All I ever heard in church was “God agrees with me”. How they were right and I was wrong, cos “God agrees with me”. No matter what the subject, What the decade, What the town – This world was full of sinners, And they all were going down ! If only we would listen To each humble, pious gent – For only they could understand What Jesus really meant ! No matter how opposing were their views, Old God would not refuse – He’d back them up – he always does – Their pocket referee. So all I ever learned it church was “God agrees with me !”
The tinsel has been strung all week, The holly wreathed around the door, The cards bedeck the mantlepiece, The tree is lit-up like a store. But if we came inside to peek On where to kiss – no go, it seems… The mistletoe has yet to lease It’s tenure on the ceiling beams.
The trouble is, our hostess speaks, It dries out quickly in the warm – And pleasures in the kiss decrease, She finds, when beauties don’t conform. For who can peck on rosy cheeks Beneath such yellow-wilted leaves ? And so, the gooser of the geese Won’t dangle down till Christmas Eve.
“It isn’t really quaint and meek, You know, but a toxic parasite.” So says my clued-up, teenage niece – “Infact, just like this kissing blight: Demanding favours, beak-to-beak, And women feeling bound to please. From Pagan Briton, Ancient Greece – Let’s leave tradition on the trees.”
But we don’t need to be so bleak, My love, with New Year looming big ! Let’s open up our Winter fleece And warm our lips beneath the sprig. But if we came inside to seek A spot to kiss, we’re out of luck – The mistletoe, by cruel caprice, Has not a berry left to pluck…
I know it’s a pretty dream, Virginia, That an adult might be true, But they’re lying through their teeth, my dear, And laughing back at you. They pat your pretty head, Virginia, And feed you a fairy tale, Then chide you when you fib, my dear, Their hypocrisy’s off-the-scale. The lesson to remember, kid, When asking for the gist, Is to never trust the printed word Of any journalist. For ev’rything the adults tell, Each lesson, tale, or fact, Is just a product that they sell, A vast and secret pact. Virginia, you need to know The rule they all live by – To keep hold of the status quo They’ll lie and lie and lie. I know it’s a crying shame, Virginia, That they won’t tell you straight That Santa Claus is a con, my dear – For goodness sake – you’re eight !
Photo taken in South Korea by Hyeongchol Kim. I suspect this shows an attempt by the crow at mobbing.
Stirred-Up Eagles
As an eagle fluttereth over her young, and beareth them on her wings.
Deuteronomy 32:11
Moses, clearly, doesn’t know The first thing about a bird – The very idea that they carry their kids on their backs Is clearly absurd. Now ducks will swim with their chicks up-top, But no birds fly with the over-slung. I mean, how would they even flap And not dislodge their precious young ?
From the moment they are laid, they are watched – For racoons and owls are swift. And long before they’re fully fledged, They’re far too heavy to lift. They never leave the nest until they start to branch, And not for long. Until at last, they fly away, all by themselves, When the urge is strong.
Moses, clearly, doesn’t know The first thing about a bird – A shame, for the metaphor of these loving parents Should be heard. And a basic grasp of aerodynamics Would quickly scotch such a fantasy – But above all, enjoy them for what they are, And not what prophets would have them be.
The quote above has been elided to make it snappier, but its meaning hasn’t been changed. Some have tried to claim that the second half of the fully verse is talking only about Yahweh, and not about eagles – but if we squint hard enough to make this work out, it then becomes an appallingly bad piece of writing that changes the subject of its pronoun midway through. Perhaps this is more of a King James problem, as other translations separate the two clauses more clearly, but I guess that the Lord couldn’t be bothered to sufficiently inspire the Jacobean scribes. Either that, or the KJV is truly inerrant, and thus confirms that God is a women…
The ancient Egyptians filled their tombs with stuff, As a trust-fund for the afterlife – Finest robes, spices and jewellery, Not to mention a mummified wife ! But it wasn’t just the practice of royalty, The need, it seems, is in the bone – Even the oldest and simplest folks Rarely buried their friends alone.
I rather think you would smile at the thought, How you’re combed and dressed in your finest suit – As if you would need to impress St Peter Or grease some angelic palms with your loot. But then, it’s only symbolic stuff we’ve included, Stuff you would never be without – Family photos to show to Jesus, While you take a drag on your favourite snout.
Even the pins in your hip, I guess, And the handles of your coffin, and the nails. And the memories, of course, that are left within your mind, For beguiling the cherubs with your tales. Not that you believed in that, of course, Nor we who lower you into the ground, But it just feels right, that you have them with you – The same urge those archaeologists found.
I’ve always hated that verse – To take a disobedient, wayward son, A glutton and drunkard, and maybe something worse – And to drag him to the elders, and call on ev’ryone To muster at the gate of the town To take up stones, and put him down.
But I recently heard a theory That asks what parents would willing follow ? After all, it costs them so dearly, And any sense of piety must leave them hollow. How extreme must their son appal For such a code to be needed at all ?
Surely this was only spoken To deal with the psychopaths among them ?, The ones who threatened until they were broken, The monsters and parasites dressed as young men. How else could they protect their town When a rabid dog was skulking around ?
But even setting the problem of evil aside, Is this the best defence ? Why must the Lord make the parents decide When enough is enough ? It beggars all sense – It’s just too cruel for anyone To have to denounce their troubled son.
But honestly, I have my doubts, That this is what is meant by it at all – And if it is, it needs to spell it out, Just why they’re thrust against the wall, To stop the zealots stoning ev’ry child By judging surliness as ‘running wild’.
Thank goodness we ignore such spite, And wonder why we keep such books around. For there’s a psychopath, alright, But he’s not the frightened kid upon the ground – Rather, he’s the one with crazy eyes Who gladly casts the first stone from the skies.
People are funny with mirrors, We see in them things that were never reflected. We peer into glasses in gloomy old houses, And swear that the ghosts of the vain are detected – Sort of like negative-vampires, Who can only be seen in their opposite form, As a shadow that moves on the edge of our sight When the candlelight blinks in the empty old dorm. We whisper into the speculum, And fancy we glimpse at the face of another From out of the silvery clouds in the tarnish – A movement, a flicker, our killer, our lover. We treat them as if they were watching, To open a portal to trap the unwary. But deep down we know that they only reflect us – Perhaps that’s precisely what makes them so scary…
The Buddhists believe in the hungry ghosts, Who need to feed – So paper models of modern life are burned, To sate their greed. Good to know that the heavenly hosts Are capitalists, Hording the hell-money they never earned In their undead fists.
Ev’ry cherub has a good side, Has a cute and blond-curled nonesuch, Muted-trumpet, harp-soft-touch. But deep within, they surely hide A grinning, sharp-horned, prong-tailed whiplash, Bass-drum-beating, cymbal crash.
The truth is, in ev’ry Gabriel, A Lucifer is also present – Ready, should things get unpleasant… But likewise, in the darkest Hell, In ev’ry Beelzebub in town, A Michael waits to calm things down.
Musical AI version generated by Suno.com – find more of them over here.
Rhyming Couplets 