Oh, Happy Christmas Time.

The annual occasion of joy it's Christmas time.

Full of sentiments, hope, joy and silly rhymes.

Families gathering from far and wide.

To which the rules of harmony they must all abide.

A year of silence between them has gone by.

But now they all must wipe the tears from their eyes.

Brother, Sister, Auntie, Uncle, Mum and Dad.

Must ignore ...

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You don’t know me.
The time is gone
for you and for me,
but with this gun in your hand
you see the future
of your illness mind.
Call me by my name
and kill me after that.
Maybe in your eyes
I can write my happiness
and give you for the rest of your life
a peaceful victory.
We could die together
but who keeps alive
our memories
in this world,
the only world
that can exist?
My mist...

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Rattling through the low hills

in the darkness and the endless endless rain
the train is overcrowded
because the train is overcrowded
because the train is always overcrowded
and the conductor’s now a manager
a voice we never see
mumbling something through the tannoy
about weather and delays.
We used to have seats
now we stand
and this is progress.

Outside
the airwaves are full bey...

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Deadly sobs...

I cannot reason the ferocious cowardice of mankind,

my verses have been dishonored,

blighting my poetic task

My tears stipulate deep anguish in the depths of my heart;

It’s a colorless wail that increases my belittled pain

Challenged by those living undercover;

seditious words of insensitivity,

full of hatred, shadows, malediction

False look...

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Offend a Daily Mail reader – today!

In our miniscule existences upon this planet Earth

There’s precious few occurrences to occasion us true mirth

So listen up real loudly, those with brains and minds to spare

Who still hang on to plucking out true hope from thinnest air

Here’s the solution, if you’re open to such play

Just offend a Daily Mail reader today

...

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"John"

What worlds turn behind your almond eyes, that ready smile,

that childish innocence that lingers long when you are gone?

I feel your warmth through chubby hands and stubby fingers

of a child. You will not make old bones in this cold life

of sticks and stones and superstitious fears. Some careless god

cut short your years; played blackjack with your chromosomes

in a game that ...

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