I am cleaning my big felt hat
putting my Gibson and Orange
downstairs in the techno corner.
Christmas is coming, and then Joy.
Drop no sweets down sofa, I say
and leave things sweet for later on.
Let it all run smoothly - cleaning
jobs every day in doses,
shopping till we have it all sussed -
watching the 3D enhanced stuff,
playing high texture ooh, ah games,
writing the ultra cool stanzas.
Peaty your whisky; tomato
your vodka; well brandy your port;
never whine over your spilt wine.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
