat the house we’ve no money for the gas

Don’t worry there’s a banner saying there’s a guy who saves

The priest stopped me to ask why I had missed the mass

His voice drowned out by another who raves

He wanted a donation for a church but I ain’t got no brass

One gave me a pamphlet but it’s food I craves

I’m sure that each in their own way means well

But the problems that I got are real

Ain’t no fear of falling because I already fell

They all tell me I really should not steal

They don’t see without food I’m already living hell

Until they get my situation no way they can heal

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2022

Talking Stick

Talking Stick

It is no merry meet, no pious answer to a saint, no secret sign to moot

Yet this russet eventide draws from turf-capped croft and seaweed stranded home

Folk who brave whipped furies of leaf-stripping gales along their route

Some linked by arm for safety, others ‘neath great coats tread the path alone

The heavy knock above the wailing wind crashes through the oaken door

Which open swings. “A welcome to you all” cries the walking talking stick

Shelter’s finger beckons in; the hearth ablaze entices from the floor.

A haze of heat as glasses mist; “Greetings”, whispers mantle candle wick

Who risks a goat’s foot path or treads the marsh in dark and driving rain ?

Could this be some noble cause, religious zest or perchance some grail quest ?

No bells have tolled; no priest stands robed to kneel before in shame.

Who’d chance mischief and peril on this night; who is host and who is guest ?

All are gathered. “Be seated now in comfort”, talking stick sings out,

“There’s a circle to be made, form your ring around the blazing fire.”

Orange flames leap out and climb, sparks from logs fly all about.

Warmth is spreading round the room, a luring charm of hot desire.

Cotton-wicked tallow sticks perched on window ledges call for flame

Shadows flicker from the gloom as tapers spread the dance around

“Let cold hearts softly melt,” sings out each candle’s sweet refrain

Warmth flows and laps against enclosing walls yet never makes a sound

Cold meets warm as hands in new friendship grasp; talking stick is still.

Glowing greetings spreading out from each to those beside

Sharing out of sacred spirit, thoughts exchanged for hearts to fill.

Time to pass the talking stick, where all such thoughts can reside.

“Speak through me then pass me on

Say what you want or what you will

Who you are and whence you’ve come

But for your purpose speak no ill”

The first to hold the charm of wood

Had laboured long upon the mountain’s slate

Now coughed up dust as best he could

Yet of his life did thus narrate

“I was born as a child from the warm waters of darkness

Sought my love through the dawn at the end of the night

Spring came and was spent in the arms of a lover’s caress

Summer was the quarryman splitting rock with delight

As days shorten I can see without fear or fright

Though heavy on my mind weighs the damage that I’ve done

As one life ends the next is clouded in my sight

Dust of the mountain’s death obscures the rising sun

May the scar on the mountain be left now to heal

The wounds that I made deep in mother earth

Mountains once under seas still bleed from every weal

May the peaks now be praised for all they are worth.”

Talking stick passes on, from wrinkled skin to drawn white hand

A city face thin and pale, hollow valley cheeks eroded by the flow of stress

She has come new to the valley, to a hafod high in this rain swept land

She grasps at the talking stick, and trembling holds it close to her breast

“I search for the island in the opening of the mist

For a land that lies far beyond the movement of the tide

Where mountain peaks by billowing clouds are kissed

The unpolluted land in which I might abide.”

“Ah ! The dreams we often have, the hopes we hold.”

Talking stick is pressed into another palm.

“Seek the vision by your action before you are too old;

Storms across the sky might fly before the inner calm.”

“I know not what I really seek, only that the search has now begun.

I’d like to pretend and say I will not fear what I may find.

Yet fear is there; of tick-tock stop before the journey’s done.

Or what I find to be worse than what I leave behind.”

“Now there’s an honest voice”, thinks our talking staff

“And many more besides could say the same”

If the answers were before us we’d surely know the path

Should we find before we seek then the journey is in vain

“I know not,” calls a voice across the wax-lit room,

“Whether there are deities or maybe none at all

I see the form of this rod as I can see the silver’d moon”

The candles whisper softly “Listen for their call”

“So many now are blindfold led in halls of painted glass

To bow before the statues and kneel upon the floor

Hear incantations in a language strange like some farce

To be no wiser when they rise and flee the door”

There’s a sureness in the voice that’s speaking now.

“I know that I’ve a future, that I must change my ways.

Teach me to love and listen, to respect an ancient vow

Let me the wiser leave to live out better days.”

“I’ve walked across the moving marsh beside the briny estuary

I have followed footsteps I saw before, along the muddy path

That led beside the tide swept sands, though the prints were plain to see

They brought me to this shelter, to a warmth before the hearth.”

So as the stick was passed around and candles flickered by the walls

Each sought to find themselves, searching to find the soul;

Clawing through the dreaded darkness that clothes the inner halls

Seeking within the cavern for the lode that might yield gold.

And in the ringed completion self-made blindfolds are slowly raised

A purpose that is gathering , a pilgrimage this fall begun

Friendships form, bonding minds that had seemed dulled and glazed;

Talking stick and candles smile; know their work well done.

© David Hopcroft October 2000

Standing on the edge of fideistic cliffs

Standing on the edge of fideistic cliffs

They knew it was right

They believed

They could not be deceived

All else had to be fake news

There could be no other views

Because the message had been proclaimed

Only the delivery remained

I wondered

Could truth be sustained

Have faith was the call

We can build this wall

For us all

But not

Foreigners

The hijab must be banned

Terrorists wear this disguise

Look at those where you can’t see their eyes

Believe the message all else must be lies

Bad books must be burned

There is nothing more to be learned

The message is the only source

Believe and you will have the force

Infinite growth can be achieved

And they believed

So death was conceived

Climbing the mountain of temptation

Was it blind faith or just desperation

Would they follow like lemmings

Hurtling towards the edge

Where love still clung to a ledge

Or will some power intervene

Refocus the scene

Not lemmings but Gaderene swine

The devil had come to dine

Bread and fishes were dead

The message promised caviar instead

Poisoned with hate

They drank and they ate

Freed but destroyed

They knew not the difference

In one final act of defiance

They cemented their alliance

And jumped

Off the precipice

Into the abyss

Copyright: David Hopcroft April 2022

Morning Awakening

Morning Awakening

They taught me the commandments at Sunday School

I learned the Beatitudes and how not to be cruel

I found many faiths had a similar rule

Then I discovered politicians and the hope began to fade

Struggling to understand the strange game they played

A pretence of belief but they demanded they were obeyed

They talked of compassion but fomented hate

Made their own rules about opening the gate

Killing it seemed was the way to hold power

They encouraged it with speeches by the hour

Trampled so easily upon the sunflower

I look to the future and a new generation

That can reap the benefits of immigration

Find the friendship that comes from integration

That puts an end to social disintegration

How sad

We wait for old white men to die

And with them the world’s oldest lie

That some are born low and others upon high

How nice if the next generation could be freed of sin

Not by war or inciting hatred or confrontation

Nor by creating an alternative imagination

Fantasies that were designed to deceive

False narratives for you to believe

These must be confined to a past

A recognition needed we are of one caste

Peace between all that is made to last

As leaders mull the thought of a nuclear Armageddon

We can see where the devil has sown his seed

A clamour by some to instigate this evil deed

I ask that we show love will not concede

Copyright: David Hopcroft April 2022

Easter Portrait

‘Spare a copper mister’

A cry now almost forgotten

Head bowed knees crossed and cap by his feet

Huddled on the side walk

As drizzle soaks his sackcloth

Drops of water drip from his head

‘Spare a copper mister’

He is hoping for a response to his pose

He shivers

But you do not notice

Damp and cold taking their toll

In a few days he will die

Further on a young woman

Unkempt hair under an old headscarf

Sits silently

With a notice that tells you

She has lost her home

A plastic bag

Holding her worldly possessions

Is she a victim of abuse

Has she lost her job

Then faced eviction

Is she in need

Are those bruises

On her hands and feet?

Others group together on the towpath

Beside the old canal

Cheap alcohol and drugs

Trying to escape a world

Where hope fades away

They were rejected years ago

One will die today

Would you put your hand in your pocket

Seek out your loose change

Or do you look in disgust

Complain

They give the neighbourhood

A bad name

Proclaim

They are to blame

For the shame

Easter and the message is clear

Did He reappear and did you see Him?

There on the side walk waiting

With His cap

With Her plastic bag

Was He by the canal?

Copyright: David Hopcroft April 2022

When the door is ajar

Ajar

Indecision leaves one foot on the step

The other firmly on the mat inside

Which says ‘Welcome’ but are you met

With hesitancy and reluctance to stand aside

Why do we pause so often to leave the door ajar

What are the thoughts that pass through our mind

When were we conditioned not to trust those from afar

Surely we were not born to be unkind

Promises made then followed with hesitation

Impulsive actions made without thought

Raising of hopes leading to expectation

Sadness when such promise comes to nought

The welcoming gesture that fast fades away

A hand that is offered and then withdrawn

The gate is shut try again another day

Darkness snuffs out the rising dawn

A refugee waits in eternity to know a fate

The homeless are forever on the endless list

Mental health issues confined behind the gate

A world where opportunity is so often missed

What if the door and gate are opened wide

Responding to needs of the stranger who asks

Let us show warmth of welcome as we step aside

A humbleness as we set about our daily tasks

David Hopcroft April 2022

My soul within

My soul within?

Does my soul live on within you, and yours in mine?

Some ethereal essence that flows within your veins

Courses through your body and holds you close to me

Through all time and beyond, or some eternity

So when I breathe my last, where shall my soul abide

Shall it be bound within when I am laid beneath the earth

Will it wander in time so freely to and fro

Until both souls do collide and together grow

Does my soul really have reason, emotion and desire?

Or could it be that your soul drives my fire

If you provide the flame then my soul might be the fuel

Yet if they come to ash then would such ending be cruel

Do our souls contain the Norms that shape a destiny

Can such souls exist or is that hypocrisy

Shall I then sit beneath Yggdrasil’s boughs

A future contemplating as the wind soughs

Do our souls survive without the body in immortality

Are our souls captured or are they then set free

When Heimdall puts his lips to the Gjallerhorn

Could that moment be a new soul is born?

David Hopcroft April 2022

The Orphanage For Lost Souls

Trapped between two worlds restless never at peace

Drifting at times then swimming against a tide

Shadows without figures from life’s terminated lease

The cloaked form where life can no longer reside

Life departed with that last imprisoned memory

Spirits lost in the infinity of an expanding universe

Souls captured without reason needing to be set free

Where do they dwell chained beyond a mortal curse?

What is this place beyond the depths of the mind?

The bright flash that severed life’s silvered thread

Troubled souls wander without direction now resigned

To a forever path between the living and dead

All emotions surface in a microsecond now last for eternity

The anima mundi waiting to receive never quite complete

Lost souls held in an orphanage seeking to be free

Awaiting some great redemption like a washing of feet

The great space between the battlefield and Valhalla’s halls

That moment when fear for a second says all was in vain

An orphanage of corridors trapped between narrowing walls

The black ghost still wanders on the fields of the slain

Anubis too wanders between rooms seeking to find

Those innocent victims of a soon to be forgotten war

Stressed peace is only a brief respite for the blind

In an orphanage of souls-never-claimed held by a claw

A space where anam cara’s cloak was lost to the inept

The orphanage haunted by those trapped in its rooms

Will it be Odin or an angel who knocks to collect the debt

Releasing those left alone from the confinement of tombs

Are you waiting for Ragnarok to drop the final curtain

‘Did you win?’ the Voice asked ‘Or did you resist?’

An apocalypse of destruction where one thing is certain

That the orphanage of lost souls will continue to exist

Copyright: David Hopcoft March 2022