Before the Xmas lark splutters a peep
a leery-eyed, cotton-wool bearded man
torn from sleep,
pads across a dim landing at four A.M.
A crimson-hatted, white wig matted, mithered dad,
zips his beer-belly behind a mothballed fleece
sleuthing about in slender peace.
Pillow cases crammed, stockings stuffed, sherry supped,
nibbles the carrot,
creeps past the sentient, squawking parrot.
Coughs up a crumb from a stale mince pie, then
tucks in his angels with a tear-glassed eye.
Back to the sanctuary of the king-sized divan
cuddles his princess round her hefty waistband…
that once slender slip of a beautiful girl
still has the power to make his head twirl
loud snorts for England, and St George!
He puzzles where twelve loving years have gone
as he slides the diamante sparkler she loved so much,
under her pillow with a magician’s touch…
a magician’s touch to caress her cheek
protect her from the world of bleak,
this kitchen Queen, lover, mother and friend,
sometimes gobby, pig-headed sod,
deserves her long reign in the Land of Nod.
Write poems of all genres, particularly narrative writes about people, life events and the world we live in. Haikus and Tankas when I can. Like short stories too, a little drama and monologue works also in my stuff. Reside in the Dark Kingdom of Lancashire, England.