New Year’s Get Out Clause

Your New Years Resolution:
" Avoid Prostitution
And diamante necklaces and lost retribution
Shove it up your arse pal and call me a taxi
Tampons
Liliets
Mini or Maxi
(A note for men should hereon begin:
Its not what you stick up there nor what you put in
A woman’s aspect relies not on dimension
Nor the depth the width the girth, nor intention)
A New Resolution for you absolving the past
Call me a taxi pal
And fuck make it fast..."

© Marjorie Razorblade 2008

Comments: Fuck New Years Resolutions. Run away fast from anyone who tells you what their New Years Resolution is for this year. The above poem is a pre-emptive response to one person in particular who should stop wasting his money on cheap tarts and listen to my advice for once.

"Something is Coming"

Something is coming.
Can you feel it?

The wind has changed direction; it’s an ill wind that blows.
Cobwebs are being spun, spiders spinning their silk stockings just in time for Christmas, crossing their legs for something special.

Get them just one present if you’re shopping for a spider, they will see eight of everything anyway.
 
It’s just an aside.
(But useful if you loose your mind in time for the countdown to consumerism in T-minus 75 days.)

Yo ho ho says the fat man. Let’s poke him in the eye with a stick. Kick him up his big red arse and send him back to Lapland, bring us the meat of a reindeer red faced and ravenous, bring me not tinsel
Bring me not Coca-Cola nor that fucking lorry lit up with the fires of hades reflected in the rearview mirror of the past
Roadkill Lorry sings the holiday song

Clever bastards
If I could advertise like they could.

  We’d all be fucked.

Bring me not baubles
Bring me not Donner
Nor Blitzen
Blitzkrieg please and one tommy gun
I go like Spanish sewing machine
Da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Bring me not repetitive carols through the tin-whistle PA bringing blood to the haunches of billions, bringing frustration to the ears of millions, bringing torture to the hunkered minds of hundreds,
Bringing with it: realisation in the gaudy packaging that
YOU
Are spending money on absolute shit for people that you don’t actually like.
To you, to me, and to everyone.
Wind-up monkey with tin drums
Shop shop shop and stuff your big fat stupid commercial loving face with uneconomical burgers from the King of the world when you’ve finished

Satisfy your own joyful tidings I say-
Stick your fists up a turkeys arse and provide new meaning to the words –

Boxing Day

Your mother deserves it for going to all that effort of boiling the spouts until they’re yellow and smell like an incontinent lurcher
She should go first.
Set the oven timer
Ding ding round one
Patent the idea, tell your friends, steal the turkey words, be the top dog at the dinner table for your wit and stick your fists up the turkeys arse.

The doorbell rings

(I don’t do Turkey. It’s dull bland and bloodless)
I do red blooded beef and these gloves are heavy you fuck, let me in and we’ll see how Dead Cow trumps Dead Turkey
Who would win in a fight?
Lets find out
Let me in

Sixpence in the orange sorbet, fivepence in the famine family pack of mince pies, two pence in the grand scheme of worth.
Arch your fingers unpopular dinner guest, narrow your eyes, sit in the thick winged chair in a darkened corner of the fireside alone, glower at the coals
Will that Yule log to slip from the fire and burn the house down

Dear Santa- For Christmas I would like:
Telekinesis
And a Yule Log
Also, please bring back the Green Elf
The Evil Elf
The green man of Natures Festival, oranges of cloves, nuts and berries, and if you were lucky
A circled crown of mistletoe
For kissing non stop with, for making hay while the snow falls with, lighting the sky of the borealis, for making life tie together in unifying harmony with

Bring me not plastic toys ages 3 and over
Bring me not pre packaged junk to fill my garden with
Bring me not a fragile family togetherness instigated by the birth of one dead carpenter
And dare you to bring me not:
“Mass”
On pain of Crucifixion
I know my rights.
Its two syllables
It’s a book it’s a film
Its its its....
Oh
Its
Fairy Lights

Something is Coming.
Can you feel it?
A wild lone self walks through the wild lone woods, darkly noon, crunchy footsteps in the snowdrifts of your mind, shovel the love from the pathways of singularity, light the fires! Fill the windows, stained glass warm tones dance with the blue haired ladies of the naked flames, fill the forests, warm the bones of the empty birds.
Nuts and berries and oranges filled with cloves. We leave the empty birds nothing. Shivering in their darkened trees, huddled against the ill wind that blows and changes direction…

Something is coming.
Can you feel it?

It’s an ill wind that blows.

© Marjorie Razorblade
 

Comments: Something is coming. If its wrapped in multi-coloured paper I don’t want it.