Saturday, 19 December 2009

The Knight Before Christmas



A typical 'relaxing at home' outfit
Right, feeling better now. Thank you for your hangover cures.

I rewrote this 'orrible schmaltzy poem a couple of weeks ago, and felt very pleased at how witty and original I was until I saw lots of others had done the same thing, sooner and better. Particularly Bob and Eva. Oh well.

Anyway, for your reading pleasure; a sobering tale of a less-than-sober Christmas reunion. It's serious stuff.


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat
Not a creature was stirring, (we'd sold off the cat).
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
Along with some other top-notch underwear.

The children were nestled all snug at their Dad's,
who was out, naughty chap, in the pub with the lads.
And mamma stayed in with some tonic and gin,
And some Pringles with dip, for a long evening in.

When out on the street there arose such a racket,
She fell off the sofa and tore her new jacket.
Away to the window she flew with a curse,
I daren't repeat it, although you've heard worse.

The moon on the breast of the statue outside
Made its bosoms look big and its hips far too wide.
When, what to her booze-fuddled eyes should appear,
But the guys from the pub, overflowing with beer.

There was one on the phone, trying vainly to text,
she knew in a moment it must be her ex.
Like damp chipolatas his fingers they went,
It would surely be morn 'fore that message was sent!

"Now Jason! now, Tony! now, Martin and Steve!
Look, David! You've got some kebab on your sleeve
Try to look sober, grown-up and clean-breasted,
Or the cops will turn up and we'll all be arrested.

Mindful of this, the lads soon dissipated,
Apart from her hubby who stood with breath bated,
Looking uncertainly up at the flat,
Where his missus of fond memory was now at.

And then, in a twinkling, he weaved to the door
And dinged on the bell with a trembling paw.
No answer there came, but with booze-inspired pluck,
Down the chimney he went, though he nearly got stuck.

His dress was smart casual, from his head to his foot,
But his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
He didn't look clever or famous or rich,
Apart from his shirt, Abercrombie and Fitch.

His eyes-they were bloodshot! His lips, like blueberry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
But he grinned like a fool and tried to look sober,
Which he hadn't been since the last week of October.

But he didn't look too bad, all things considered
Though he looked a bit dozy and quite heavy-lidded
Nevertheless his bearing was burly
Curly his hair, his moustache nicely whirly

Come in to the kitchen she said with a sigh,
You'd better have coffee, I've got a supply
It's not that you're welcome, she said with a shrug,
It's just that the soot is destroying my rug.

He opened his mouth to deliver a carol
She hit him quite hard with an old biscuit barrel
Ouch, he exclaimed, was it something I did?
Yes, she replied, you're neglecting the kids

I am not, he declaimed, with great indignation
I left them at home with a distant relation
Who? She demanded, her eyes full of pain
"If you must know, it's Auntie Deauxma from Ukraine".

She softened a bit, and she offered her cheek
Which was more than he'd hoped for, for many a week
He asked if she'd let him remain for the night,
No, she replied, but when sober, you might.

He spoke not a word, but delivered his gift,
A small potted plant that he'd nicked from a lift.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He wiped off a teardrop, which from him arose.

He sprang to his feet, like a kid with a toy
And blew her a kiss as he left, full of joy.
And she heard him exclaim, as he fell down a drain,
"Happy Chrishmash, and sorry I've been such a pain."

25 comments:

  1. At least it's better than your last Christmas song. I'm still feeling a little queasy. Bleurgh.

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  2. Ho ho ho. Merry Christmas to one and all.

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  3. Come over. I have a lil present...

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  4. ROFLMAO!!! Seriously, this has to be one of the funniest things that I have read in a long time!
    I just love it! Obviously I have some serious competition going on here!

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  5. VL ~ Thank you!

    Mini ~ Wait until I record it

    BP ~ Very Santa-like

    JenJen ~ Whooppee! Thank you

    Christie ~ I only just found out what that meant. My first guess was 'Liver Melts After Orgy' but that was obviously wrong.

    Alice ~ I can't come close to competing. Wouldn't even try

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  6. I liked the way everything rhymed. Seems Christmas brings out the drunks from the oddest places.

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  7. totally rocks, all but for the stanza ending with "at". i expect more from you:) from the FT who can't bother with caps or spell check. merry christmas. so glad i found you. so glad you liked being called a bastard enough to seek me out.

    please send signed and recorded copy asap.

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  8. great job! that was brilliant!

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  9. Holy cats! That was hilarious and so smart!

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  10. Your're a poet, and you didn't know it!

    My dearest ex husband.
    Disregard the above
    There is nothing but hate,
    where once there was love.

    You come down my chimney,
    You'll get a surprise;
    A hot poker up your jacksee,
    That'll bring tears to your eyes.

    It's a time to forgive,
    Love and hope for all men,
    But you are excluded, my dear.
    You've got a new Barbie, so go be her Ken.

    No Happy Christmas to you,
    No New years good wishes.
    You coming back in my life?
    I'd rather clean toilets and wash dishes.

    No more time to waste
    On this little ditty,
    'cos when a new Santa arrives,
    I need to be looking sexy and pretty.

    Yours is heaps better. Happy Christmas to you and Mrs Uber!

    P.s- I sound bitter and twisted but actually I LOVE my life...now!

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  11. RefGeek ~ Thenk 'ee

    Blase ~ Thy're all over the place in my home town. I think there's more drunks than sober types

    mgda ~ Damn! You're right. How about:
    Where his missus was drinking and running to fat
    or
    Where his missus sat armed with a big baseball bat
    or
    Where his missus had cut up his favourite hat
    Let me know.

    Sarah ~ Thank you

    Mimi ~ Holy cats! That's a new one. Like it

    Kate ~ Wow! Teehee. Hell hath no fury etc. Your poems are A1 - have you entered that contest at www.pajamasandcoffe.com yet?

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  12. 'Curly his hair, his moustache nicely whirly'
    Are you sponsored by Cadbury, there seems to be a disproportionate number of mentions of curly-wurlys in these posts.
    I notice these things.
    I think your time in Wales will be spent cold-turkey, curly-wurlyless.

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  13. Oh I love this, though selling the cat? Really!!!
    I take part in a poetry series (Freeverse) on another blog every Wednesday and would love to put a link to this poem on it - with your permission of course. Here's hoping ....

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  14. Now if you said that you were a poet when you made your application...

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  15. Absolutely superb and slightly more commercial than your earlier Christmas song (my inbox is still recovering from the shock).

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  16. SOM ~ At least someone spotted it. Nice job

    Petty W ~ Of course! I'd be honoured

    Lulu ~ I did, but in blank verse. Might have been a bit subtle in retrospect

    Madame D ~ *blush*

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  17. UberGrumpy, this is genius! I love it. :)

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  18. JenJen ~ It sure do! I mean, it certainly does

    Lou ~ Thank you muchly

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  19. Oh, this is so funny. I love it. I'm telling ya...you need to write that book.

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  20. It's hilarious, and scans perfectly!

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