“Just five minutes more! A little longer, I implore! I’ll keep so quiet, you’ll never hear, Not a peep, don’t you fear. One more hour only, I’ll keep you company; you’ll get lonely! I’ll have to count too many sheep, Because I’m not ready to sleep! Take pity, parents, let me stay longer, ’Til my desire…

God rest thee, rotund gentleman, Take off Christmas day, Don’t listen to the children, Wailing in dismay. For you have worked for centuries, And they smell, anyway. Oh, no gifts for girls and boys, Stinky girls and boys, Oh, no gifts for stinky girls and boys. God rest thee, rotund…

It’s the small things. The way you tuck your hair Behind your ears. How you curl up On the sofa, Or stretch, Like a slowly unfolding Wisp of smoke, As a prayer, Released from incense. The cuddle in the cold, To share my heat. The forgetting, My recounting. Your nodding head, Midway through the movie. The way I notice, The slight sweep of your foot, When I walk behind you. Who else could catch me so, With such subtleties? Or, come to it, Put up with me, When I’m not half as endearing.

Sat quietly at the table, Cauliflower ears, Thick misty glasses, Shovel hands. Cards turn, Fwip fwip, “Come, and I’ll teach you Patience; I played it in the war.” The cards are laid down. Seven neat stacks. “It passed the time, While I waited to be torpedoed.” The cards are turned, Revealing their faces. “That was the second war, Not the first. That one,I…

I don’t want to be the runner, The tight smile, Under tearful eye. Nothing but memories, And miles. I don’t want to be out, In any weather, Rain or shine. Running from ghosts, Taken before their time. I don’t want a marathon, Or shaking of change in a box. To fill my hours Fundraising for the lost. I don’t want to be the runner. Apologies this is late, a little bit on at the moment, didn’t have the time to spare.

Let me have this moment, To crumble, Slowly fall away, And disappear on the wind. For I am frayed, Past holding together, And must unravel. I want to fold up but, Not gracefully like as a fan, I shall crumple like paper, Collapsed into, An ever smaller ball, Until I am gone. I crept up on myself, and slowly pulled away the rug, Now I tumble down dark hill. I’d wash away But I can’t drown the fears, When tears will not come.

He was a lad most handsome, Though you’d struggle to know. A veritable Samson, He let his hair grow and grow. No hair dresser was permitted, To touch his golden mop. He was committed, To never visit a barber’s shop. His mum and dad tried their best To get him a trim, But he ignored their request, He wouldn’t even put hair clips in. So as he grew in aspect, And up and up he shot, The over all effect, Was that of a dandelion clock.

Things, they fall apart. Without care, Without constant attention, Entropy sneaks in. Eroding, corroding, Time conquers all. Either because The ask is too much, Too late, Never comes, Or the sand, Simply, Runs Out. Apologies, this is late, thought I’d set this to publish and did not. This is a little about interpersonal relationships, but also a bit of muse on political matters. Everything you gain, needs to be maintained, as recent events show…

A little Ms struggled to hide, A compulsion to roll her eyes. Her father’s wisdom she would scorn, Almost from the day she was born. Indeed, as soon as dad began to speak, She’d begin to give some cheek. Rebellious child, beyond reason, Throughout the year, every season. No matter…