Somewhere, deep in the Abyss, In mid-December – could it be That there exists a little glow of bliss Upon a tree ? I like to think of Lucifer himself As stringing fairy lights, With a tot of mulled wine for his health, And whistling Silent Night.
I bet he hangs up baubles, just like us, And choc’lates from afar. I hope he really makes a fuss When topping with the star. Do the demons gather round as well, As the season is unfurled ?, With a Ding Dong Merrily in Hell, And a Joy to the Underworld…
…why, thank you AI. And a very Daply Merveys to you, too !
Round and round we orbit As the days grow short and chill. But we’ve turned the Winter’s corner, And we’ve started up the hill. We’re close to perihelion, The Cold Moon lights the frost, And the dawn is a chameleon Once Solstice has been crossed.
One Is the circle and Two Is the line and Three Is the trilith and Four Is the sign. The planets and skies Are alive with their play, As the new Sun shall rise On the shortest-long day.
So gather round the sarsens, As we welcome back the Sun, While the druids and the parsons Offer tales on why we’ve spun. We’re close to Heaven’s hinter, As the Dog Star watches over, So let’s raise a toast to Winter And the sleeping of the clover.
One Is the Sun and Two Is the Moon and Three Is the midnight and Four Is the noon. The planets and wives Are all dancing away, Yet the dawn still arrives On the shortest-long day.
I’ve always been disappointed with Stonehenge, in the same way that I’m disappointed with a ruined castle – forever second-rate compared with the grandeur it once possessed. With Stonehenge, we really need to build a new one nearby to show it at its best.
A new god is stalking the wintertime solstice, He knows who you are, he’s checking his list. For Greenland and Finland, a new holy war – And pilgrimage grottos in every large store.
So want, children, want – believe in the glamour – Your faith is his power, your wishes his manna. So buy, parents, buy, dash yonder and hither – He’ll lift not a finger, yet always deliver.
This anonymous drawing may be showing (though it’s not definite) the postumous hanging of the psychpoth Cromwell in 1660. Personally, I wish he had been banged up for life in the same cell as the psychopath Stewart.
Wassail to the Puritan
Merry Christmas, Olly Cromwell, Of the English Taliban – You humourless and hypocritic man. A busybody straight from Hell, A spiter of all jollity – A hero, then a hater of equality. Here’s a Christmas toast To the man who gave us back our kings – You failed, you worthless sod – I hope that stings. What England needed most right then Was tolerance and peace And years of sharing many Christmas geese.
We should not ask How the fairy lights Have grown so tangled In their box. We should not reach For blaming fairies, Inbetween Their stealing socks. It is not magic, Cosmic karma, Nor some plot Or hand of Fate – It’s just mundane And simple physics, Where small movements Escalate. Someone, someday, Someone else, Will write a thesis On the thing – And we shall chuckle As we calmly Counterwind The errant string. Watch some telly, Play the wireless, Call our fam’lies, While it’s done – But do not worry Why the job exists, That’s just how Quantums spun.
Inbetween the nights out and the office drinks, I need a night at home – To veg in front a Christmas movie, Snuggled-up beneath the duvet, Catching back my bonhomie Before I conquer Rome. I need a night to stop and think, Not revved-up at a pleasure-dome.
So best leave all the dancing To the fairy lights tonight, Just put the kettle on And grab a bite.
But most of all, I need a night to send My endless Christmas cards. To veg in front a pile of twee And snow-filled scenes we’ll never see, And stuff them in and set them free To streets and boulevards. I’ve had a few arrive from friends already – Caught me off my guard.
So curl up with the cat tonight, No need to talk or laugh – Just turn the heating on And run a bath.
Keep eyes on me, I’m going places, Just you see, I’m leaving traces. Mine is one of those faces That keeps popping into view – Who knows where next it graces, But it sure looks somewhere new. So you’ll be seeing me around, Up and down about the town, Floating in a gown, Or running to the races. And if I’ve got you aching In anticipation – don’t get fraught – It’s simply means it’s taking Just a little longer than I thought.
Here comes fame And due attention – Remember my flame, It’s getting a mention. Mine is a claim in ascension, On your lips without your knowing. It’s a name of my own invention, And its eloquence keeps on growing. So you’ll be hearing it around, Standing-out and upwards-bound, Singing-out its sound, In highly-strung suspension. And if I leave you breaking, In exasperation – don’t just mope – It’s simply means it’s taking Just a little longer than I’d hope.
The curtain’s hanging over us, This is our final scene. We hope our lines are close enough And energies still keen. We’ve just the time for one last turn Before we take our bows – For any encores that we earn, And management allows.
The future’s big in front of us, It starts tomorrow-dawn, And so, for all we grunt and cuss, Our brand-new lives are born. We’ve barely time to learn our parts Before we take our chance, And who knows where the future charts ? It’s one long song-and-dance.
When you need someone to fill-in time for a quick-change, I’m your champ. When you need someone to strut and mime with a big range, I’m your vamp. I’ll keep them watching over here, While you slip-off to switch your gear I’ll keep them entertained, no fear, I’ll be your aide-de-camp. So, anywhen you need a breather, Or your hair is in a mess, I’ll keep them at a fever While you squeeze-into that dress. And I won’t outstay my welcome – never !, I know when to disengage – When I see you’re back together, To come striding onto stage.
What on Earth to do today ? Bake a cake or fill a pew ? The night is sweet, but far away – We ought to sleep, we ought to play. We’ve been to ev’ry cabaret – That’s why we’re feeling blue.
If things don’t change, I swear, Then I’ll snarl and scream and sob. I’m lost and going spare, And all my corn is off the cob. It’s more than anyone can bear, My head is in a throb.
What on Earth to do today ? To read a book or tour the zoo ? The Sun is out, the prospect grey – We ought to go, we ought to stay. We’ve done it all, and never pay – There must be something new.
If things don’t change, I swear, If we don’t quit the usual mob, Then I’ll start a love affair With a Cleetus or Jim-Bob Anything, I just don’t care – I’ll even get a job !
Rhyming Couplets 