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Perception

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Christmas Food Fight

“Move over,” said the sprout aloud
To the fare on Christmas Day
“For throughout the year I watch you all
In your very grand displays
And have to sit awaiting for
My turn to be the best
But wait I do with no complaint
For at least I can attest
To being the nation’s favourite
When it comes to this festivity
For like or hate me as they do
Few dare to exclude me!”

“Oh, get a life!” the Turkey groaned
“You silly Nobby green.
For it is as clear as clear can be
That I reign all supreme
At Christmas time for everyone
Knows on that day, I beat
Hands down beef, pork, lamb, goose and duck
As well as chicken meat!
For its not you but I’m the choice
At the nation’s Christmas feast
Yes, me, the Turkey, King of Meats,
Beats all other fowl and beast!”

“Now hang on,” a chestnut then piped in
“For though you may be king
Dear Turkey, and you may be picked
Dear Sprout, you small green thing!
I think you’ll find that it is me
Who most associate
With Christmas tidings every year
For I can celebrate
All roasty, come out of shell,
Appear as stuffing too
Be sweet or savoury as you know
So, beat the pair of you!”

And with that such a fight kicked off
Commotion in the larder store
As other foodstuffs pitched right in
Demanding they meant more
Yet hidden somewhere out of view
All quietly in his tin
Without vying to be the best
No arrogance or din
A little chap with starry hat
And sumptuous filled up case
Sat knowing in his heart that he,
Mince Pie, was worth first place!

For Christmas comes but once a year
And with it goodies abound
Chocolates, wine, sweets and savouries
In plenty are then found
Yet Mince Pie didn’t feel the need
To state his place for he
Knew Christmas was much more than that
And most importantly
He knew that it was more about
Each one playing his part
To bring about the festive spread
Be each a veg, nut meat or tart!

mince pies

With thanks to https://www.instagram.com/p/BcuFJ0MnuQ0/?taken-by=beckyp312 – all rights reserved to original photographer

Christmas Crisis

It’s understood this Christmas, that Santa has a prob!
For his pole is all a-melting and the sleigh won’t do its job
For without a solid runway, the reindeer will not be
Able to get the run they need to take off easily

Well it’s causing a commotion and it’s putting on a strain
For whilst making his red-nose brighter, Rudolf plugged into the mains
And used up precious fossil fuels in his attempts at vanity
Which all the other reindeer say, is a waste of energy

But in truth they are no better for it is a well-known fact
That Dasher, Dancer and Prancer were all in on the act
And Vixen, Comet and Cupid have been seen, so it is said,
Racing about in their fast cars and painting the town red

Whilst Donner and dear Blixem have sheltered from the storms
By chopping up the forests to keep themselves all warm
And the Elves too have been busy a-stoking up their fires
In their workshops as they make the toys for children to admire

So now Santa’s in a quandary, a-worrying ‘bout what he’ll do
Stomping around his grotto and getting in a stew
For the question that he’s pondering, is what if he can’t get
Out with the sleigh on Christmas night causing a huge upset!

“Oh deary me,” he falters, with heavy salty tears
That dribble down his rosy cheeks and dampen Christmas cheer
“For no-one ever listens when you tell them what will be”
He sighs so very loudly, now not feeling Christmassy!

For in fairness, he has no answers despite pulling on his beard
For it’s bad, as bad as it can get, much as he’d always feared
And so it seems this Christmas, the only hope a float
Is that Santa’s elves get busy and build him a magic boat!

When I Am Old

I’m not going to be that old lady
With nothing but gossip to while away hours
Planted in front of the TV soaps
Who plays bingo or drinks sherry
Wearing strings of pearls
With rouged cheekbones and painted nails

Instead my days will draw to a close
Like a vibrant painting
Where splashes of life
And streaks of colour
Will splatter in abstract abandon
As the ink dares to cross the lines

The twilight years where being me
Casts away the cloak of expectation
And dances in the meadow of inspiration
Shouting poetic expression across the plains
And where fresh air rouges my face
Whilst bubbling springs wash over my bare feet

And I will run through forests of books
The inscriptions of the wise
In a quest for eternal knowledge
Jumping into the deepest oceans
To swim against the tide
To bathe in enlightened waters

For the spirit of ageing
Will bloom like the autumn cherry
Fighting the tides of winter
In one final exclamation
Of everything that is life
And of everything that makes life great!

False Impressions

Peacock fans feathers
Assuming authority
So far from the truth!

Substantially flawed
This mock display of grandeur
Belies neutral fact

For ego can’t match
The actual ugly facts
That are now exposed!

Despicable fool
Unable to hide his guilt
Despite full plumage

Head_Peacock

Achieve!

Keep your thoughts pure and clear
Keep your hearts open and kind
Keep your purpose focussed and bright
Keep your life on track;defined

And be the best you can be
Be a beacon for the rest
Be accountable; be virtuous
And above all be honest

For chances come and chances go
In this world where we exist
But stay on the straight and narrow
And temptation you’ll resist

To let your light shine brightly
To let you be on the qui vive
To let you make the most of everything
To live fully and achieve

 

Warning!

I sit and watch parents
All doing their best
To bring up their children
So they don’t become pests
For they take them to this
And they take them to that
Take them swimming, to rugby
Let them swing cricket bat
They pay for their lessons
In music and more
Take them on holidays, to museums
To try and ensure
They have every opportunity
Are brought up to be
Availed of experiences
To furnish a, b and c

But midst all the doing
In the busy rushed mire
I spy little children
Who are exhausted and tired
But what I see too
Are kids who are not
Happy, relaxed
Contented with their lot!
And I spy through the mayhem
Kids who are bored
Who can’t be by themselves
Who are honestly floored
If they just aren’t kept busy
Aren’t “living the dream”
And I think to myself
Is this just what it seems

Is this right for these children
Is this really the best
Or is this the root of a problem
That’s yet not flown the nest
But is brooding for later
When all the chances are spent
And history sighs loudly
And condemns and resents
And looks back and wonders
What good did that do?
Was it really enjoyable?
Or do we now rue
The best for its badness
Options all burned out
As tomorrow’s adults are lost
And completely stressed out!