Poetry
The Latest Noel (2011) and Metals of the Future (2018) are two volumes of poetry. All poems are different, and, as rule, there is not much to be said about collections. And even among professional writers, poetry is a minority interest. However, it is probably more durable than novel-writing; it likely takes more skill, and it probably says important things that philosophy can't. Which is not to say that any of the poems in either of these books is any good. In the author's defence, they weren't written for a profit!
The Latest Noel
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Noel, noel, the angel did sing;
The Stella’s a-flowing,
We’re still at the bar.
Will Young’s on the jukebox,
(The fourth time we’ve heard him;
It’s Christmas, you’d think they’d play Slade, but oh no.)
Drink up what you’ve got there, the bartender’s
Ringing his big ding-a-ling.
(Ding-a-ling, j’geddit? Chuck Berry! Yeah, whoa.)
Last orders. Then Marks’s to get the kids something –
No, Toyzone, that’s right: Marks and Spencer’s the girlfriend.
Oi, blimey, oi, watch it: my Stella! My Stella! you deaf, you fat dork?
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Noel, noel, the angel did sing.
Darling, I’m home, shall we eat out tonight?
I bought a red hat, look, I’m Santa, ho-ho!
Not funny, I know. No, I haven’t been drinking.
Well maybe just one. - It’s beginning to snow!
That’s sleet.
It’s just rain.
Let the kids know, in case.
“The turkey’s from Waitrose, the last one they had.
I did what they said, it’s defrosting.” Good show.
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Noel, noel, the angel did sing.
Me baseball cap’s gone!
And you can shut up, they’re not cheap, not those Nike ones!
Look at Ewan, he’s puking.
He’s been mixing his drinks, the sad git.
Phwoar, look at those two; not them – there: the fit ones,
They’ll fit in the taxi with us, on our laps.
I can’t go just yet, I’ve got Marks’s and Toyzone.
Aw, shut it, they’re open till five, ‘Auntie Flo’.
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And love, Xmas luv, enters into the bloodstream,
We all simultaneously connect, Forster-style.
We gush at the charities, put cash in their boxes,
What me? Make a difference? Hic! Yep, there you go.
And drunks of both genders
Round the Salvation Army,
Insisting on bare hugs for free, between tunes.
No drinking and driving, no thrifty conniving,
It’s the generousest, generousest time of the year.
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Science-fiction Christmas cards:
Coaches, horses, top hats, stars.
Andy Williams, la-la-la.
We’re smash-smash smashing a Mazda in.
We only want the stereo,
Enough for a toy and a tube of glue.
Sniffing under the Xmas tree,
Seeing angels, hearing bells,
The shepherds’ ancient wild noel:
Born is the King of Israel.