Monthly Archives: December 2015

The Feast of Christmas

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The Feast of Christmas is a short poem about being grateful to Jesus for both big things and little things.

The Feast of Christmas

This is a feast to celebrate, to celebrate the best
So raise a glass of mulled wine and a slice of turkey breast
Let’s drink to our salvation, better than we ever dreamed
And eat those pigs in blankets, now that bacon’s been redeemed

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Gingerbread Nativity: Soul food

Santactus

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In Tesco at the moment, you can buy a real cactus dressed as Father Christmas. A photo of my Santa Cactus (Santactus) featured at the end of a poem posted earlier this week.

I named it Santactus then realised that this sounded like the name of some old Roman god. When all the other fleeting, festive frivolities have passed away, this cactus will remain. Standing tall.

Santactus

Tinsel falls from trees once trim
Baubles shatter, lights grow dim
Candles lie in waxy heaps but

Santactus irrecusably remains

Green wreaths rot in glittering piles
The neon reindeer lose their smiles
Robins lie in bloodstained heaps but

Santactus irrefutably remains

Christmas jumpers now unravel
Sleighs decay, unfit for travel
Snowmen lie in melted heaps but

Santactus irreducibly remains

Wrapping paper patterns fade
Handcrafted Christmas cards degrade
Ribbons lie in tangled heaps but

Santactus irrepressibly remains

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Ironically, Santactus actually died shortly after the completion of this poem. But another will rise.

Chocolate Sprouts

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One of the most exciting parts of Christmas Eve is hanging up the stockings! While it’s impossible to predict exactly what Father Christmas will place in them, there are certain things that appear each and every year.

One of these things, in my house at least, is a bag of chocolate sprouts. Yes, chocolate sprouts. Like chocolate coins, but sprouts. It’s not complicated.

In Chocolate Sprouts, the two breeds of sprouts (brussels and chocolate) are engaged in a violent war.

Chocolate Sprouts

Chocolate sprouts are breaking free
Sneering as they look at me
Chocolate sprouts are breaking loose
Oh, what carnage they produce

Chocolate sprouts are breaking in
See the Brussels siege begin
Chocolate sprouts are breaking through
Howling as they come for you

Chocolate sprouts are breaking up
Lighting candles as they sup
Chocolate sprouts are breaking out
Snorting as they charge about

Chocolate sprouts are breaking off
Civil War! The Brussels scoff
Chocolate sprouts are breaking down
Melting into pools of brown

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The Brussels Sprouts Boil With Anger

Who Art In Lapland

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It’s nearly Christmas! This is my absolute favourite time of the year! I love so much about Christmas. The music, the decorations, the trees, the presents! It’s all so wonderful but, if I’m totally honest, it can also be a huge distraction from what Christmas actually is. The true meaning of Christmas is not presents, we all know that. It’s not family and friends (despite what Disney might tell you). It’s not even joy and peace in an abstract sense.

Don’t get me wrong, that stuff’s great and I buy into it year after year and enjoy it immensely. But let’s not faff around with all this ‘Christmas is about family’ nonsense. Christmas is about Christ. Hence the ‘Christ’ in Christmas. God became a person. That’s pretty, kinda,  ridiculously exciting.

This poem is about rampant commercialism, the deification of Santa, and the twisted works-gospel of modern day Christmas. I’m so edgy.

Who Art In Lapland

Santa won’t love me
If I don’t buy presents
For all my friends and family
If I don’t buy them now

Santa won’t love me
If I don’t buy gifts
He knows if I’ve been bad or good
It’s written on his brow

Santa won’t love me
If I don’t buy offerings
And lay them on the alter
Of the great Cash Cow

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HAIL SANTACTUS