Advent

Just imagine

Lying in a crib of straw

Staring at a star

Hanging over the barn

That whistles

With the soughing wind

Prizing at the flimsy wood

That keeps the night at bay

Just imagine

Your future laid before you

In pre-ordained days

That smell of blood and betrayal

The multi-paternal conundrum

That plays upon your mind

As you carve wood

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Anti-Christ(mas)

Santa Claus isn’t real -
there, I’ve gone and said it.
Just some smart-arsed marketing ploy
to stress your Christmas cards of credit,
an old Bavarian legend
glammed up and pushed by Coke
to give a job each yuletide
to some fat, be-whiskered bloke
who likes a little tipple
and knee jogging some pre-pubescent cutie -
under any other circumstance
you’d report him to pro...

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