A festive trilogy in red and green and silver parts 1 to 3: Part 1. The last elf.

 

Woo hoo! Only three weeks until Boxing Day! I can’t wait to get me Easter eggs.

Meanwhile, something with a wee bit of the Gothic about it to add some dark spice as a partial antidote to the overdone saccharin of the TV schedules. Now, where have I put that bag of humbugs?

A festive trilogy in red and green and silver parts 1 to 3:

Part 1. The last elf.

The last elf sits hiding on the shelf,

Behind the last C5

He’s giggling with the furbys,

Smoking joints that’ve just been lit,

Freshly rolled on an album full of festive hits

 

In among the mars bars and the toy cars,

The brussel sprouts are munched,

He likes them with the chocolate,

Then he makes farty noises with smartie tubes,

And swaps coloured squares on Rubiks cubes,

 

As his heart beats faster with the laughter,

His eyes are briefly shut,

Then the shadow swiftly passes,

While his mind replays the bosses fatal shave,

Here in his toy cave safe among the architraves,

 

He breathes the heat as he smokes last summer’s treat,

And on reflection,

From the Christmas baubles,

A familiar hat and jumper now emerges,

And claret chokes with the smoke in red and green and silver festive surges.

 

(c) Jim Laing 2015.

 

 

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About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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