The bloomin’ hour. Bah humbug.

The bloomin’ hour. Bah humbug.

Daylight saving is there any reason for it in this day and age?

So much written

Is there any rhyme to it

When there are no

Real reasons,

For the preoccupation

Is said

To be little less

Than a diversion

To carry the burden

Of wishful thinking

Beyond the certainty

Of naval gazing.

When shoehorned into

Descriptive narrative

Creative process

Is a blind

Of foolish endeavour

When the outcome

Is less than underwhelming,

Who benefits

From the collusion

When the king

Is found to be wearing

No clothes.

Keep clear of naked flames

Or the whole damn thing

Will go up in smoke

Even when the verse

Does not singe the eyebrows

Metaphors likened unto similes

With harsh words scrawled

Onto the page

More in pain than expression

The last line

Of a bad joke

Still has killer potential

And it is essential

To believe

I still have

More left than a

Single

Silver bullet

With which

To shoot the breeze.