Tuesday, 20 December 2011

Saving Christmas Spirit

06:52:00 Posted by Lara Clayton , , , , , , , , 4 comments

Last year Blackpool's Dead Good Poets held an event themed 'Propaganda'. The event took place in December, so life was starting to get festive, and I'd been reading How the Grinch Stole Christmas to my little nephew. As is usually the case with poetry - what you read influences what you write - I found myself rewriting Dr. Seuss' popular Christmas poem. Deciding to place the BNP leader Nick Griffin as the Grinch and attempting to write something that was both political and satirical (two things that I rarely write about in poetry). The poem was a challenge - I'm not a rhyming poet - but it was fun, therefore, I thought I would share the resulting poem with you. I hope you enjoy it.

How The Griffin Nicked Christmas

Every kid
down in England
liked Santa a lot...
                                                 But the man,
                                                snarling English from England,
                                                did NOT!

The man hated Santa and not caring who knew
he told Paxman, Blue Peter; his message soon grew.
He screamed, “I am Griffin and this is my plan:
“We’ll hold an election, get rid of that man.”
The vote it was simple, pick Griffin or Claus
and soon all the Santas were gone from the stores.

But not everyone fell for the Griff’s evil lies,
the children had sackfuls of questioning whys.
“Why’s Santa so bad?” they asked with a cheer.
“Does Griff not like Santa’s elves and reindeer?”
The Griffin pondered their questions, then gave his reply,
a ten minute advert that would make them comply.

“Santa’s not British,” the Griffin roared with disgust.
“We’ll get him, gift wrap him, send him back to the Dutch.”
Now, maybe the Griff’s heart was too cold to hold joy,
or perhaps he was dropped on his head as a boy.
But the truest, most plausible, reason of all
was that Griffin’s brain was six sizes too small.

On the first of December a newsman said,
“The poll has Griff losing and Santa ahead.”
By the second the Griff stood cocky and tall,
he’d won was the verdict, the final call.
It was clear he had cheated, brought many a vote,
but he wore a white beard and stole Santa’s coat.

“There’s a new Santa in town,” he said with a grin.
“It would seem that we English know how to win.”
His BNP members soon gathered and sung,
We’ll rewrite the rules in our pure mother tongue.
The ‘Naughty’ and ‘Nice’ were swept quickly away
as he hatched his new plan with little delay.

The Griffin’s two lists now read Black and White,
he checked birth records into the night.
When done, he admired, looked his lists up and down,
chuckled and danced to see white not near brown.
“This is the way that Christmas should work,”
said sinful Nick with a big yellow smirk.

As Christmas Eve came he got ready to leave –
with British-made toys, as a way to deceive,
all prettily packaged and filling his sleigh –
it was time for Griffin to hunt out his prey.
With a ho! and a yo! he took to the skies,
eager to deliver his unmerry goodbyes.

The Griffin descended upon every house
and crept around like an overweight mouse.
He tore pages from books so the history was English,
painted the Wise Men ‘til their skin was more pinkish.
He took all the Sony: the Playstation; the telly,
and posted each item to a landfill in Delhi.

The worst treatment of all was saved for one list;
the houses with people he despised and dismissed,
but he braved the chimneys and entered his hell,
leaving gifts that rang with a countdown bell.
He left lumps of coal with plane tickets attached,
and graffitied their walls with Time to Dispatch!

the Griffin was bad, the meanest you’ll meet,
and no poet or poem can make him all sweet.
But justice was served on that starry night...

Something big and red came into sight,
it fell from the sleigh and plummeted down,
heading towards a small coastal town.
And as it tumbled closer, hit the street with a bang
“The Griffin. Nick Griffin is dead,” children sang.

Thank you for reading and wishing you all a wonderful Christmas,



Shaun said...

Great stuff. I really love this poem. Feisty :)

Ashley R Lister said...

I agree with Shaun. I love this one.

Ste said...

Brilliant! I am now more than a little bit intimidated by writing something for tomorrow - 'follow that' as they say :/

Anonymous said...

so, Lara doesn't do rhyming?
Lara doesn't do humour?
with impeccable timing
Lara quashed that rumour!

More please!