They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And round the Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
And down to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s Own County, Yay!

Yull see ‘em rambling at Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.

Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.

Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.

So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes 're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.

Paul Butters

(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)

I believe in one church.
I believe in an inter-racial and unbiased church of many nations.
I believe in one church of many traditions.
I believe in one church not hemmed in by history or by man-made borders.

I believe in a God for whom his pallet of skin colours reflects his love of diversity.
I believe in God-given racial difference.
I believe in one creator God who made all humankind equal.
I believe in Christ’s one church that reflects our maker's love of difference.

I do not believe in uniformity.

I believe in the Christ’s common language of love for one another, for neighbours and for enemies that transcends local dialects.
I believe in one sundry collection of priests who are called by Christ to serve one God together, saved by His one sacrifice once and for all time.
I believe in the promise of one resurrected church drawn from all nations, from every generation to meet her bridegroom, Jesus Christ.
I believe in one eternal wedding feast at a table prepared by God which features everything from the finest vegetable samosas to the richest steam puddings.
I believe in one extravagant Father who has built one massive mansion with many rooms so all his people can come and dwell together.

I believe in God's Kingdom come.

Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******* antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without ******* headlong in my armpits.

Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******* bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.

As the warm days of summer give way to chill, and shadows grow longer as days shed their hours.
High winds and rain storms scrub the tired landscape down.
Colours are changing from rich green to gold, from yellow to red and orange to brown.

The grain has been gathered, wheat, barley and oats, cut and collected, sifted and sorted and put into store.
Grown by God, and by man with machine and by effort of hand.
Poppies and stalks now mark the spot, of the return for their labour. The wealth of the land.

Birds follow the tractor, rising and falling, swirling and soaring they move like a cloud.
The farmer is out and turning the stubble into the ground.
Rooks and crows, gulls and wood pigeons, starlings and magpies follow him round.

Hay long since mown is now bailed and in barns, or rolled up and bagged, ferments now in high silage towers.
The countryside has yielded reward for all Adam’s toil.
Work done in rhythm with the seasons, sowing, growing, reaping, ploughing and tilling the soil.

Gathering goodness, from garden, and greenhouse, carrots and courgettes, tomatoes in bunches.
Fresher than any you can get in the shops.
Picking the bounty gleaned from the hedgerow. Rosehips and cobnuts, damsons and hops.

Elder and sorrel, mushrooms and puffballs, sour green crab apples, and brambles in tangles.
Sloes that were missed by the late winter frost.
Not all are pleasant and some really can hurt you, pick only those that you know and trust.

Take full advantage of God’s generosity, share it with gladness, with thanks, there is plenty for all.
Sticky syrups and cider, wines, cordial and beer.
Pies, puddings, sorbets and ice creams, jam, jelly, and chutney and enough pickles to last into next year.

As the warm days of summer give way to chill, and shadows grow longer as days shed their hours.
High winds and rain storms scrub the tired landscape down.
Colours are changing from rich green to gold, from yellow to red and orange to brown.

Oh dear God! Is that the date? Please tell me it’s not true
I did not know it was that late, I’ve got so much to do.
I might be ready at a push, if I do not panic
But it will be an awful rush, possibly quite manic.

So much Christmas fare to make, I do not know where to start,
Three puddings and at least one cake, oh I must not fall apart.
Then there are the letters for Santa, cards for the relations,
And of course the Christmas tree, plus all the decorations.

And I must order the turkey, and not forget the ham
why do I bring this on me, I’m stupid so I am
and do not forget the stuffing, the veg and the gravy
brandy sauce for the pudding, oh this will be the death of me

I have to buy so many presents, but there will be no shocks
Last year I saw sense, after I received so many socks
I must not forget anyone, just in case they visit
I know I will forget someone, oh it’s not worth it, is it?

I am so busy I cannot think, and time is getting near
Oh I must not forget the drink, like I did last year
I need to get the kids new clothes and probably new shoes
Why I do it only God knows, because they hate everything I choose

Which parties will I attend, it is really hard to know
Because it drives people round the bend, when I accept and then don’t show
There is a list of people I must see, or should I disappear
I think they are still mad at me, for not visiting last year

Oh there is so much to organize for this Christmas Day
But after being up to my eyes I might just sleep the day away
But ‘tis the season of good cheer, a time to show goodwill
But as the day draws ever near I am sometimes fit to ****

I will do my best to get it done, I have my mind set
To make sure that everyone has their best Christmas yet
So I must get my finger out, that much I do know
Because there are only about…..fifty weeks to go!!

For ShirleyB*


Feel your heartbeat quicken
For these pasta-salad days:
I am bringing chicken.

Bulging bellies thicken
Laden with crab hollandaise.
Feel your heartbeat quicken.

Sweet Siobhan seems stricken
By the puddings and soufflés.
(I am bringing chicken.)

Insert thy toothpick in
Anastasia’s canapés:
Feel your heartbeat quicken.

Beatrice (she’s Wiccan)
Brought a heap of warm beignets;
I am bringing chicken.

Jealousy shall sicken
Those who brought their best entrées--
Feel your heartbeat quicken:
I am bringing chicken!

They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And all round Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
Down there to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s County Yay!

Yull see ‘em rambling near Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.

Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.

Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all do hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.

So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.

Paul Butters

(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
© PB 2\5\2016.  Slightly Amended 14\4\2023.

Nobody no longer contains the desire for unrefinity
The urge to tap into the void smacks of divinity
What exists in its place in the flesh market place
Are bartering skill sets and chocoalte puddings
When confronted by an invisible elephant
The people, in consensus, turn away
This happens within the day to day
The elephants march on, heedless vessels
Turbans floating downstreat, mainstream.
****** babble replaces conversation
Emblamatic gestures infiltrate the realm of the symbolic
The priests have all taken off their underwear
And the women are putting their brasiers
Back onto their chests, underneath their shirts
Blouses are burnt.
Toast is burnt.
Jams are being made by machines, horses do have dreams
Jelly and ice cream make delicate farts
Ghosts live in pipes and buy and sell art
People whose names are Horace or Rupert
Have been decommisioned
And the stories are locked in pie dishes
And the tale remains the same.
Remember, that future archeologists will exist.
Excavating sites will bring us all
To the kingdom of devon
In the beautiful future of documented tales
Which we are building for
Inside the spaceships.
When ponies are invalid and germs become common currency
Know that it will be time to fly your pillow cases as flags

When dough is in short supply,
puddings get nervous, I wonder why?
They tell their parrots to take to the air,
to see if there's more hidden anywhere.
One flew out to the north Atlantic
his efforts brave and quite fantastic.
The dough of Icelands polar bears
was safely stored and waiting there.
One parrot flew to the Snow Queens wedding
for dough, and to try his wing at sledding.
He was so tired when he took his dough to the station,
he was forced to use his powers of multi - placation
for the guards were nasty and horrid and grumpy
and almost  turned the dough all lumpy.

it's so middle-class it almost deceives the idea
of a functioning economic model,
if this woman gets to write this for
rent and grocery money, i'd rather stick
it out on bread-and-butter puddings in india
mid the squalor, as honest as there is
or there isn't a god -
she's basically trapped with a hamster ontology
of the treadmill -
she's discussing "emoji" (ditto regarding
correct pronunciation), i.e.
emo- -gee                              or
                        the emotional Jinn -
or the emotive genie - Aladdin somewhere -
i mean emoji and jive? **** don't pair up!
the journalist is clever in dismembering feminism,
girls get *****, X to patriarchy,
but we need to sort out...
this emo jive **** is worse than caveman material...
i'll take an oath on it: i can't run 100 metres in
under 10 seconds...
my bone density is lighter than what the general
practitioner prescribed the africans
at the paraolympic games -
**** swam like the partially limbless -
the medal ceremony was taking place
but still the ivory and sclera at midnight visible
swam, and swam...
throw a ******* rhino or a horse in there
and it'll beat the cheetah... moor boor! moor boor!
b'oh! if this is the prime concern of
feminism i'd be abhorred by the excuse of
expression per se... come on! emotional jive
instead emotional gee? what's this, an Oliver Twist
sub-plot revision?
i'm surprised women are buying into
feminism at this stage,
she's a womb and she's a house,
he's a vector and he's the return -
take her from nesting and he does not care
for being nested, he's out in the open,
when all these girls turn to what Darwinism taught them,
after all Darwinism is feminism's only compatriot,
take the spider nursery on the back of the mother,
the polar bear single mother abandoned by
the male raising her dues,
the politicised Islamic harem of monkeys
serving as argument for both origin and no origins
(you can't be as noble as the swans
overnight caring for the practice of
widowing, unless it be as quick
as black widow's or mantis' -
after all Darwinism taught us to not thieve
but to borrow, and look where borrowing left us) -
feminism only emerged because of Darwinism
being popularised, it was perfect because of its
overt use of images and a lack of salon literature of
aristocratic ladies listening eagerly while
Balzac farted into a page and the supper was made
and served by the house-staff -
never mind the sheikhs and their Lamborghini collections;
i'm careful of the spine and the half-horse-power
of my legs than the shiny wheelchairs.

Roast beef steaming on a plate
Baked potatoes gravy laced
Yorkshire puddings
Round and brown
Carrots and stuffing
At Christmas found.

Gathered with our festive cheer
Mum, dad and brother near
Laughing in our paper hats
Holding napkins on our lap
Patterned crackers, motto inside.

Sometimes on the floor does slide
A silver plated ring or plastic guide
The pudding rich and fruity bake
Spoonful of single or double take
And Neopolitan ice cream to taste.

Now to go and watch the box
Someone help to do the washing up
The snow is soft on our lawn
Throwing crumbs from garden door
Blackbird and sparrow spy them all.


Love Mary ***

Coffee with cream, ketchup on chips
Gravy poured over most everything
Coconut milk in the red hot curry
Hot dipping sauce laced on a chicken wing.
Mashed potato with butter and cheese
hot cheese dripping down the fork
Roasted crackling as crisp as can be
just sliding off the salt roast pork.
Onions braised in red wine sauce
Sausages with hot ******* and peas
A crusty bread roll to sandwich them
A refreshing Greek salad with feta cheese
Puddings galore in every possible way
Custard and every assorted ice creams
Strawberry jam plastered on the toast
My favourites and in my wildest dreams.

Was that the Cream which you used to Enjoy
Of Four Sticks seasoned to your Destiny?
How Thoughtful be this State of your Deploy
For Good Arm's Purpose reach your Harmony
And once the Friend - though un-known Titles be
Play this growing Suffrage on your Best Mind
For your Honour's Prevail; Which we can see
Why Un-Holy Mouths must be copped behind
Dive, Honour, Dive! That be Support un-furled
As Stock-Toned Pillars coat this selfless Plead
To misunderstand Sane Meanings up-turned
Else sate our Puddings with Un-Salted Mead.
And the Youth, inspired, still makes Amends
Such would be you which Guilded Growth depends.

There is a silence now that you have gone
Somewhere - who knows where?
A silence of your suffering, your laughter,
Your excitement, your enjoyment of food.
A silence of your telephone calls, our lunches,
Your family get togethers, the Christmas puddings.
A silence of birthday cards, Sunday roasts,
Shopping trips, seaside walks and ice cream.
A silence filled with my children's laughter,
Summer picnic days and your flower garden.
A silence of your dementia voice, muddled
And forgetful in your inhabited, twilight world.
A silence of your tears and requests to go home
To safety and your memories of a past busy life.
A silence now that you are gone which I fill with
The voice you gave us to fight on your behalf,
That speaks with truth and grief and sadness
Screaming for your help, care and support.
There is a silence now that you have gone
It fills the deaf ears of those who won't hear
Your sorrow and our pain, who dismiss your
Diagnosis and replace it with a list of lesser
Tick boxes, low scores and minor symptoms.
A silence that is full of blood transfusions,
Infections, falls and fainting and fevers,
A silence that gave you leukaemia and took
Away your life, your heart and soul and being.
A silence that I promise to break very soon
For your silent voice needs to be loudly heard
So we can all rest in quiet,  everlasting peace
Knowing you're protected by God's 'Continuing Care'

God Bless Auntie Joan x

"It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, to absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their ***." ~ Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre)

You won't believe this But it's true
Life is sometimes stranger than fiction, at least in my world it is

Near my house across the road there's an American Style Diner
They do all kinds of lovely Hamburgers and fries, Chicken burgers, Pizzas and whatever
They also do a lovely full Irish breakfast Bacon, egg, sausages, black and white puddings, hash browns, fried tomato, beans, mushrooms big *** of hot steaming tea or coffee and all the toast you can eat
(I've been over there a few times)
It'd keep you going all day long, very nicely thank you.
There's also an Oil Depot office attached to the Diner with Oil trucks parked along the side

Now back in the Winter of 2021 with the Covid scare/epidemic at its height
My Oil for heating the house was starting to run low
So I rang Peter the Oilman across the road and asked him to deliver me some oil
The next day the truck comes over and fills up my Oil tank
The driver leaves the bill in my letterbox
I have the next day off work so I say to myself I'll go down the supermarket tomorrow
Get some money out of the ATM machine and pay the bill (as you do)
So the next day I get in my car, now there's a big hedge in front of my house, like for privacy
So I can't see what's going on along the road
Well I drive down to the front gate and suddenly my jaw, it drops I can't believe what I'm seeing
The Police (the Guards as we call them here the Garda in the Irish) they've cordoned off the road
And are directing the traffic
The American Style Diner has been taken over by a film crew... it's a film set
There's big lights and cameras, all kinds of electrical equipment and Vans parked
There's people going around with clipboards
And they've put up this huge giant Elvis cut out statue type thing in lights
Him in a white rhinestone suit with his guitar
And it's towering over the Diner
And I'm there looking at all this thinking "What the ****??? Is this reality or am I dreaming, somebody pinch me quick
This is... this is feckin' Alice in Wonderland
Between getting funny dreams and having funny things happen to me
I can't quite believe my eyes
It's like the circus has come to town
Or it's like... it's like remember when you were a little kid at school in the Winter and there's snow and you hate school
And suddenly the school boiler would break down and they'd have to send everybody home
It was like Great! Hurray! Chaos... Freedom had suddenly broken out
Here was just another ordinary humdrum day and now something extraordinary had happened.

I could see Peter over in his office, it looked like he'd been cordoned off too
So I decide to go down to the shop and get some money, do a little shopping and come back quick
When I come back the Guards have now left the scene
I count out the money to pay the bill
Then I walk across the road right through the film set
There doesn't seem to be any security men there to apprehend me
(maybe they know I'm just a local, no one says anything, I'm like a ghost )
I walk real slow, with my profile jutting out like a bust of Julius Caesar
I'm half hoping someone will shout "Hey you! Stop!!!
And it'll be this Director or Cinematographer with a lot of camera lenses around his neck
And he'd be looking at me through one of these camera lenses
And he'd be saying excitedly "That face! That face!! it's just what I've been looking for
It's exactly what I need
It's... Why...It's the Face of 2021"
Alas! It's not to be, no such luck
I wave in at Peter in his office
His door is open, I go in and say "What's going on ?"
He says "Their making a movie or a TV series I think it is, they needed an American Diner so they took over the Diner and done it up'"
Peter's there standing behind this persplex plastic type (see through) screen
And he has this strange black plastic type mask on his face
He looks like Hannibal Lecter out of Silence of the Lambs
There's a side window in his office and outside on a bench all the actors are sitting there waiting to be called for the next scene
I say to Peter "Is there anyone we know, like Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp, Angelina! Angelina!"
"No", he says,"their all young actors, I don't know any of them"
Looking at Peter I say Y'know they should be making a movie about you, you're a real live hero
Everyday over here, rain hail or shine, during an epidemic, keeping the country going, keeping the houses warm, the businesses running,
(I was reminded of that Greek god chap Atlas who used to hold up the heavens)
Then I say nodding my head as if I've just figured it all out
"Y'know what, their making the wrong feckin' movie
You're the Star here, they should be making a movie about you
I'm gonna have a word with the Director
Peter starts laughing
I have to resist the urge to tell him Y'know you'd make a great villain
I pay him and thank him, tell him he might be a movie star next time I see him
When I'm back outside again I start walking real slow again, it's like the film Sunset Boulevard this time
"I'm ready for my close up now Mr DeMille"
But alas! no one heeds me, it's like I'm the Invisible Man again
I think to myself "I'm getting worried, The Hand of Fame it's getting closer every day
I can feel it
One of these days it's just gonna come out of the heavens and scoop me up
And bring me off with it some place

But who'd want to be famous anyway, reporters nosing around asking you silly questions all day, trying to stir something up
People staring at you all the time and taking photos
Would be a pain in the ****,
Wouldn't mind making some money though
The old pension fund and all that...

he was just that
a fetal pig
but not the kind you dissected
in high school biology

he was lazy of course
and how he loved his corn

in his darker moments
his snout....it would smolder
the professors postulated that
he must be off-gasing
but the more cynical ones
they would only mutter
“i bet he’s just doing that on purpose”

now the men in suits they were just
plain jealous

they’d posture and scheme
all the better
to be the one who’d get to
"hunker down" with him
(maybe mess with his *****)

so now they’re all reading dictionaries
and memorizing quadratic equations
never mind the smell

but the pig....he’s happy
just making puddings
and trying not to think

about how little time is left

lead us to think there is no planning,
no list of instructions, therefore no
notes on mending.

so we stick it, wipe it, cough
dificulties into craw, sliming over
the worst of it.

without the light on things look worse,
leaning over carefully, flick a switch,
listen to the news.

all things combined,
leads to variety in puddings.

sbm.

If you
Want to shoot
From the hip
Make sure
You're not firing blanks.

Anyone worth their salt
Will tell you to be yourself
Then step aside to let you find that self.

Run from those
Who claim to see  
The truth too clearly
And with those that want to
Meet me I say...

"Meet me half way,
Then there is no extra mile".

Leaders
Have in mind,
To lead.
Preachers..
They want to preach.

Story Tellers tell stories,
Some, fact filled,
Others are sprinkled
With truths, still others
Are boldface fabricated fiction.

Looking within to find
The answers I've come to know
To be genuine..
And with Wisdom comes
The pain of responsibility.

A responsibility
That resides in the acts one does
Or the lack of action
One chooses not to do.

Others don't hear you
From where you're at,
They hear from where
They are at.
  
Either it's
'Pearls before swine'
or a gentle reminder
to heed or discard.

Knowing a whole lot of
Not much at all
I remain eager to learn
More of The Mystery.

My aim is to walk
Shoulder to shoulder,
Not ahead of nor behind
For in the moment I can see
where once I was blind.

"Don't Worry, Be happy"
So easy to say, at times
So hard to do,
"The Proof is in the Pudding
and the Puddings in the fridge".

And with that,
The last quote
Will have to do.

as the stars flood the sky on this cold december night
and tales of Santa and his reindeer begin to take flight

the sweet scent if pies and puddings fill the holiday air
and silver haired ladies can't wait for there grand kids to get there

The tree is filled with a rainbow of lights
And all the good children are getting presents tonight

Then There is the fire that fills the air with burnt pine
And the grownups enjoy Christmas spirits and wine

and although most stories are of santas toys and the sleigh
We also hold dear the true meaning of this day

Our savior was born to deliver us from sin
So that we can have eternal life with him

To be at the right hand of the father above
It was honest and truly a pure gift of love.

Plates of chicken,
Beef, lamb and pork,
Cherries and grapes,
Fresh from the stalk.

Salads and noodles,
Lettuce, tomatoes, corn,
Not a glass out of place,
Not a prawn.

A enticing odour,
From bottles of wine,
And perfect food,
The finest of fine.

On a separate table,
With red velvet cloth,
Lies stacks of deserts,
More than enough.

Cakes and cream,
Puddings and pies,
And in the corner,
A pavlova lies.

An incomplete job?
Not in the least,
Look at the food,
What a feast!

We believe in one trans-national church.

We believe in an unbiased, inter-racial church of many nations.
We believe in one church of many traditions.
We believe in one church not hemmed in by history or by man-made borders.

We believe in a God for whom his pallet of skin colours reflects his love of diversity.
We believe in God-given racial differences.
We believe in one creator God who made all humankind equal.
We believe in a church that reflects her maker's love of difference.

We do not believe in uniformity.

We believe in the common language of love for one another, for neighbours and for enemies that transcends local dialects.
We believe in one sundry collection of priests who are called to serve one God together, saved by one sacrifice once and for all time.

We believe in the promise of a resurrected church drawn from all nations and all generations to meet her bridegroom.
We believe in one eternal wedding feast which features everything from the finest vegetable samosas to the richest steam puddings.

We believe in one extravagant Father who has built one massive mansion with many rooms so that all his people can come and dwell together.

We believe
in God's Kingdom come.

Amen.

Bouncing, rebounding
on the floor of my memory -
the ball of my elder sister’s jackstones
and the lead washer of my elder brother’s sipa
travelling to and fro
the tops and yoyos
among the imaginary bread doughs
of gathered dust
from that childhood
sprinkled with the *** of yesterday
to bake make-believe
rice puddings
and rice cakes
- they seem to be spoiled now
in the food cupboards of computers
and eventually interred
in the graveyards of cellular phones

In the cemetery of memories
the ghost of poverty still haunts
never, ever unescapable

for every gulp of you
warmly soothes
the throats of scenarios
of all dramas and movies
in that nesting home
now decrepit, debilitated:
          after the day’s toils:
          you helped me swallow the lump of aromatic rice
          - cooked by Mother - the old fragrant stock
          that she loaned from the vendor from Quezon
          not even a piece of dried fish accompanying
          nothing else, only you, my brewed coffee
          nice both as dip and soup.

Christmas is here! Time for good cheer!
Once more the best time of the year!
TV programmes; same old! Same old!
We love them! Stick with what we know.

The season we’re celebrating;
All year long we have been waiting.
Eating food we don’t have to make
From scratch. Nor do we need to bake.

Shops sprinkled with white Christmas dust;
All things sparkling! All things a must!
Time for fun, for laughter, for joy!
From “on-line” get the latest toy.

Buy in haste, regret at leisure…
Toys that give us short-term pleasure.
Turkeys vote for Christmas, we know…
Brussels sprouts, and all things that grow.

Life is “hard labour” thro’ the year;
Comes Christmas, pop champagne, not beer!
Heston’s puddings have all sold out;
“That is a nightmare!” some may shout.

Christmas passed. New Year comes around…
Is snow lying thick on the ground?
We have survived another year;
Very soon ‘Springwatch’ will be here.

Creepy crawlies and birds that sing,
Showers with the first buds of Spring,
Lambs frolicking, pretty flowers grow…
Also, weeds that we did not sow…

I love you
Like you love Harry Potter
Like Luna loves puddings
Like Dobby loves socks
Like Harry loves his parents
Like Hermione loves books
Like Ron loves food
Like Dumbledore loves Hogwarts
Like Hagrid loves his creatures
Like Fred & George love pranks
Like J.K. Rowling loves writing