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It's taken me a while, but here's the Christmas poem I've been working on. It's based on the well-known Coleridge poem Kubla Khan (If you're interested, the original Coleridge poem can be found here
). I've tried to stick to the original rhyme and meter, but please forgive me if I missed a beat or two - it was mighty tricky!
The Rime of the Ancient Christmas Traditions
(with appologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
In Xanadu did Santa Claus
A stately Christmas tree decree,
Where Alf the Christmas angel sang
In octaves measurless to man
Atop the Christmas tree
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With spruce and fir were planted round
And many profits were made with ringing tills,
As harrassed parents purchased every tree;
So here was a forest growing on the hills,
Dispersed to every family.
But oh! That fake plastic snow which slanted
Down the green branches, every tree did cover!
A savage sight! As ugly and disenchanted
As e'er beneath a tree's dignity was foisted
By a woman wielding the sprayed-on colour!
And on the tree, with ceaseless turmoil
As if with light the flashing tree were breathing,
A mighty light-show momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
A huge popping noise, as the fuse did fail
Like a thunderclap in the midst of hail:
And 'mid the dancing baubles those lights'd never
Light up again in their glowing river.
Five metres meandering with mazy motion
Over branch and tinsel the fairy-light river ran,
Then reached the wall socket powerless to run,
And sank in a despair of lifeless bulbs:
And 'mid this despair Santa was heard from afar
Sleigh bells prophesying fun!
The sound of soon approaching pleasure
Floated in on the airwaves;
From the box heard in tones so measured
"You'll get good TV if you behave."
It was a miracle of this device
A glowing pleasure-screen with shows so nice!
A Santa with a reindeer
In a movie once I saw
It was an abysmal film
And on the remote I played
Cringing in movie pain.
Could I revive within me
My ability to click
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with cheers loud and long,
I would switch off that box of cheer,
But that merry screen: I'm a slave to vice!
And all those who heard could see themselves there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
Its rerun shows; its boring fare!
The family fights despite a meal so nice,
I closed my eyes with holy dread,
For they on festive booze have fed.
And this is Christmas Paradise?
Spudley Strikes Again