Wednesday, 18 December 2013

Poetry Corner #12: Buying Into.

Hey everybody, Poetry corner is back now that my brain isn't being sapped for every syllable it can think of by the pesky Ottoman Empire. That also means that you get two separate pieces of my terrible rhymes from out and about. Big one first, little one after the jump. And yes, they are *****mas based, I'm very sorry. 

Garfield probably made me think I was a cat person for a whole 2 years more. 

I strolled through a part of town less seen
In an attempt to make my Christmas chores faster.
But I stopped and stared at the scene
of a loud urban pastor.

He bellowed and yelled out the words of god.
It matters not which.
Those more devout than me called him odd
But I listened to his pitch

He talked of consumerism and corruption;
he talked of greed and sin.
He mocked that they'd allow such disruption
for trash we'd soon throw in the bin.

I realised I agreed with the preacher;
but for completely different reasons.
My view required no "teacher".
Just a multitude of parental treasons.  

As I walked away, the man shouted "Decadence".
A word that so often comes to mind
but I suppose it is easy to judge this world.
The positive much harder to find. 

This one is really small and terrible, but I had it on repeat in my mind for most of yesterday, so I figure it deserved a little spot light, after the curb. I'll be reviewing the Hobbit later in the week, and I've just finished uploading a video so there will be an article around that as well. It is like *****mas come early.

I won't lie, I don't like Christmas.
The idea of shopping, even less.
Consequently, combining the two.
Leaves me quite distressed. 


  1. I'm in sympathy with you not liking Christmas. I know there's an anniversary coming up and it's hard? My poem tomorrow. Hold me to it.

  2. Nice reflection. It must take courage to do a street sermon.

  3. Well, I wrote this when your internet connection was lost. Enjoy.

    The umbilical chord
    Darkness, first
    But then a cold
    Sunlight and air
    Flood in
    But the longing stays
    For those safe
    Internet days
    Forced into reality
    The soul resists
    And the darkness thickens
    Growing into your newborn self
    You cut the wood
    and feed the chickens.

  4. I've missed your poetic commentaries on life.

    My advice? Drown it all in vodka, mate.