I’m back from the grave
and I’ve learnt to behave
it’s a hell of a good school
to punish wrong
I attended every class
every subject I passed
****…
my grades were looking strong

I advanced with honour
to a saint and a scholar
the devils in the detail
in an invitation to teach
on a topic I excelled in
that old subject on sin
God knows I couldn’t stay in hell
and preach

So I applied for a place
that the good call ‘Grace’
for I’d rather be a sinner seated
in heaven
my lord…how I’ve grown
so thanks, I’m off home
its a ‘good’ bye,
when the good die
and glad to be leaving

In this remote and cold world
Peter and his beautiful wife, Pearl
lived alone, most on their own, together
Pearl loved Peter with her life
she was an honourable wife
till death, did do them apart, forever

Every morning before the sun
she’d rise up and she would come  
and kneel at his feet by the bed
She’d roll on his warm sock
put on his slippers, in her smock
every day, since the day they had wed

All her friends knew of her love
mocking, laughed, “it’s enough!
thinking, he treated her like a slave
But it was only then, when he died
that they all stopped and sighed
realising just exactly what he’d gave

for every night when they’d sleep
he pulled up the blanket to keep
her face warm and little nose
for poor Peter was taller
and the covers were shorter
exposing his feet and freezing his toes

This is a tale about a tale
that had no end

A tale of the tale
of what was then

It went on forever
from wherever

but none knows when

I can break in and find another place
among company where you feel free
yet strangers become foe or friend
or an unwelcome guest with a key
I can manipulate my way into a heart
or force the love of someone else
but I don’t think I’d feel I ever belong
If I cannot first live with myself

Don’t be ******* yourself   self
when you talk   talk
imagine what you would look like  like
if it were a walk   walk
you’ll be pacing back and forth   forth
tripping over of course   course
but only to get up   up
and you will get up   up  
because you can   can
you know how to repeat  Pete
if you’re as good as  as
your talk   talk
up on your feet   feet

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.