Kimberley Petrie is Makar o the month this month, with her festive poem -The Maist Wonderful Time. Perfect festive poem for Christmas on the Scots Language Centre poetry column for the month of December. 

Kimberley is an Aberdeen based writer in poetry and prose. A recent recipient of the Aberdeen Art Gallery micro-commission project, she loves to collaborate with other artists and enjoys researching for her work.

Her stage performances include Look Again festival, Aberdeen Climate Action, Extinction Rebellion Rebel Rising festival, the Doric Poetry Slam, Hysteria, Speakin Weird, Ten Feet Tall Mash Up and Like a Blot From The Blue.

Her work often touches on feminism and current politics and has been published by Leopard Arts. She was featured in Grampian Hospitals Art Trust recent ‘Shop Local’ exhibition at The Suttie Arts Space and headlined ‘Poetry at Books and Beans’ in October.

It’s the maist wonderful time o’ the year…. Or is it? 

Christmas morning, Mum’s as high as a kite 
cos’ ma brither’s been oan the skite a night
he can hardly open his een
and his coupon looks decidedly green 

‘I telt ye nae to be too hungoer’
as yet another Bucks Fizz gets poured 
‘now I’m wantin a nice, chilled day’
‘aye, okay Mum, fitever ye say’

she shouts ‘yer nae dein enough to help in the kitchen’
so I roar back ‘well, tell me fit tae dae en!!!’
we stop, look at each other and smile 
a bosie maks time stop for a while 

it’s now near twa and nithins cooking 
tatties throu the bree fan I wisnae lookin 
back o’ fower fan we finally sit doon 
lookin like dafties in our paper croons

the hale meal is guzzled, ower in a flash
I start to tidy but Mum says ‘dinna fash’
aa the roarin an’ caperin but today taks its toll 
for mum, this is a time o’ year she just canna thole

I ken that Christmas maks her heart sair
a time o’ reflection for fowk no longer here 
freens, femily, aa those she misses 
it’s nae wonder she smothers us wi bosies and kisses 

I ken across Scotland this tale resonates 
thoosands o’ hooses wi similar Christmas fates 
so we dae oor usual, raise a glass wi a tear 
and vow, it’ll be different, mair chilled next year