Ant Smith

All poems

Present

Deck the halls with spumes of tinsel
Fa la la la la la-aaah, god…

No trinkets hanging on my tree
No baubles swaying in the breeze
No robin’s standing in the snow
No angels praying to save my sole.

No Quietly Comforting glass of sherry
No Queen Elizabeth on the Telly
No snowman walking in the air
No each to each, no equal share
No Christmas truce lest we forget
The less words spoken the more things said

It ain’t the thought,
it ain’t the feeling
It is just the ritual of the dealing
Where emotional blackmail is a form of stealing
The labours,
of our work

No
black’n’decker, black’n’decker, black’n’decker, black’n’decker,
black’n’decker, black’n’decker, black’n’decker, black’n’decker,
No brut aftershave, aquatonic
No Christmas Santa woolly socks
No bargain basement tinsel toss
No iPhone
No iPod
No iTunes
No iTouch
No Xbox
No Sony
No DS
No PC
No Gamecube
No Nintendo Wii
You got to Shoot’em-up

It ain't the giving,
it ain't the receiving
It’s the great tradition of mass deceiving
Where you actually find yourself believing
We could have
Peace on earth

Possession is nine tenths
Possession is nine tenths
Possession is nine tenths
Of the problem

Fa la la la la, la la la la