T'is that time of year when everybody spends,
pretends to the world that peace is reigning,
winning, lying, buying, crying.

See the mother crying at night deep in the dark,
her heart aching, breaking that love is not enough.
Love cannot be placed under a tree.

Credit wins, common sense loses.
For what? tinsel and a turkey?
Baubles and gifts exchanged in the sales.

Garish lights, plastic trees,
fights in the aisles for the must have items
Belief, understanding all transferred to the neon God.

Advent calendars lie. Instead of chocolate or a gift,
let's open that cardboard door and see the rift
this season brings.

On the 1st day of Christmas a bailiff came to me
repossessed last years gifts and left
the plastic tree.

Little donkey, little donkey
little cheer, little joy,
little donkey can kiss my ***.

Jingle bells, jingle bells
jingle all the way......to depression
oh what fun it is have with discount *****

Poor vs Rich, Belief against Belief
the homeless, the food-banks, suicide
hunger, fear, nothing a man in a beard can save.

We are all dead.
We are born with one goal: to die.
Waiting to cease completely.
Remember to turn off the light.
Try to go peacefully.
Make sure they spell your name right.
We, none of us get out of this try as we might.

Hello my comfort through dark
Episodes,through depression and
Loathing, I've missed your solace, your
Loquacious eloquence.
Opining my misery

Profuse prose poetry attempting to heal
Open wounds,
Emitting sorrow and loneliness
Take me back as an errant lover, the lost and
Raving raven of old and,
Y**ore, tell me repeatedly, that nevermore will we part.

Oscillating timekeeper ticks and tocs.
Pendulous seconds bumping time forward on the face of a clock.
Father Time, that Patriarchal chronometer
that martyr, master, commander and observer.
Watch the clock, it's moved forward, did you notice time moving?
Father Time so old, and bearded, a scythe by his side waiting to cull.
Waiting is dull.
Time is a lull, a lullaby before you die.
Cronus never steps back, always marches forwards
and we the human race, suspended in time, and space
watch the clock, wishing more time away with regret,
whilst watching the clocks face.

Today is grey.
Today is cold.
Today is getting old,
soon it will be tomorrow,
but tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow will be the same.
Tomorrow will be today.
Tomorrow the date only will change,
I'll charge my glass to the coming morrow
Same day same sorrow

Staring through the bottom of a glass
tomorrow is far away.
Tomorrow is not grey, but a whiskey gold
staring at tomorrow through the bottom of a glass
tomorrow is not old, just another day.

No host of golden daffodils do I see when I look around me.
Just the debris of a life, cut short by a knife.
I wandered lonely not over vale, but over my body
Lying prone on the floor, no breath does it host anymore.
My eyes gaze sightless into the distance,
a sphinx upon the waste land of the laminated floor.
My hair limp, not fluttering in the breeze, my blood cooling into a pool
my death scene, gives such chills, that renders even golden daffodils pale
Death does indeed ride a pale horse.
He shows no remorse.
Wilted in a vase, wasted on the floor, I await my light, my open door.