It’s Christmas day
Hip hip hooray
With festive cheer
And our family here
The feast begins
Amidst all our grins
Crackers pulled, mottos read
Fancy hats upon each head
With turkey eaten
We’ll not be beaten
Enter the flaming pud
Which looks so good
But whence it came?
This pudding of fame
‘Twas a Roman cook
Where first we look
Making pottage of meat and veg
Placing in readiness on a window ledge
By the fourteenth century frumenty it became
Meat with fruit, wine and spices, it was not the same
This soupy dish was a fasting meal
A preparation for Christmas was the deal
With added eggs, breadcrumbs and fruit it changed once more
Plum pudding lasted until banned under Puritan law
The arrival of King George, the ‘Pudding King’
Got the outlawed pud back in the swing
For his royal feast he did declare
Plum pudding would be the dessert fayre
By Victorian days the meat had gone
Enter the Christmas pud known by everyone
Merry Christmas!
Hung on a brick wall the mummy looks spooky
its Halloween time and her timing is fluky
she prowls down the lane committing mutiny
hostile as a devil she breathes foul frumenty
Dried up like an old prune she flies like a goon
hovering over the kids that live in Saskatoon
with a menacing laugh she fills them with doom
as they run to hide they leave plenty of room
But oh how she knows where the children go
with their looby loo ways spilling candy intoe
she's been well preserved and is full of woe
angry as a witch who just stubbed her toe
Better close that door and lock it twice
she's mad as a hornet and not very nice
sucking on brains is her only device
this mummy from Sask, never knocks thrice.
It’s Christmas day
Hip hip hooray
With festive cheer
And our family here
The feast begins
Amidst all our grins
Crackers pulled, mottos read
Fancy hats upon each head
With turkey eaten
We’ll not be beaten
Enter the flaming pud
Which looks so good
But whence it came?
This pudding of fame
‘Twas a Roman cook
Where first we look
Making pottage of meat and veg
Placing in readiness on a window ledge
By the fourteenth century frumenty it became
Meat with fruit, wine and spices, it was not the same
This soupy dish was a fasting meal
A preparation for Christmas was the deal
With added eggs, breadcrumbs and fruit it changed once more
Plum pudding lasted until banned under Puritan law
The arrival of King George, the ‘Pudding King’
Got the outlawed pud back in the swing
For his royal feast he did declare
Plum pudding would be the dessert fayre
By Victorian days the meat had gone
Enter the Christmas pud known by everyone
Merry Christmas!
~~~
A seasonal frame of mind led to this!
I see mountains and fountains – all within
Mountains of grief too have the snow-capped peaks
And hopes always rise like the dawn’s light – thin;
As in dense forest you would find some creeks
I see rivers and islands – all within
Islands of desolation are plenty
The rivers of life, still flow in between
The sailor smiles and enjoys frumenty
I see valleys and alleys – all within
Valleys of love are there to reconcile
Leaving the dark narrow alleys of sin
Journey begins towards the happy aisle
I see thunders and wonders – in your lips
Come what may, from there, honey fairly drips
24.11.2016
you’re not adams apple
the fruits from tree of the knowledge
of good and evil
in the middle of the garden of eden
in genesis
yet at you
the round oranges of this afternoon-town
i stare
and my pate gradually
becomes pregnant
the wind that comes after
having a touch of your lips
puts the waging of its tail on my forehead
and my guava-leaf begins to melt
thus my hardware-business is going
into liquidation
the physician to the king is telling
it’s the symptom of an awful fever attended with
the morbidity of the three humours of the body
used and used and used
your smile has not yet become
stupid
so from where the lamp-posts of the
town start
there are the cutlets and the bolster
they are not the only to utter the last words
i’m too
in this summer
trying to decorate
the gate of my cage like wedding ceremony
if any soundless dew-drop comes
to prepare and feed me
my birth-day frumenty
but i’ve no tongue
at all
all over the face there are only the eyes
and to the fate of my staring-at
has ever so much blessings been available
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