Snow hadn’t fallen overnight, but a heavy frost had covered the ground
and in the morning, a little boy ran downstairs in his dressing gown.
He could see the tree lights, as he skipped his way down the hall
it was Christmas day, many years ago; Father Christmas had made his call.
And there under the Christmas tree, was a rather large cardboard box
full of carefully wrapped presents of toys, sweets and new football socks.

i.

Coffee kisses in the morning,
goodbyes at the front door
you on your way humming the
working-man's song
me herding the see-no-evil
monkey off my back
into poem.

ii.

We are political animals
being led to the slaughter
listening to what will never be heard
outside the twilight zone of conclusions,
blind faith
just can't see, too deaf
and dumb to walk
through another door
marked "Reality".

iii.

On this deep December day
with all leaves now gone away
like hummingbirds, just memories,
forgotten on the sharp chill breeze
the naked limbs are set to sway.

The cold has firmly taken hold
and brought to heel decay and mold
while stilling pools with frozen glaze
where cattails quiver on cold days
when northern winds grow bold.

Even daylight has retreated
as if darkness is now greeted
while the world drifts off to sleep
here within this woodland keep,
another cycle soon completed.

There is meaning to this simple inspiration,
Unimportant I suppose,
Yet it inundates the world,
Can there be so much color in so little space?

There is huge risk in inspiration,
And Yet I implore you think otherwise,
There is no invention without risk,
And can there be invention without innovation?

Then the world will stand here,
And the world shall continue to think,
Yet inspiration will continue to strive,
There will be countless error in inspiration.