Twelve days waiting in a barn for them, we were, For two weeks, nearly, with the horses. Two weeks waiting for a bit of gold and myrrh, And a warning not to fall to Herod’s forces.
The shepherds came by early, but they couldn’t stay for long: As they’d left their sheep all grazing in the pasture. (I hoped the wolves weren’t prowling, nor the north-wind blowing strong, And their truancy not noticed by their master.)
Surely now the census had been tallied up and done, There must have been some room back in the inn ? But there we slept, and waited, till the angel told us “Run”… …Or was it we went home, back to our kin ?
And that, my lad, is how you spent a fortnight in a manger, Upon the hay – or so we’ve always spun. They must have used the Julian, those fine-attired strangers, While you were pure Gregorian, my son !
Eeza geezer, Dionysus. Gizza nuzzer to entice us Inniz wurship – God of Gordons. Bollocks to them prudy wardens Sipping on their PG Tipsy, Brewing herbs like any gypsy. Scoring tuts they hope will crack us. Help to keep us drunk, oh Bacchus ! Make us all too sloshed to care, And stink our belches, glaze our stare – Then dull their nagging, blur their saga. Piss me up, oh Lord of Lager ! Spirits call me to your shrine – Visions fill me, Vine Divine ! Awe-full shakes set me a quiver. Take this sacrifice: my liver.
Michael’s ones are round, But Gabriel’s are pointed – With orders, each is crowned, And mouldings, each anointed. With stonework tightly joined And structurally sound, Gabriel’s are pointed, But Michael’s ones are round.
If God is not, and I believe, Then my mistake shall matter none to me – And when I come this life to leave, I matter none to void infinity.
If God there is, and I abstain, Then my mistake shall matter great and well – And when I quit this earthly plain, I matter none to He who saves from Hell.
If God is not, or God there is, Still our mistake, for taking up this bet. So ere our lives are done, know this – They matter much, they might be all we get.
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone – His birthday today, and the years have flown. Thirty today, and what has he done ? Never been married, never had a son. He feels he’s achieved far less than he’d oughta Whittling the wood while his life’s getting shorter “Gimme a break, an’ I’ll set the joint humming, I’ll give unto Caesar just what he’s got coming !”
“I’m gonna Rise with the dawn to pray and sing, I’m gonna Rise with the dawn and bless the poor – They’re gonna raise me up an’ crown me king, An’ when they think me beat, I’ll be back for more !”
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone – All night he’s preaching in his slurrey drone. He’s wasted round here, his vital mission – There’s plenty to hear him, but none to listen. Already he’s had two more than he oughta, Knocking it back as though it were water. He bangs down his grail with an angry thud – “Gimme another, cos this is my blood !”
“I’m gonna Find me some fishermen, and practice how to talk, I’m gonna Find me some fishermen and go from town to town – I’m gonna cross the waves if I have to walk, And if you wanna stop me, you’ll havta nail me down !”
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone – This world is a bitch and it needs to atone. He’s got his sermons and hymns to dispense – He’s telling his stories, but they don’t make sense. “Why won’t you bastards listen like you oughta ? Why won’t you hark to the lessons what I taught yer ? The love of money is the root of all malign !” But the barman doesn’t care as he charges for the wine.
“I’m gonna Work with my hands till I raise some sparks, I’m gonna Work with my hands till they heed what I tell, One day so these palms are gonna bear marks, An’ if you don’t believe me, I’ll see you in Hell !”
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone, He’s got his second wind, he’s rolling back the stone – Says he’s gotta leave and join the cherubim, To do unto others like they’d better do to him. He knows he’s delayed for longer than he oughta – Someone’s gotta be the Devil’s holy thwarter, Someone’s gotta sow so the reapers reap their seedful, Someone’s gotta help all the camels through the needle.
“I’m gonna Quit this hick town and walk the Earth, I’m gonna Quit this hick town and bang my drum, I’m gonna walk out and show them what I’m worth, I’m gonna walk out till kingdom come !”
“I’d rather believe in an absolute something Than trust in an absolute nothing at all. And thus I choose faith in an undefined coming, Than ponder the empty and chanceful and small.” But how can an absolute anything be In a finite and singular universe host ? And as for an absolute nothing, well see, That nature abhors of a vacuum the most.
Aliens, aliens, Somewhere they’re out there ! The odds are so great, And the physics agrees. They just need a planet With temp’rature fair, With water that’s liquid, And low stellar breeze. And who would have thought it, But when we went looking, There’s thousands of planets Just lurking all over. So down in their oceans, What might they have cooking ? Alas, they’re too distant To send out a Rover.
Ah, but imagine if we could ! Just grab our towels and jelly beans And stride our cosmic neighbourhood ! If only we could learn the means. Until such time, it might be wise To doubt the news, and watch the skies.
Forget about greys Or a buxom blue femme, We know they’ll look nothing Like anything here. For they’ll be as strange As must we be to them, From opposite ends Of the final frontier. So let’s not be too harsh On yoofoo believers For who knows what’s lurking Beyond our ken ? But things are too distant For radar receivers To show us the saucers Of little green men.
Ah, but imagine if they could ! Above high clouds, they’d scrutinise Our quaint provincial neighbourhood. Alas, I must dispute your cries. The only people up there, guys, Are far outside our lonely skies.
Rhyming Couplets 