Brussels for BreXmas Dinner

Come join in the carols for Christmas

When ‘tis held man was given fresh hope

A future of peace and harmony

Joy past the common scope

No-one explained to the turkeys

Or gave them any choice

What roast might grace the tables

Because  they didn’t have a voice

Politicians saw the lesson in this

And put Brexit to a turkeys’  vote

So fault can’t  be laid at Parliament’s door

Fake claims not traced to a scapegoat

Sadly, the turkeys voted for Christmas

Two years later there still is no deal

A date was fixed for December

When all might dine on a BreXmas meal

So enjoy if you can your turkey

Though the Brussels might stick in your throat

Britain divided, scorned and laughed at

As we push off in our rickety boat

Brexit Impasse

Just how crazy can it get?

This cruelly wasted chance

No clear way forward emerging yet

We’re being led a merry dance


‘Leaders’ push, pull, point, all in vain

They’re facing different ways

Concerned only, it seems, for political gain

Yet running out of days


Decision referred to a people’s vote

Then lurching to a general election

This circus must have seemed remote

All oblivious to sure EU rejection


Cometh the hour, cometh the man?

With courage to grasp the nettle?

A will-do attitude, not ‘no-can’

A LEADER who has some mettle


But no one out there seems up to the job

They’re letting the UK down

I’ve wasted two votes and want to sob

Was it me who was the clown?


I’ve reached that point, where all that matters

Is a warm and sunny day

Too often does cold, take bitter hold

And gnaw at my bones like decay


When the sun shines, there is some release

From the prison that is my home

I then struggle out, without a clout

With freedom, at last, to roam


On winter days, so short and cold

The four walls close in as a vice

Listening aghast, to the weather forecast

Promising snow and ice


Bed is sanctuary, where shivers subside

Though my nose asks for cover too

Like Oates to Scott, I know I’m facing my lot

When I briefly pop out to the loo


If this land goes to hell, in the proverbial handcart

For the young, I’d feel sorrow in large measure

It isn’t all sad; there’ll be one thing not bad

The heat I’ll enjoy with great pleasure