"mary mary quite contrary
how does your garden grow
with silver bells and cockle shells
and pretty maids all in a row”*

homecoming queen
ballgown made of polythene
they always said in trash bags
you could still look haute couture
leave em wanting more
now, the only thing i’m sure of

is laura, laura, laura in the ground
nothing but her aura and a lily spattered mound
remains, it pains me to concede
that she’ll be eaten up by ghost ****
by the time she turns 18
she’ll still be homecoming queen
below my lungs and all the earth
she will be crowned
laura in the ground

angel dusted lips of blue
and eyes of lapis lazuli
all the water in the river
couldnt fill the chasm
this microcosmic monster ****** bone dry
cause the only thing i’m sure of

is laura, laura, laura in the ground
nothing but her aura and a lily spattered mound
remains, it pains me to concede
that she’ll be eaten up by ghost ****
by the time she turns 18
she’ll still be homecoming queen
below my lungs and all the earth
she will be crowned
laura in the ground

even her jewellery is broken hearted
all cut up like lines of cheap *******
it feels like all the world is utterly uncharted
with you gone i am lost in fog
you’re planted in my brain

oh, laura, laura, laura in the ground
nothing but her aura and a lily spattered mound
remains, it pains me to concede
that she’ll be eaten up by ghost ****
by the time she turns 18
she’ll still be homecoming queen
below my lungs and all the earth
she will be crowned
laura in the ground

oh laura, laura, laura palmer
golden girl, enchanted charmer
you will still be crowned
laura, lovely laura palmer
you’ve got a date with the embalmer
and afterwards there’s coffee in the ground
i promise, doll, i swear
you’ve nothing, no one left to fear
you’re all walled in and safe, my dear
my darling laura, laura in the ground

observing the ardent eagerness of the wind
it is clearly understood
that nascent pollens are overflowing
the niche of her heart  

in response to the signals of the river
she keeps on ringing
all long the month of earth-quakes

the bench of the rail-station
wants to hug her

the medicine-counter of the ***-end of the day
beckons her with the hand to come nearer

in the assembly-hall for musical demonstration
adorned with ash-trays
going on the rehearsal of her dancing and singing

she also distributes some life
to the meticulous dressing
of the magnolia

2.
let the swimming pool be fully absorbed  
with its dark-room

when the feather of your fore-finger
becomes green

the merchant of venice
will leave his business of photo-coping machine
to start walking directly
in search of new earnings

evening sets in
on the boiler of the delta

putting on yellow-dress comes
the water-vessel of the paper-balloon

there is no singing bird
shivering with cold
in the fold of the dear bed-sheet  

it is possible that the boldness of the metro-railway
may give some wood of tamarisk
on the expanded palms  

yet oh the western page of night
do tell today
why so much tamed polythene
are here in our cohabitation

3.
after so many days
published in the wind
painted in wings
the recent heart’s desire
of the doors and windows

they have rolled up their fairy-tales
from the ignorant drawing-room that wanted
to set her mind to the hill slanting downward

they did not want to know
how much rheumatism is there
in the hands and legs of the bark
to whom is delegated
the control of the mason-made bus-journey

sleep hugs the eye-lids of the rivers

though there is no postage-stamp
within the reaching-point

then what magic is there
in the hill slanting downward

why the wall does not learn
how to swim like a fish

truly it is he from whom
those negligible moments of man-ism
itch for blue candle-stand

4.
the ***-appeal of the telephone
and the bugle of the carnies-breaking ****-crows
are all harmonised seamlessly

the noon in the blood
is flowing along the river

all the dialogues are covered
with misspelling of men and women

the tailors want to increase life
cutting rightly the walking of clothes

after the vanishing of collyrium
from the eyes
there is not a single being
in the relief-camps

as far as the eyes can travel
i can notice in the ear-lob of the village-boats
the water-colour of fire-flies
twinkles

then let an agreement be signed
with the defence ministry
on the right
to enter into private bathroom

5.
in the air
on which flowers are engraved
the union of the betel leaves are making their outposts
anew

before the calling of the next pine-woods
you all the butterflies do take on board the tram
to go to the south-pole

is it well to incline so much
towards the tv-screen

who can say
the waves of the terracotta
would never make revolution

i’ve sent some full-moons of winter
and some water-bodies
into the holes of the handkerchief

the lacking of the colours
may kindly be excused

the birds that are blind from their birth
has been singing till now
the songs of the cave-civilisation

there is no question any where
this eclipsed-valley is adorned
with the answers only

6.
i am to be blown off on the first bombardment
then it is to be flown
in the crowd of  fire-flies
on the bushes of the scented-lemons

and it is to see the memory race of the grown-up girls

it is to see more
that after the opening of the sluice gates
one by one  
how the gathering in the hindu hotels
increases
by leaps and bounds

the pores of the skin of the body
whose hoods are open
and who are running up
along the spiral route
that leads to the top of the mountain

their child
due to late-marriage
now only knows
how to move on all fours

7.
under the table-glass
i  unfold the life-chronicle of one lakh year

and in the olive-cabinet
all the applications for living

from the monsoon-noon to the winter-afternoon
the lines you draw on the parchment

none of them is so condensed
as to touch the palms of a sailor  

from the numerable timber-joists
come down the swarms of personal white ants

no spring seems to become corporeal
without the spell of misunderstandings  

so of late
besides the dry statistics
with the cough
comes out grey thermometer

prickly-heats spread over the whole body  

the sticks of young antenna
shake off their wings

behind the bath-scene
lies the succulent hailstorm

8.
there is no lovely add
yet the market-value of your headache
is going up day by day

all the noon send her mad
the intellectual kisses
the coos

or is it the running about of the tennis-ball

so much pop-corns are flying out
from the draw-well

or that sound of foot-steps
in the north-east

may be
that is of some brown horses
or some horse-drawn perambulators

when the moon spreads out the platinum
does it judge the recipients

thus the bin-leaves can ring
from head to foot

it unfurls an incorrigible right-angle
in the early-evening

the troop with armours
open a shop of ******
beside the vainglory of the lake

Lucid, luminous and lingering,
A crystal Polythene bag prances
Through the unborn air.
It contorts and convulses;
A perpetual struggle.
The Earth's Wild breath plucks
The entity away from its playful frolic
In a daring
******.
Altering the direction of odd exertion.
Entwining leaves round itself,
In a last hope of disguise.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    
Impenetrable hands  
Catch
The gliding bag,
Propelling into the abyss.

Potent forces drag it further still,
Squirming like a forgotten child
Pleading
Yearning, to gain control.                                                                                                                                                                    
Demanding gales ******,
Choking the plastic vessel.
It gasps for air.
A fish awaiting its final breath.
    
Sailing the tumultuous breeze
Dismembered and
Swamped in the swarm,
Its handles now shattered.
A synthetic snow shower falls.

The bag is wrenched
Through the unforgiving sky,
Tumbling, abandoned.
It twists, spiralling,
Swamped in the ritual,
This new course of life.
The consumer controls,
Cash flashing in every corner,
Every crevice, no deviation.

It tears the gorge of the atmosphere
Knows nothing else,
A lone being,
Dragged around
Down to the dust of Earth.
Powerless in a turbulent tempest
The torment of growth.

This polythene material,
Diverged from being branded,
Swirling,
Becomes close,
With every violent fluctuation.
There is nothing inside this bag anymore;
Contents cannot aid its weakness.

When I was five years old,
I cut all my eyelashes off
In hope to gain more wishes.
Each member a companion to my eyes,
Longing to soar...
But fell to the ground.

Dear Prudence, Julia, Michelle, Mr. Moonlight, Eleanor Rigby, Dizzy Miss Lizzy, Lady Madonna, Lovely Rita, Rocky Racoon, Lucille, **** Sadie, Clarabella, Her Majesty, Nowhere Man, Penny Lane, Carol, Long Tall Sally, Maggie Mae, Johnny B. Goode, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Moonlight Boy, Martha My Dear,

You Like Me Too Much. It’s All Too Much. I’m So Tired. The Night Before Yesterday Memphis, Tennessee, I Saw Her Standing There. Polythene Pam.
Not A Second Time She Said She Said “Hey Bulldog. I Want To Hold Your Hand. Why Don’t We Do It In The Road. Here, There and Everywhere. Something.”
I Want To Tell You I Should Have Known Better.  “Wait. Slow Down. I Just Don’t Understand. Tell Me Why.”
“Because I’m Down. I’m Happy Just To Dance With You. Hold Me Tight”
“I’ll Be On My Way”
“Please Please Me”
“Get Back. Help!”


And I Love Her
All My Loving,
Mean Mr. Mustard
P.S I Love You

Flap, flap two black wings staggered
On two yellow clawed feet after stormy
Weather and the tufts of cats fur left
Like a white collar on emerald green.

Inside the cardboard box with soft lining
And scraps of bread, cheese and water
On a little polythene transparent oblong
There was chirping to be heard from within.

On varnish floor he skids and skates about
Putting newspaper down his legs got strong
After a few days of feeding he began to fly
Just a little spinning around the front room.

Bright eyed with yellow beak eating worms
He was nearly ready to be allowed outside
To find his strength and freedom with others
Tearily he was carried to park and released.

A few days later , looking in our garden tree
We saw him sitting on a leafy branch chirping
And singing a thank you song of gratitude for
A life he may never have lived without our help.

Love Mary ***

what's there to write about
a floor scrubber?

in the sun on my shoulder
its light plastic touch
polythene wrapper
gaily fluttering in the wind
breathing its last light of freedom
before consigned to lifelong prison
standing damp dreaming to dry
but for that fleeting time
it rests on my shoulder
comforted on flesh and bone
on the brief journey
from the shop to a nook
enjoying the glances of passerby
curious my carrying it
a hint of boast in my gait
flaunting as if a magic wand
the floor scrubber transient yet eternal
a glorious poem material
a poem name
and a man's declaration

there's no shame
doing your work
your way.

Beatle Bomb  (a tribute to the Fab 4)

I should have known better, but if I fell, can you tell me why?
I'm happy just to dance with you, anytime at all,
you can't do that, if you love me do,
I want to hold your hand, and your bird can sing too,
said you was a taxman, it was a hard days night,
you can drive my car, but you wont see me,
I'm looking through you, but you're nowhere man,
had  a ticket to ride, eight days a week,
it was only yesterday, when I met the day tripper,
we can work it out, with the paperback writer,
we called Eleanor Rigby and Penny Lane,
and now it's getting better, with a little help from my friends,
You say “Helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooo­oooooooooooo”
I say “Goodbye”,  
You say “Helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooo­oooooooooooo”
I say “Goodbye”,  

I was living in a glass onion with Dear Prudence,
I said help! Lady Maddona, won't you just let it be,
Martha my dear, took her Blackbird and Piggies
while Rocky Racoon and Bungalow Bill had wild honey pie
Julia and **** Sadie  had honey pie for their birthday
while there was a revolution back in the U.S.S.R
it was helter skelter but everybody's got something
but I'm getting better, fixing a hole, using Maxwell's silver hammer
and mean Mr Mustard was chasing Polythene Pam  
so she came in through the bathroom window
guess it is time to just Let it be

You say “Helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooo­oooooooooooo”
I say “Goodbye”,  
You say “Helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooo­oooooooooooo”
I say “Goodbye”,  

Gomer LePoet...

Out in the backyard where I discarded the old bard..
..I take a moment to think.

This is not the first time I've been on the brink of a change and maybe it won't be the last.
But I have put what is past into a polythene sack..
..let the archaeologist of the future rummage through that.

If this change is a bust..then so be it..I must..
..change the change that I'm making..
And change is there for the taking..it's free.
This is the way that I want it to be.

If it's not done today..the change will not go away..
..It will wait in abeyance.
A conveyance for me when I am finally ready.
I'm still out in the backyard with the remains of the old bard.
Finding it so hard to leave things behind.

I remember your scent,
In the Gold Star hotel,
Abbey road on the record player,
I fell in love with you, through that album,
I love it nearly half as much as I do you,
Which is far more than I love myself.
I still have a copy in vinyl,
But the original warped, and wouldn't play right anymore,
I find myself listening to I want you (She's so heavy)
And I can almost feel your touch in the bass line,
Your lips in the lead guitar, your body in the drumbeat.

We come together in my mind,
And I become old flattop,
And there is Something about you,
My mind will always return to,
Until The End,
When golden slumbers fill my eyes.

Oh, Darling!
Protect me with your silver spoon,
I want to be with you under the sea.
I see no future, can't pay no rent.

Don't be quizzical Joan,
My hammer is poised,
And I shaved in the dark,
Because I don't make enough paper,
At the polythene factory.

I see you rise in my mind,
Like the sun comes,
And I become the Sun King,
And admire Her Majesty.

Don't **** your thumb and wonder.
Because,
I love you still.

All the trees with polythene leaves like ghosties trapped in branches.

Dancing drunk with headphones on//& you are the taste in my mouth.

My only ambition is to one day, some how, if only for a moment, be completely angelic.

I dreamt that my eye lids were reflective thoughts on the balcony.

I guess it just boils down to one final rule - EVERYBODY HAS GOT TO **** SOMETHING.

Walking home with Satchmo.

It’s never too late, fall down the stairs.

If I had a car I wouldn’t have to pay rent.

The lights on the buildings shut off when they see me coming.

Walk by the river until there’s blood in my shoes.

You dress like a jumble sale & hide your teeth when you smile.

Two left feet & two right shoes.

Go outside. Drink if you want to - (HM).

AIDS IN AFRICA!
Did you read the novel of our uptimes: Confessions of an AIDS Victim!
Did you watch the films of our time: about Philly Lutaaya and Wangeci!
First filmed movies of victims living with Aids in Africa
And did you see humans like living skeletons: thin as threads  
Body emaciated-denied of any fond flesh and tissues: zombies with souls only  
Ribs lean like loose groups of marionettes glued sticks-countable
Skin stretched slender and dry like rotting drought carcasses
Like harvest’s bounty, daily on reed-mats taken outcasts to dry in the suns
Waiting, waiting, waiting for its delaying-about-death!

Did you watch the agony in the victims of the viral virus?
The emotional struggle with rejection and dejection
The sorrows in regrets and the sadness in the imminent eventuality  
Did you watch the scare in those inwardly suckled sockets of eyes?
The hollow horror-stigma, severe in their scrawny faces clearly drawn and written
The dryness of their fears and fates, daily as they awaits for the-no-coming-damnations  
The torturous anguish of hoping, hoping, hoping the waiting will soon be over-rested!

Did you watch them with sorrows?
How mùkingo, kang’eeri, kìng’ùki………….....
Had ruined and damaged their promising lives
Had you watched them with fears?
How deserted and dejected they were
Did you watch their burials, a polythene bag for a coffin as outcasts of the suffering society-Emotional families alone in the final procession somewhere faraway from ancestral burial grounds?
Rest of the society watching from a safe distance as hastily they are sent deep into their underworlds

Did you watch how havoc ***-AIDS had done to families?
Grannies alone grappling with swelling families of needs
To eventually warm loneliness of surrounding graves: a total devastating calamity
Terrible tombs of sons, daughters and grandchildren: forever wiped-out generations
Did you watch the wiping out fatality of UKIMWI in rural villages?
Where the most sick finally retreated to, to reconnect with their angered ancestors
Gray-Aged counting on the crosses and daily, freshly dug moulds of soils
Carrying-containing their loved-ones larvae-ravaged remains

O God! Why did you create this thing between our thighs?
And burnt in it a desire to rise-jump, romp, **** and pump
O Lord! Why did you put in place this dry well between our *****?
And installed in it an urge to die to be drawn, drenched and danced
O’ Almighty Father! Why did you generate in us a desire?
A desire only to be quenched by this sinful sickening act-***!

Oh! Lord! Must we all die atop the trap of death-the ball inside the socket?
With all the sick beauties and wealthy behind bellied fat fed ARVs bodies-
Humanity, must we pitifully perish this way-slowly but disgraceful!?
Clearly know your partner; holily respect your partner!
Chain your dog, lock your kernel, secure your cheque-
Abstain-protect your love: protect yourself!  

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

You being away make me think
I ponder far too wide
If for once I will make to you

I thought of calling you
I bought enough credit for us to speak
But unfortunately you had no phone.

I wrote a letter for you
I wrapped it well in an expensive envelope
I wrote your name on top of it
For real love I felt.
I was to send you,but I had no address

I thought for a whole day
I decided to drop to the air
For the wind to bring it to you
It fall back to me,it was a calmed day

I duplicated the piece
I believe you will get them all
One I tied to a dove
And I gave it instructions ,
Perhaps you got that one

I dropped one in the fast flowing R Nile
After wrapping it in a polythene
For in water it be save
Believe me,fetch it with water.

I burned another one to ashes
And blew it in four cardinal directions
And believe me,
Sincerely I hope you got my message

For in love crazy I do
Insanely I behave
But
My medicine is yours love
Nothing more.

Turritopsis dohrnii: A species of jellyfish that can revert back
To a sexually immature state when its injured or dying, making it biologically immortal.

A jellyfish,
Nothing but thickened water
Some genetic material
Polythene bags and paper glue,
Is granted immortality.
We, humans
The heirs of a billion evolutions,
A million grains of life,
Crumble like sand castles
Scatter like sawdust.

The universe taunts,
Laugh until your shadow swallows you
Your every breath was a thousand last breaths,
Puny mortal.

My  old  girlfriend
of  computer
learning  centre
was  a  polythene
cover.

A  polythene  cover
were   giving
mental  torture.

It  was
behaving  like  that.

One  night  i
left  it
on  a  road  side
by  shocking  it.



She  and  that
could  have
been   gotten
new  partner.

I make my bed
thoughts of being homeless
rising in my head
but on the cardboard underneath
the polythene
I can dream of being a King,
not of the road but of a realm,
at the helm
of my ship.

The captain trapped in
circumstance.

Shall we step outside for a swim
in this ocean of artificial light?
Aren’t the lamppost legions lining the streets
the bioluminescence of the night?
Shall we take a stroll through the gardens,
through the forest of wire and twisted metal,
and admire how the cool autumn winds
waltz with these polythene petals?

The old and the new are already married,
Tied to the mast of time’s great voyager.
And beneath their most brilliant disguise
Lies the truest and most perfect reflection.
What does it matter in the sagas and songs
If now there’s a tower where once a tree stood?
A tree is nothing but a pillar of bark
Their lofty branches, girders of wood.
The grey and the green, the towers and trees,
Former is shunned, yet the latter is lost.
Hemlock and arsenic both send you down
And of granite and concrete, are either so soft?


Time marches on and leaves no-one behind.
It’s the ceaseless march of all of mankind.
If the end seems impending, and the path draped in black
To the darkness you go, there is no turning back.
This pilgrimage is a bitter prescription
And our sour rejection is sorely reflected
that legacies past are lauded and loved
While modernity’s beauty lies cold and neglected.
On the railway tracks we are hurtling down
Laid each day by the hands of history
We cannot turn back or regret our mistakes
Or the careless advances we were perceived to make.
While we grasp at the memories, and skeletal remains,
With our rueful yearning that's becoming so desperate
The fact remains, ‘till the end of our days
There's no better, or worse, there is only different.
There is no behind, there is only beyond.
The passing of past lays the road for the new.

I live in a cracked land with glowing light
all around me as I hold my tools
with hands of broken polystyrene.
This is a world I can live in no longer,
where plants used to grow and the earth
was once rich with fertility. Now it is barren,
with death and decay spreading from where my body
meets the earth. I will never feel the soft
grass beneath my feet again - on impact,
I **** all life. Beauty is destroyed
and everything placed in my hands crumbles
and withers away into nothing. This
was once a place of wealth and plenty, where love
flew through the air and played like swallows
swooping and swerving
their way to freedom, but now
love has been forced into small, sealed boxes
stowed away in some decaying corner
of my heart. I still feel the way your hands
left burning trails across my skin,
the way it felt to see you looking
down into my eyes, but none of this
is alive. The way your eyes shone
is locked in a cage and is shattering
faster and faster with every desperate
touch from my plastic fingertips.
There is nothing here except the stretch
of polythene covering my mouth and restraining
my lungs, my screams.
Help me, my love.
The light is leaving my eyes.

Just got down
to walk
a strong wind blowing
an ecstasy!!
Seeing
all thin polythene bags
are dancing in circle
like Sufi...
all dead leaves started
walking with celebrations
as if
they got second life
tree around are like clapping
the performance of nature!!
a bliss to walk in between...

1.

In Springtime I recall the lilacs sweet scented
Growing up the right hand fence at the bottom,
Of a rather overgrown and swayward garden.
Each flower part of a composite bloom, opening slowly its tiny
Trumpet like stamens from where the bees suckled
Filling their back legs with yellow powdered nectar
Which made honey for sandwiches at teatime.

2.
On my way to infant’s school I would clasp
Handfuls of sweet cherry blossom petals
The tips of each petal turning brown in the sun
My shoes covered as I kicked heaps of this candy floss
Pink tissue paper along the road as I thought about school
And the day ahead, in my brown Clark’s leather sandals.

3.

The smell of the scrapings of new potatoes floating
In tap water in a blue polythene bowl in our scullery
And on my mother’s cracked, dry and sore hands
Ingrained with the dirt from compost and soil.
I loved these hands rough yet gentle to stroke a face.




Love Mary September 12 /201

After  getting    up  
  in  river  bed
a   green   four  squared
paper-kite  was

   constantly   dancing  like  a
                    child   dancer.



Sky's     blue  color
              could  not  gallop
its   color.


It  could not   create
    shadow.


   The  winter   sun   was
    opposite  of  it.


   Slowly    it   get  down
  surface.




Oh.......sit.....

this  is  a  polythen­e  kite
which  was  shinning.




after   its  arrival   from    air
   to   land
the  small   birds   again
  seen    in its     flying   area.




Oh......it  is  clear  that
   the   plastic  thread
can  ****  their   body  or
can  harm  the  wings.

Tell them they are cursed
Those impostors
Who pretends to be trouble shooters
Yet breaks the door latch for the robber

Friends of the common man
Who suffers from kleptomania
Men clad in devil's costumes

Hopes of the living dead
They are school boys
Who uses
Tins as vehicles
sticks as guns

Standing all day
Like a man waiting for his debtor
Clinging to motorists
like zombies
Hitting vehicles
Like goons
Shouting at the top of their voices
Like bus conductors
Waving their sticks
Like sport referees
Just to get the green rectangular polythene

With their perfidious divel
They turn the nation to a quagmire

Tell the men on black berets
That they are all cursed
Like a man who defiled his own blood


TheRadicalTheaspian

LAWMYK
©2018

Stool on  a
  polythene carry  bag.



No  child
  only    men  and  women.




Morning  breakfast  is
  ready  for
crows,  dogs and  pigs.




Throw  is  to
     sky.



Eagle  may  think  it
a  new kind of  rat.



That  one  to
bot  in Sangam
  Of  Ganga, Yamuna  and  dead  Saraawati
river.

'''Muriuki, murerwa , Evans, Benjamin,dennis,bundi,ken,kinyua,festus,mwendas',simon all present
Year is 2004😅
All of us were shirtless showing nonexistent abs
Ronaldinho was our mentor
Our ball tailor was bundi; 😂😂 of course was made of polythene and sisal
I was the goalkeeper
Once caught grains of millet one by one -myth they created to make our opponents fear me😂😂'''

In this nameless wasteland
Lay scattered signs of
Last night's jostle in bed,
Thrown away
Broken toys of civilised society,
Torn and twisted e-waste,
Discarded and broken furniture,
Smell of burnt polythene paper
In the afternoon air.

On the valley of garbage
Standing scattered a few shabby people,
Among them there is a dark skinned boy
Sitting on a heap of garbage
Holding a semi-transparent balloon.

Used condoms are
Waiting in his ***** pants' pocket
To become inflated like
The one that he holds in his hand.

The courtesan couldn't stop him
From seeing
The misery of her world;
The client wanted to have her
Without protection
And she wanted to earn
Twenty five rupees more.

Now deadly diseases are
Finding their home
In her courageous body.
Leaving behind the sins,
The father has disappeared
In the bustles of
Glittering cityscape.

Here once again
The Evening is now closing his curtains
With all his yesterday's drudgery,
Again the Sun has hidden his face behind
The shameful horizon of slums.

Near and far
The city is staying awake.
The valley of garbage is now trying
To hide it's rotting smell
With reeking perfume.
Men have started
To come in and out of
Dingy rooms of women
At measured intervals.

The staff of life in
polythene is wrapped,

Nor sight, nor sound
nor scent, no longer apt.

Wheat to dough, to money
and to haste,

Gone are our values,
tarnished or taste.

Christmas came early.
The snow has come today.
Pluck a snowflake from the polythene sky and join is up there.
The world spins by with marvellous enthusiasm. Lotto tombola style. Who'll win?
Isn't it exciting!
Wait. I've got a full house!
Crash landing back to earth, he collects his prize. It's another free bingo ticket.