Poetry Blogs (2018, Christmas)
M.C. Newberry on Live much longer don't smoke! A message to teenagers. (5 hours ago)
Staggering beside the carts, like dull warhorses,
we stumble along endless tracks and mud-souped ditches,
always stooped, intent upon the next step.
Rattling behind, grisly chains of disarticulated bones,
tied by tendons and ligaments, trail beyond past horizons,
a century of war.
Rainbows always cry.
The holly bears a bloody fruit.
All victors ethically vanquished.
Monday 24th December 2018 11:56 pm
I’m sure you can tell I’m
Part of the hip-hop community
So I take every opportunity
To spit rhymes like a hot tap
Gushing cheer in a Christmas rap.
When the weather is cold,
When the weather is hot
My generosity never stops.
I keep giving without a pause.
They should call me Santa Claus.
What? Don ‘t know who I’m talking about?
Then you can give Father Christmas a ...
Monday 24th December 2018 10:47 am
You’re not a believer
And Christmas isn’t for you
But you can enjoy
The festive season, too.
Your whole season
Doesn’t have to be wrecked
Just focus on all the
You don’t have to be spiritual
To enjoy lots of useless tat.
Or flashing lights, tinsel and all that.
And there’s no reason
You can’t have lots of treats, puddings
and sweets, or ju...
Sunday 23rd December 2018 11:17 am
christmas is ridiculous
a frenzy of indoctrination
pressure to participate
inculcated in the kids
while parents go insane
it goes against the grain to be
so busy at this time of year
we should be curled up by the fire
not fucking running round so wired
to buy this tat that no one needs
sanctifying endless greed...
Friday 14th December 2018 4:45 pm
Twas the night before Christmas
When starless darkness held the night
With howling wind and sleet;
All through the house was ne'er a light
Dark, and a door that creaked
And despite the fire, twas cold as snow
Only the low fire flicker
Could lend the room a ghostly glow
And light the undecked tree.
I crept towards the bottom stair
Mouse-still and watching
A creak, a...
Friday 14th December 2018 2:17 pm
Fire burning over memories of Christmas
Santa is riding high into the silk sky
But he cannot come here with Brexit a tie
Donna chewed on Santa’s long toenails
As he snoozed on Blitzen’s fat belly
Where streaks of Pollock green ache
Like August clouds
In love with feathers and glass
As the fires take it all away
Widened eyes of the dirtiest faces...
Tuesday 11th December 2018 12:15 pm