Post 66: Festive Fare and Human Harmony

SEASONS GREETINGS ONE AND ALL!

The great thing about poetry is it lends itself to being repeated! And so, on this festive day, I am repeating this poem, written many years ago, in praise of my dear friend Ann; who always goes the extra mile on special occasions!

THE PUDDING

Ms Pettit made a Christmas pudding
For the family party treat
But when it appeared with cream and rum butter
Many there were heard to utter
“Not Christmas pud as well we pray
We’ve eaten of our fill today
Oh take that fruity feast away”!

And so with heavy heart she stood
And gazed at her rejected pud
But then she got her great idea
“I’ll invite friends for the New Year
And ply them well with food and drink
And then, to round it off I think
I’ll finally reveal my pud
And I will make it understood
This will be their last chance to eat
Of this delicious festive treat”

“For never more I’m going to toil
With flour, fruit, sugar, and then boil
The whole lot up to serve at last
As the final fling of a great repast

And so it was on New Years Day
She finally got her way
The friends arrived to celebrate
They drank and talked; they laughed and ate
And this time she made no mistake
While guests enjoyed a party break
The pud was on a plate displayed
And covertly the custard made

Majestically she carried through
The flaming pud and gave anew
The chance to all assembled there
To partake of the festive fare
In throbbing tones she told the story
“This is the last fruit laden glory
That I will make for anyone
Remember this; enjoy the fun”

And it was wondrous to behold
How many did as they were told
As, finally they understood
That this was the last Christmas pud
They’d ever eat from the Pettit pot

They raised their spoons, and ate the lot!

This second poem is new to this blog; and, although written nearly thirty years ago, encapsulates for me, an unbeliever, the power of music to transcend human strife; and raise in human hearts a desire for a continuation of that indescribable feeling of togetherness; and harmony.

 

 

HARMONY written February 1995

When monks mistook acoustics for Gods
And the high notes flew
Round the fluted stone pillars
Expanding, ascending
Reverberating, descending
As they intoned in their ecstasy

And the peasants listened in wonder
To the voice of their God
Like melodious thunder
Echoing round the arched temples
Reaching to the heavens
To the ears of divinity