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Last Updated: 18/12/2009 12:12:04
Commercial Christmas
By Mark Walmsley
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At last it's here the twenty fifth of December
The excitement, anticipation all our friends we remember
Food and presents, decorations in all their glory
Candles, mistletoe, mulled wine, chestnuts and holly
But in the North Pole, all is misery and gloom
No elves are working, no toys in any room
Last Christmas used all the money that was left
Father Christmas's business account of money is bereft
Children at last sleep, they have waited all year
They have put out milk for Santa and a carrot for reindeer
All is silent and crisp, white snow covers the land
All has been prepared, now it's in Santa's hand
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But Rudolph does not work anymore, as he has received no pay
All the elves went out on strike, two weeks before Christmas day
Father Christmas, gave away all his gifts, against his accountants advice
Now he has turned to drink and drugs, and sleeps in the stable at night
Tears of sorrow, misery and woe, on what should be a happy morn
The milk undrunk, the carrot untouched, no presents or new jumpers worn
No new bicycles in the street, or full stockings containing happy things
Father Christmas did not slide down one chimney, nor a present did he bring
The rundown factory at Toyland, a 'For Sale' sign on the door
Santa wakes up with a hangover and projectile vomits on the floor
His once proud red uniform, now brown and stained with bile
His sleigh has been re possessed and a prosecution order filed
The innocent children look up into the sky, 'he is just late that's all'
'Yes he will be here tomorrow, you'll see, he will come to call'
In preparation they get, for a late Christmas day, a Pagan ritual true
'I have been a good boy this year, have you been one too?'
Father Christmas wept, as he looked at his picture on a cheery card
'That was me that was' he sobbed pointing, 'in eighteen fifty five'
'I was happy, jolly and cheery, my sleigh packed with presents and gifts'
Not a penny to his name and all disgraced, he took his knife and slit his wrists.
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Copyright © Mark Walmsley 2009
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Poetry - 'Twas the Night Before Christmas By Bronwyn Ellis
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Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
But nobody lay sound asleep in their beds,
They were all sat in A and E, pissed out their heads.
There was Dancer and Prancer, the twins from East Hull,
No teeth and a beard, but they still tried to pull.
They drooled at the mouth, as they clutched their gold purses,
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Poetry - Tidings of Comfort and Joy? By Terry Ireland
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The Sally Army band play their Carols in the street,
Deftly being avoided by hurrying scurrying feet
Of those busy shoppers hoping they can still
Find more alleged bargains this season of good will.
She sees pinched strained faces of those passing by,
Notices how very few will look her in the eye;
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Poetry - The Way You Love Me By Bronwyn Ellis
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We kissed for hours
One thing led to another
And as I let my breath recover
You held me tight as if to say
Thank you
Not I love you
...Just Thank you
I pressed my lips against your head
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Poetry - Sweet As A Nut By Mike Watts
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I'm under the shower
Just about finished
I turn the dial
Squeak back my wet hair
I'm done
I pull back the curtain
And with one foot up
On the side of the bath
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Poetry - Cornflower Blue By Dayne Coyne
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I have seen you down the pubs and down the gay clubs
Seen you walking past my window in the evening
You've got hazy eyes of cornflower blue
Yes, you've got hazy eyes of cornflower blue
Yes, you've got hazy eyes of cornflower blue
And that night that we went for a pizza
Did they shine with a different hue?
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Poetry - Middle Age Blues By Terry Ireland
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Kids and tobacco, you've got to be joking.
Filter tips and low tar you don't call that smoking.
Do you remember Senior Service
and Capstan Full Strength?
Full of lethal potential
every inch of their length.
You cleared your tubes
with a good morning cough
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Poetry - A Not So Subtle Reminder By Joe Hakim
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I don't know what I was thinking -
it was probably some half-baked
way to demonstrate my masculinity
or something
equally as stupid.
I was drunk,
of course,
and for some reason it seemed
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Poetry - This is Love? By Phil Pretheroe
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Good life,
nice life,
smiles,
a justifyingly uplifting,
guilt free swagger.
No care in the world,
happiness,
and content...
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Poetry - Fun and Games By Mike Watts
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1:07 am
I'm battling the shits
And an agony so intense
I feel as though rats
Are tearing their way
Out of me
I double over and clutch
My shins
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Poetry - Posh Girl By Jim Higo
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Your faux civility knows no bounds,
You smile at me like a Thai waitress,
and for a second you almost persuade me
that you are genuinely interested in what I'm saying.
But then you nod when you shouldn't and I know you don't care;
your mind is elsewhere,
like when intelligent people are forced to sit through soap operas.
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Poetry - Arts and Culture in Hull By Joe Hakim
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it's about who your friends are
and the circles you move in
it's about the boxes you tick
and the forms you fill out
it's about being the same as
everyone else
and crushing individuality
it's about appealing to the
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Poetry - Metal Box By Dean Wilson
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Meet me
in the long grass
by what's left
of the factory
where our
mothers worked
and I will count
the freckles
on your back.
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Poetry - Hyde and Seek By Bronwyn Ellis
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By the light of the day he is merely a shadow,
A dark faceless echo pursuing my steps,
He stalks through the mirrors to haunt my reflection,
A secretive burden too long I have kept.
A phantom of sins which denied my suppression,
Laid dormant for years in the wells of my brain,
But curious Henry with notions and potions,
Awakened the slumbering evils again.Read more...
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Poetry - Garbage By Terry Ireland
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There was a memorial in the Cathedral
Then one father took a stand,
Refusing to grasp and shake
The ex leaders bloodied hand.
He was dragged up by his boot straps,
on an inner city sink estate,
from a family full of love,
lived in a street full of hate.
And he joined the British army
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Poetry - Boxing The Compass By Carol Coiffait
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You can stay
in one place
only long enough
to find your way
to the chip-shop,
the bus-stop
and back home
Or longer
to make a net
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Poetry - Cider Barry By Mike Watts
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My mate's a boozer
Always smashed on cider
Always lost in space
Wind milling
All over the place
And it troubles me
It's horrible
Watching him drown
In fermented apple
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Poetry - Brough Haven By Carol Coiffait
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Here, where they say the Romans crossed,
the river is raw;
a mangy dog chewing at its flank.
Great gobs of grass and mud,
slewing and shouldered,
field by sly field off the northern bank.
All that is left for the beleaguered sheep and lambs
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Poetry - Ode to Sir John By Mark Walmsley
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A warm summer noon, for a game of bowls
Lily white dresses on court,
Fine cut grass with honeysuckle perfume
A surely cocked boater
Gin fizz and water
Willow hooked seamer, red leather to be caught.
Clattering carts, over cobbled cascade
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Poetry - My Poem From 1979 By Ruth
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I never wanted to paint by the numbers, and
always had to do it myself - my way.
When was it that I traded my blueprint canvas
for a tabula rasa? Too long ago; can't remember.
All around me, my peers going through
someone else's predictated motions.
Dancing: With painted footsteps
Singing: With someone else's words
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Poetry - A Right Kettle to Fix By Patrick Henry
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Protest at street demos, taken as free right,
Frames you on mad fringes in duffle coats.
Cordons of order close in the nation's thought,
That terror looms more than fresh climates we need.
Cops numberless strike, then hide in shadows.
A newsvendor is hit by no sheer chance,
But a target for their control at points of info.
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