Fools Reunited

Oh Little Town of Portsmouth

Oh little town 'neath moonlit skies
How still we see thee sleep.
As through the streets and on the roofs
A hooded figure creeps.
He climbs down all your chimneys
He carries a large sack..
He fills it with your valuables
Then quickly hurries back!

To the tune of "Away in a Manger"

Out on the front lawn where Old Saint Nick lay,
He slipped on our roof top,fell out of his sleigh

I think that his necks broke,but, hey, thats ok,
I took all his presents for my christmas day.

He won't be discovered nobody will know,
’cos I covered his body with two feet of snow,

It's not a real big loss that he died that way,
Cause no one believed in Santa anyway.

......Whoever she may be!

Ho! ho! ho!

Not a Christmas one but what the heck!

Rusty Hinge

When I speak
does it scare you?

Should I squeak quietly
as an oiled rusted hinge
who knows the way a door turns
yet can not creak to say?

LIFE
is the door
I
am the hinge
that has been deficit
of oil frequently
I might say

but yes, yes,
I agree
a rusty hinge can
oxidize and break

So try …
oil me if you must

But…
it had better be heavy weight oil!

For I am not tempered
to stand a test of crime
against my word

And
keep in mind
oil seeps through me
as fire on a bed of straw
on dry August days
and
sometimes eagle eyes
can spot
fingerprints on glass
too clearly at times
… I admit

STILL
don’t think I’ll turn to clay
How can I?

The day will never come
when old rusty hinge of iron
forfeits to oxidation
and sedation of the will

We can
flow along smoothly
oil and hinge
as
I will creak … you will oil
moan …

BUT
never, ever
try halt my process
for I am an original
and so by these means

I

SPEAK!

©Charlotte Muir