So never will I marry
any Tom, Dick or Harry
A simple lie I cannot tell
No sound of a wedding bell

When I think of the endless fun I’ve had
To marry would just make me mad
What’s with all that domestic bliss
Must be more to life than this
Making commitments and vows
In truth, I can’t be bothered now

As I passed by the sitting booth
in the X-Mas bar and grill,
I saw Mr. and Mrs. Santa
sit down to have a swill.

He patted her on the bum,
she kissed him on the cheek,
I distinctly heard her say,
Boy, what a wretched week!

He said; Yeah, I know it hon,
but it's all over now.
We had some terrifying moments,
but we got through somehow.

We had to can elf Albert,
he ate my stash of magic cookies.
He tried to hit on you, my love,
looking for some nookie.

The socks I’ve lost have formed a group,
to curl in shadows, an elastic troupe.
Their patterns never get to match,
my feet do itch, it’s athlete's scratch,
this bitter chill makes pinkies droop.

My shoes are slack, my souls they roar,
A pun on soles, you know, I’m sure.
Feet slip and slide in cheeses sin,
The socks I’ve lost - not him again.

In dreams I wove the golden rays of sun,
Adorned with dazzling letters, and the dew.
I craved the letters, one by one, to stun
The world with verses, hymns, and songs anew.

The N for New, the E for Elegance,
The O for Opulent, P for Polished grace,
The O, Outstanding, E for Excellence,
The T for talents time will not erase.

I woke to find my dreams had all come true.
Neopoet brings forth what's imaginative;
The letters I engraved must still break through—
A new dawn rises, poets' mark distinctive.

New Year
Time for review
Time to amend one's ways
To become a better person
New man

Running along
To the beat of a drum
With the colours of life
In tow
The rhythm is fast
The beat is strong
It's lighting up my soul
My mind
It sparks
With electric tension
The percussive rhythm
Beats

Fleshed out as poetic confessional.

Profligacy prevailed pricking psyche
precipitating pandemonium.

I wrought havoc courtesy aegis
of paramours picadillos, yours truly did relish
crooning, clowning, and cavorting
around at Piccadilly Circus
located in Regent Street, Shaftesbury Avenue
Piccadilly, Covent Street and Haymarket.

Fast forward into the present
meaning Christmas day 2024.

Bring in the scoundrels;
let me see them.

Have you double checked the list?

Aye, aye, Sir they are all,
in fact, on the naughty list.
What’s to be done with them?

Make them build igloos
in the North Pole,
noses red as Rudolph’s.
Frostbitten hands will
surely teach them a lesson.

No, no Sir,
not nearly,
cruel enough.
Pass them pick axes,
send them to flint-coal,
for those only
a bit naughty.

I am part of the wall of sound
Just one of one hundred voices
Each one
Contributing a piece
To make the song complete

The wall of sound
Is powerful
And gives me the power
To contribute one voice
To the unison of voices

Together
We all work
In one direction
And with one goal
To make beautiful music

We help each other
In so many ways
By encouraging
By actively helping
By being there
And working in oneness

F ountains of blooms in every season,

R ivers of love- unconditional, for no reason.

I nvaluable_ a smile, a blessing's flare,

E arnestness_ the aroma of scented air.

N ights of endless fun and muse,

D ays that glow in colorful hues.

S ongs to beat the hardest times,