A little green grew
in the grey and grey blue
in a world that was dusty and dark
in the form of a flower
with colours to devour
that could turn a city into a park
But the crowd passing by
in the black and black tie
hardly took the time or knew
through the crack in the strife
the hues and colours of life
blossoming beneath their shoe
yet stretching out its wild leaves
with a beauty to please
It was a sad, sad trample amidst the scuffle
the busy people passing by
who would not raise an eye
wondered “what scent was so, so wonderful?”
but the crushed fragrance blown
was all that was known
though they knew not what it was
for they’d never seen
that little, little green
it’s just the smell they now speak of

The breadline is the punchline
and the joke he tells falls flat.

Santa's back in Lapland
isolating for ten days
the elves are having none of that
and go their separate ways.

Christmas full of omicron
is like a pizza with no base,
the taste's still in the topping
as it drips slowly down your face.

Of such things
I cannot tell
The glory
of heaven or
the smoke of hell
yet of such
and much
my eyes do swell
so shut the shutters
lest the smell
rises to heaven
from the windows of hell
through the gates of God
and stink as well

Better to be
than not be at all
Better to hang
than to fall
Better to be looked over
than over looked
Better to be baked
than overcooked
Better to frown
at the ground
than smile
at a falling sky
Better a toothache
than a heartache
or be found
with heart break
and die
so better to live
and to give
than take
like pancake
is better with
ice cream
than icing
on cake

I waited for the breeze
to ******* the fragrance of your hair
your curls were caught in the wind
your strands strangled me of air
I waited for the breeze
to ******* the scent of your skin
but the sweetest of oils from your pores
were diamanté drops dried by the wind
I waited for the breeze to bring me
the fresh breath of your mouth
The wind welcomed the smoke
I chocked, crying like a cloud

If you asked me, to get to you
which of the two would I cease?
I would have enslaved the wind
my love, and set free the breeze

Love is more like a cone
than a cube
two rounded tops
curved like a tube
steeping down to a peak
soft like ice-cream sweet
and smooth

Love is more like two spheres
than a flat crest
beautifully moulded
and rounded
like a woman’s breast
perfectly placed here
(pointing to my chest)

Love is more like a triangle
than a square
sharp at a point
then curves from there
ends at a downward angle
then circles to the start
It’s symmetrical, identical
made of two equal parts

love is more like
the shape of my heart