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.
Twist & Flex
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.
December Downtime
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.
Coming Attraction
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.
Closing Number
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.
Got You Covered
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.
Ennui Go
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 !
Jingle-Worms
I know all year we’ve been skipping them, skipping them,
Whenever they shuffled into play –
But now it’s December, and the whole world’s sipping them,
And we’ve no chance to slip away.
I guess it’s time to be shipping them, tripping them,
Their timing is no longer quite so wrong –
For now it’s December, and the whole world’s gripping them
So best to simply shrug and sing their song.
Let the tunes be ripping
And the sentiment be dripping
As we flipping-well must belt another verse.
We’ve spent all year so chippy
With the luxury of nipping them,
But now we must embrace their joyful curse.
Altogether now !
Sing a song of sleighbells,
Tinkle tinkle,
In the snow –
When the choirboys sing high
Then the baritones sing low.
But we’ll meet-up in the middle.
Where the fast shall meet the slow –
And we’ll sing it all again,
All the month – it’s all we know.
Ho ho ho.
The Jists & The Jets
We celebrate the Suffragettes –
Those terrorists made good,
Forgetting all the Suffragists
As a passive sisterhood.
Yet the former wanted only wealthy women
To get the vote,
While the latter wanted not just Chelsea women
To make the quote.
We also forget the unsung million
Of women manning the factories,
Who did far more to shift opinion
That a violent few reaction’ries.
Yet Emmaline the Tory succeeded
Over Millicent’s thwarted pen –
It seems what women most needed
Was to vote for the same old men.
Massacre On-Mass
Do fishes school in shoals
Or shoal in schools ?
Who cares ? Who sets these rules ?
And are they herrings or are mack’rels ?
Sharks just see them all as sprat-kills,
Be they hammerheads or bulls.
And dolphins call them balls of bait
When wolfing fins onto their plate
With click-and-bubble tools.
We ought to ask the swarming bunch,
Except, it seems they’ve gone for lunch…
The fools !
Rhyming Couplets 