Chris O’Carroll: Christmas With Dorothy P.
Cut the fruitcake! Pour the gin!
Men may be unreliable,
But ’tis the season for some sin!
The urge is undeniable.
◊ ◊ ◊
Julia Griffin: Mnemonic
No art historian of weight,
Nor psychoanalyst of worth,
Will muddle the Immaculate
Conception with the Virgin Birth.
◊ ◊ ◊
Damian Balassone: Sundays
Depression on a Sunday afternoon
ensues when thoughts of Monday come too soon.
◊ ◊ ◊
Daniel Galef: Modern Mages
From brains made out of silicon, not Brazen Heads, we learn.
We once sketched circles in the sand. Today, we’ve dug out CERN.
◊ ◊ ◊
Rob Barratt: Art History
(National newspapers reported a study
which said that the Mona Lisa’s smile
was due to a thyroid problem)
Though a thyroid gland may have had a hand
In the Mona Lisa’s grin, she
Was just supressing, (though I’m only guessing)
A fart from Leonardo da Vinci
◊ ◊ ◊
Tom Vaughan: Parties
Parties get better –
people don’t grope;
they talk to each other.
The dud ones smoke dope.
◊ ◊ ◊
Susan de Sola: Postlapsarian Giraffe
Although blessed in being tall,
They are doomed at birth to fall.
◊ ◊ ◊
Geoff Lander: Free Travel Advice
Hark! In the desert. A crunchety crunch
A scorpion scoffing a crickety lunch? Let him.
◊ ◊ ◊
L. A. Mereoie: Joint Strippers
Gladys worked with a girl from Odessa
As a crowd-pulling body-revealer,
Billed as Cardiff Bay’s Best Welsh Undresser
And Olga The Great Easy Peeler.
◊ ◊ ◊
Damian Balassone: Adolescence
Her days of flawless beauty
are gone without a trace;
the pimples of indulgence
explode across her face.
◊ ◊ ◊
James B. Nicola: When the sky’s so blue
When the sky’s so blue,
I can’t be, too!
◊ ◊ ◊
Melissa Balmain: Zoo Snafu
(For the friend I agreed to meet
" by the flamingo exhibit.")
But who knew
There were two?
◊ ◊ ◊
Chris O’Carroll: Christmas With Edna S.V.M.
We do not choose a silent night.
We’re more than just good friends.
When we set our Yule log alight,
We burn it at both ends.
◊ ◊ ◊
Paul Willis: Red Mountain Heather
(Phillodoce empetriformis)
Red mountain heather, in every weather
you supply your blush and bloom.
Your shy cover, like a lover,
makes the cirque a secret womb.
