Love in Disguise

Why does love,

Have so many disguises,

So many questions,

So many surprises,

Like the one on the plane,

Or the one on the bus,

The one on the train,

Or the one in a rush,

The one with the earring,

The one with the beard,

The one with the eye patch,

I particularly feared,

The one with the right leg,

Shorter than his left,

The one with the fur coat,

His mother was bereft,

The one with the moustache,

That ran ear to ear,

And the one with the toupee,

With his cross eyeing leer,


Maybe I should get a dog.

Dating Santa

Please be aware this has a slight adult theme and for that I may no longer be on the nice list,  I apologise.


It has been a very long time,

But I still can’t quite forget,

The night we had together,

That night that we first met,

I’d hung my stockings neatly,

Against the fire to dry,

You’d eyed them so discreetly,

Though I’m sure I heard you sigh,

I saw you in that outfit,

So big and red and round,

And I knew I’d pay a forfeit,

If I made the slightest sound,

You wove a trail of magic,

That had me in your spell,

And I saw the stretch of fabric,

As I watched your big bag swell,

I’m not the type of woman,

Who throws herself at men,

But I felt my boundaries loosen,

When I saw your fountain pen.

You asked me was I naughty,

And I said “Oh no, I’m nice”

You looked at me quite haughty,

And said you’d check it twice.

You gave me such a present,

Against the prickly green,

That the needles fell in torment,

And the fairy’s not been seen.

So this year I’ll be waiting,

For the big man in the suit,

For when you’re dating Santa,

The naughty list is mute.


Monday’s date was fair of face,

A northern accent but just a trace.

A sharpened suit and polished shoes,

But I could not see past greyish hues.


Tuesdays date was full of grace,

He wore a shirt with Belgian lace,

A dazzling smile that nearly blinded,

I was not a man, I think he minded.


Wednesdays date was full of woe,

Dressed in black from head to toe.

Tattooed arms that screamed of death,

The stench of which was on his breath.


Thursday’s date had far to go,

I think I scraped the barrel low.

Yellowed teeth and a nylon wig,

His last six months on a drilling rig.


Fridays date was loving and giving,

But still I felt a slight misgiving,

Perhaps it was the constant petting,

The rising bulge and heavy sweating.


Saturdays date worked hard for a living,

I was not proud, I was forgiving.

But when he said we’d split the bill,

I shot a look and I aimed to kill.


Sunday came and I recalled each day,

The bonny, blithe, the good and gay.

I watched a film and drank some wine,

I’d leave the hunt for some other time.