‘Magic’ a  10 – 1 poem (April 2026 theme)

Gasps of amazement, almost universal, as the magician transformed cards

From scarlet hearts to ebony clubs then peeping out

Of the girl’s sleeve but instantly vanished until suddenly

Reappearing  on the watch no one knew

Had been removed from the Groom

What was this devilish feat,

Weird act of enchantment

Which everyone knows

Is absolute

MAGIC.



It was on a Christmas Eve…  (January 2026 theme)

The church was warm, away from the chill wind outside and comfortingly dark with just the muted light from a few candles that had been lit near the crib. Zoe walked slowly up to the crib and sat down wearily on the chairs placed next to it. Everyone was there, even the plaster angels she remembered from being an altar server, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, no kings of course, they wouldn’t be there until Epiphany and no baby…except for the one snuggled in under her heavy winter coat, sleeping peacefully at the moment but she would wake before too long and then what?
The night had been a good one, as if the baby knew she had to be good, but even so the social worker was due, indeed would be at her parents’ house right now to talk about the ‘fostering with a view to adoption’ of the baby. So much for ‘standing by her’ as her Mum had always promised. But such promises are easy to make and then become very uncomfortable when reality strikes. It certainly wasn’t ideal, she had returned from Uni not with a degree but a baby and a fatherless one at that. She really didn’t know who the father was, too much unaccustomed alcohol and possibly some pills, she had very little recollection of it at all. She had avoided detection of her pregnancy by telling her Mum she wouldn’t be back in the summer – a work position had come up, but when the baby made an early appearance in late November she had gone home. 
Zoe heard a rattle at the church door, it had always been stiff but it roused her enough to find a place to hide; she knew there was a gap behind the crib and grabbing a couple of throws draped over the chairs nearest the draughty side chapel window, she squeezed herself into the gap. Not a moment too soon. Her mother’s voice as she came up the aisle towards the crib could be heard saying to a younger woman that really this was the last place she could think that her daughter might have come – the cinema didn’t open till late afternoon and they had searched all the cafes and seafront shelters. But despite looking all over the small church, the door finally creaked open again and was slammed shut. Not really trusting her mother, Zoe didn’t move and overcome by the quiet warmth she drifted into a deep slumber. 
The church began to fill with excited youngsters for the early Christingle service and blessing of the Crib but Zoe slept on. Towards the end of the service, a small boy had wriggled out of the front pew and worked his way round the crib. His mother was quietly motioning to him to come back and he did but then whispered in her ear “Mary is round the back with Baby Jesus, but she’s asleep, should I wake her up so she doesn’t miss Fr. Pat blessing the crib?”
“No,” replied his mother, “We’ll go when it’s all finished if she doesn’t wake up before, now hold up your Christingle so we can light the candle.” Now the boy’s mother knew her son well enough not to doubt him but what to do? Just then all the lights in the church were dimmed and everyone held up their Christingles to illuminate the scene and into that starry- lit setting a gasp echoed  round the Church as indeed, a young woman draped in throws cautiously made her way round the front of the crib, blinking in the flickering light and holding close a small baby; Mary had indeed arrived with Baby Jeus it would seem.

A few weeks had passed and whilst the real Holy Family had retreated into exile while Herod carried out his atrocities, Zoe and her precious baby had found refuge, not exile, with the small boy who had spotted her behind the crib and his mother, Sophie. After the service, Sophie had taken Zoe back to a small but spotless house, where she disclosed that she too was a single mother; Jack’s father having been killed in a hit and run incident 3 weeks before she gave birth. Jack was now a delightful three year old and delighted to be a big ‘brother’ to little Lucy. Approaches had been made to Zoe’s mother but all rebuffed – ‘she had made her bed and could now lie on it!’ But this bed was a far superior one to the one she had fled and the foursome settled down to a cosy and exciting future together.