Now I have knitted some blue oranges (more on those later), found a lot of ancestors (mostly small farmers / working men), and cleaned the chicken coop, and ... In short. There's no excuse for me not to sit myself down and write a chapter or two with this Wednesday's Words.
The words are provided by Margaret Adamson, and her friend Sue Fulcher. and posted at Elephant's Child's blog. Today we were given:
Next Poetry Mondays theme is Festive Card. And that alone makes me grumpy. Either it's a Christmas cards or it's not festive! No season's greetings here in the Owlery. And that's part of the problem.
I consequently wrote two poems for next Monday. One grumpy one and one funny. The grumpy one suited my mood and some of the words today. Ergo, here we go:
I go out shopping Christmas Cards,
But they don't want to play their part.
Cause Santa's elfs and winterscapes
Have taken up the centre place.
I hunt for mangers, wise old kings
Or angels singing in the skies
But find a slew of gifts and things,
No newborn King, to my surprise.
Birds in a frame, a brand of green,
More golden letters to be seen
Of season's greeting, holidays
Oh bother, I just turn away.
I take a pill, my nerves to still
A tablet, but my anger swill
And icicles and flakes of snow?
Nope: global warming, warm winds blow.
In days of old we bought our cards
In Italy while travelling 'round.
Where Christmas scenes are works of art
And always to be found.
Epilogue: I do not celebrate Winter, I endure it.
And as for Happy
Holidays, these 14 days would be better, happier and more appropriate if
added half to our autumnal (October) and half to our spring holidays
(late February) so that both of these could be two weeks instead of one.
Then you had time for de-schooling to happen and still almost a week
left to enjoy the nature and family on a time when both are enjoyable.
January 1st would suffice for people suffering from Veisalgia to get
during the writing of this post I inadvertently pressed enter (NOT
Shift + Enter) several times. Making me end up with having used more
times removing these stupid small code-thingies <p> than on composing my grumpy poem; and making me even grumpier in the process!