Lines Of Irrelevance

The four wise men stopped and rested,
They knew their efforts would not be wasted.
The sat and talked about the marvels to come,
Knowing the prophecies were doubted by some.

The first weighed in that a king was here,
A new ruler for the lands far and near.
The rightful heir to lead the people,
From temples and synagogues to the church steeple.

The second listened and gave a nod,
Then continued, talking of the son of God.
A spiritual leader that could raise the dead,
Walk on water, heal the sick, fill the devil with dread.

All of mankind would kneel in prayer,
Feel the love of god and be rid of every care.
Even though the messiah might meet a nasty end,
It would surely be worth it for the joy he’d send.

The third also wanted his visions to be heard,
How this man would bless believers and make them cured,
Of any illness that afflicted their soul,
Piece together the broken parts and make them whole.

Not only saw his end but could see further,
Saw past the life and death and religious fervour.
Children studying before they go to bed,
Marvelling at the things they read.

The fourth wise man spoke so strange,
His view of the future was quite deranged,
A midwinter festival to celebrate the king,
A show of frivolity and display of sin.

Indulgence, materialism, gorging and greed,
Excessive drinking and immoral spreading of their seed.
A fat man taking pride of place,
Ahead of the saviour of the human race.

An illuminated reindeer with a red nose,
Lined up with others in neat little rows.
Houses with tinsel and stockings above the hearth,
Somehow to signify the virgin birth.

The fourth wise man was left in a bind,
The other three buggered off and left him behind!

Posted in: Poetry by Taz /
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As the snow settles on the ground,
And there is good will all around,
I think of the festive Christmas bunny,
And go out to search for eggs while it’s still sunny.

No, wait, that’s not right.

Too many of us in the kitchen,
Making sure there’s nothing missing,
From our pumpkin carvings for all to see,
Which we then place on our tall tall tree.

No, wait, that’s still not right.

As we sit at our feast,
And thank the lord for this delicious beast,
We hope some invisible source,
Will forgive our gorging and rude discourse.

No, wait, that can’t be right.

We tell the kids to look to the sky,
Say thank you and wave goodbye,
To the fat monster that just snuck up to our beds,
And left superficial products and distractions while we rested our heads.

No, wait, tell me that’s not right.

I don’t care what you think,
Where you go or what depths you sink,
But good for you if there’s family around,
And my only hope is that smiles abound.

Posted in: Poetry by Taz /
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An exercise to create a piece of poetry 40 lines or less. No subject was suggested, so given all the choices, from a love poem, to something considering the meaning of life, or something about the beauty all around us, is it really that much of a surprise that I just did a rant in poetry form? So I present you, I Just Don’t Care. aka Procrastination On BBC News aka Meh

Which side to take on the Wikileaks plight,
Or where to stand in the Syrian fight,
Or weather to believe revolution is right,
Is it all important or are we losing sight?
I just don’t care.

Scotland has it’s referendum,
And we’re slowly losing our kingdom,
And the government’s promoting tedium,
But do we still have our freedom?
I couldn’t ever care.

Who’s going to win X-Factor,
And who’s this years top actor,
As we welcome a new BBC director,
Will the be any British BAFTAs?
I’ll never ever care.

The Internet is full of piracy,
Which is a challange to democracy,
Politics are rife with bribery,
Which could ruin Europes economy,
I’d rather not care.

Does it matter what Clegg says?
Are the British police just plebs?
Will the London bombers ever confess?
Do you want to see Kate undress?
Does anyone care?

So my mother is worrying herself,
And my father is worrying himself,
Because the government is squandering our wealth,
And I desperately try to convince myself,
That I just don’t care.

Posted in: Exercises, Poetry by Taz /
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In this exercise, the task was to convert a newspaper article to a poem. The article chosen was regarding the execution of Thomas Henry Allaway who was hanged in 1922 in the south of England (search his name and you can find the full story). This is one of my very few attempts at poetry.

Everyone should get a job,
No matter how it makes you sob,
But mind the daily paper,
Or your soul may escape like vapour.

No one should seek to murder,
But if you do careful how you lure her,
And be mindful of your spelling,
As in court it can be telling.

Craft a careful alibi,
Least it may cause you to die,
You must convince the judge,
Of all the facts that you fudge.

As you sit in your cell,
And you wonder which sod did tell,
Know that it’s not his fault,
Just your excuse wasn’t worth its salt.

“Did you do it?” Said the priest,
“Then confess at the very least”,
“From God nothing can be hid,
And he truly knows that I did”.

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