The Christmas season is upon us
With lots of things to show
NO THERE ISN'T , YES THERE IS
And the best of them's the Panto

**** Whittington and Aladdin
Are two that I've forgot
But I've heard that they're amazing
YES THEY ARE, NO THEY'RE NOT

A tradition every Christmas
The Panto finds the kid
Inside every one who witnesses
NO HE DIDN'T , YES HE DID!!

Actors dressed as women
Silly fun for all to see
NO IT ISN'T , YES IT IS
And lots of fun for me

There's nothing like a Panto
To make the people yell
NO IT DOESN'T, YES IT DOES
It's a laugh for me as well

This year I chose my Panto
I'm going to see the lot
So, I will wish you Merry Christmas
I WILL SO, YOU WILL NOT!!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND ENJOY THE PANTO IN YOUR AREA.

Oh transient theater,
adorned with perfect
voice and script.
Why do eyelids chase you
night after night,
only to dismiss you
in the light of day?
Or mumble disquiet
at your imperfection?
If only the day
and night were lovers;
two plots embracing
in flawless script.
The perfect act,
on the perfect stage.

In an imperfect world.

Pull my strings
my puppet master
Lift my feet
and walk faster

Set the stage
make the scene
Raise the curtain
going to please

Music plays
Hit the spot
White light flash
Devious plot

Applause is heard
Silence beckons
Disbelief
All is reckoned

Made you smile
or made you cry
Drop my strings
The puppet died

The worlds but a puppet show
With tiny figurines
That wear miniature glass hearts
Upon their tiny sleeves

When it's not an exciting scene
To the viewers we don't matter
But together we're all struggling
To climb life's impossible ladder

And when the show is over
And the puppets are thrown away
Their glass sleeves are shatted
no matter what the master will say

When night comes at last
And only the figurines stay
Stabbing each other with the shards
In their own unseen play

Strange times I live in
The age of social media and social struggles
my attention span is slightly longer than three lines of poetry

Stranger still is my moods and thrills
What the days have in store, nothing but the old tale of man and death
It keeps me running, forever asking for more, and here comes more

Must I become God, alienate myself, condemn our sins for a cheap righteous thrill?

Strange times I live in, I want to be 21 for entirety
I must become an established author
So my words may sink deeper in the pages of history
But all I have is my unnecessary sufferings
To translate my passion into fortune
And money is still worshiped
And nothing's sincere in things we worship

Or maybe I will join the actors up on that stage,
To get paid, busy myself and to ignore life's questions
I can almost her them shouting "giddy up! here's a mundane thing or two, I hope you can multitask"

I want to be a spectator on the side
Lingering in shadows, waiting for my act,
Forever waiting, even if I had no calling
For I hardly find a motive to get out of bed

So please, send in your warships, for man has outlived their Gods
And these strange times, are getting stranger still and I do not wish to live them through

I stepped
Onto that empty
cold
dark
stage
My heart fell
under spotlights
For you to see
But
Of course
All you did
Was throw my heart back at me.

You changed your nail polish, it used to match your; eyes, bag, boots, and belt. So perfect, in every way. you have styles, so naturally I felt.

Watching your hips, lift and sway. You feeling my eyes, feeling on you, along the way; as you walk away.

A devilish smile, will make an angel play.

Wound around your fingers, any time of day; hands are tied.  Circus O' Lay.  Beauty taming the Beast; so they say. A vanilla sky, names the time of day. Fresh Roasted Coco leaves by a coco bay, carpe diem, red snapper, rice a peas; hot summer day. ice cold teas; raspberry lemona, after lunch take a swim in the Bay; getting carried away. Life is Good; better, off, miles away. The boat swaying; I'm thinking bout riding your waves. things are currently looking like they're going that way.

two-piece bathing suit, not suited for adults- so it appears. What the naked eyes can see, my hands will adhere.

Your body is killing me slowly, I rather die. Crossing my fingers; the truth never lies. Your touch is keeping me ground; your *** gets me high. I don’t even know what I am talking about – I just know it sounds fly.