Christmas, It’s A Wonderful Life

Bells and baubles bound to branches
While tinsel twists and turns and ties,
Santa’s sleighs and snowmen dancing
Lights all aglow like stars in skies,

On the tree an angel sparkles,
Crackers to pull and bells to ring,
Neath the tree a manger slumbers
With a bed that waits for a King,

Reindeers leap with noses glowing
And crystal snowflakes catch the light,
Mama’s wrapping, Daddy’s snoring
While not a child can sleep tonight,

Carrots washed and the cookies laid
The fire is out and chimney preened,
Sprouts are steeping and pudding’s made
Stockings hung and the turkey cleaned,

On the telly Julie’s singing
Over the hills and next to nuns,
In their beds kids are dreaming
Of barbie dolls and small toy guns,

The cards have come and candles lit,
Mistletoe placed and holly hung,
Cupboards bursting and bellies full,
Potatoes pealed and Bing has sung,

Sons and daughters are back at home
Reunions made and laundry done,
Mince pies warmed and the mulled wine brewed
Carolers called, charades begun,

In the dawn all children wakening
Reaching out to stockings now filled
Leap down stairs to gifts awaiting,
Their magic, myth and dreams fulfilled,

Big bird’s in the oven cooking
Husband will carve to charm the wife,
The crib’s now filled with the new born King
Its Xmas tradition, it’s a Wonderful Life.

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Merry Christmas Everyone

WICKED WILLS

The wolves are out,
Baying in the shadows,
Fetid breath fowling air,
Drool dribbling in the darkness.
The wolves are out,
Growling gratuitously,
Muzzle sniffing movement,
Fangs feverish for flesh.
The wolves are out,
Their scent; steaming,
Their eyes; searching
For substance to satisfy.
The wolves are out,
Their panting petrifying,
Prowling on poised paws
Picturing us as prey
The wolves are out,
Our streets; their forest now,
Our buildings; their shelter,
Our fear; their force.
The wolves are out,
Drawing disguises
From our likenesses,
Slivering among us
Sniffing out old scars
And worn wounds
To leap at lavishly,
Devour on desperately.
The wolves are out,
Tail twisted in and under,
Standing tall on hind legs,
Shaved bodies to assimilate,
Poured over in perfume
But their stench lingers
To stale the street.
The wolves are out,
There’s horror in their howling
And chaos in their cackling,
Predators posing as persons,
But no pretence parts them
From their purpose
And I worry what their wicked will wants.

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