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"The village fete"

The village fete

To all, it was a luke-warm summers day
A wind strong enough to make the fir trees sway
A barbeque, a lucky dip, a coconut shy
A chicken, a satchel and home made pork pie

Eustace had picked up a bouncy rubber ball
A sherbet sugar dip and a pen for his school
Roy – a pencil sharpener, and a rubber mask
And all of the shaving that he could grasp

Twenty pence for a shot at the coconut shy
Five throws for a pound, a big bearded man cried.
A hot dog lined with mustard and custard
Pickle and cabbage and all that they mustered

Over the fence, a small boy had came
A quick go on the slide, then the climbing frame
There was something different about his face
His angst-ridden features seemed out of place.

As suddenly as he had once arrived
A raindrop, or bird-juice falls out of the sky
It went without saying that we all kept on going
Barbequing, or tombola, or tennis ball throwing

Thought nothing of this temperamental weather
This simple wet was conquered by tether
But no one could ignore the sound of the thunders
We all put together, beginning to wonder.

We gathered up everything that we found
A palm tree leaf, a window, the lining of cloud
A basket of fruit, two stilts and a pram
A horse shoe, a lamp shade, a hat from Ramadan

We built together a shelter of sorts
Of sticks and stones, we hid under this fort
To stray away from the oncoming spit
But it all tumbled down when the south wall had split

Nothing but rubble, and sadness and rain
An old man suggested how to ease all our pain
He quoted out psalm after psalm after psalm
And some wigged ladies came round and read from our palms

We had no time to proof read these novels and books
So we gathered the nearest man, and off we rook
We prepared a cross-shape from branches and stuff
And sewed it all together - it was enough

The shape of a dead man, or an airplane
That’s what it seemed like, anyway
We hung our saviour on the criss-cross mesh
The man with the pipe flute, the wives and the flesh

We strung him together, quite tight on the cross
And planted the statue away from the frost
And waited until God granted our wishes
For the fete to continue with his great assistance

We were not willing wait for more than fifteen
As the coconuts had dropped and the barbeque steamed
So we took it unto our own bloody hands
And started a fire to the side of this man

Sheltered only by the last bit of roof,
A leopard skin quilt and a head of a moose
We watched upon as his face was consumed
He muttered of children and fruits of the loom

The fire lasted for the rest of the hour
But still engulfed in the stench of the shower
The barbeque now, was nothing but ash
And the temporary tattoos now only a rash

So we gathered together a group of young minors
They were nothing but moaners and growlers and whiners
We strung them together in a line like a train
And we all put together our heads again

We singled out the old man, who murmured of times
When he and a group were whisked off to save lives
He said he didn’t mean to, he just couldn’t be bothered
But he had kept a shotgun inside of his cupboard

We ran to his house and into his drawers
And ransacked the place until ceiling was floor
We picked up some bullets and back to the fete
And loaded and practiced on the village hall gate

And we prayed to almighty that he should just listen
So we gave it some lead to show we weren’t messing
We gunned down the first few with a bullet to spare
But a mother ran on, and cried in despair

We had no time for argument, or bickering or stuff
So we filled her with lead, then took out her son
Just one more left for the transaction complete
But nothing, and nothing but hail and wind and sleet

We ran for the cake stall and tipped it right over
We ripped up the raffle, a four-leafed green clover
We emptied the lorries and vehicles for fuel
We took all the cattle, the poultry, a mule

We gathered ourselves, all snug in the hall
And petrol sprayed round us from doormat to wall
The crazy old coot whipped out his last match
As we prayed once again that the rain should be scrapped

We prayed and we screamed and we cried for the fete
But the coated up teen said that it was too late
So we told the old man to light up the fire
The villagers, the hall, the fete, the church spire.


And up from the wreckage, came a young boy
His angst now relieved by the fact he destroyed.

Now, it moves up.

You really are nuts jim hat!

Meh, good stuff anyway.

It was in Life before, now, it is gone.

That was really good. It dried out in places, but overall a good piece. Shouldn't it have gone in the Life Forum though?

Well done.

The village fete

To all, it was a luke-warm summers day
A wind strong enough to make the fir trees sway
A barbeque, a lucky dip, a coconut shy
A chicken, a satchel and home made pork pie

Eustace had picked up a bouncy rubber ball
A sherbet sugar dip and a pen for his school
Roy – a pencil sharpener, and a rubber mask
And all of the shaving that he could grasp

Twenty pence for a shot at the coconut shy
Five throws for a pound, a big bearded man cried.
A hot dog lined with mustard and custard
Pickle and cabbage and all that they mustered

Over the fence, a small boy had came
A quick go on the slide, then the climbing frame
There was something different about his face
His angst-ridden features seemed out of place.

As suddenly as he had once arrived
A raindrop, or bird-juice falls out of the sky
It went without saying that we all kept on going
Barbequing, or tombola, or tennis ball throwing

Thought nothing of this temperamental weather
This simple wet was conquered by tether
But no one could ignore the sound of the thunders
We all put together, beginning to wonder.

We gathered up everything that we found
A palm tree leaf, a window, the lining of cloud
A basket of fruit, two stilts and a pram
A horse shoe, a lamp shade, a hat from Ramadan

We built together a shelter of sorts
Of sticks and stones, we hid under this fort
To stray away from the oncoming spit
But it all tumbled down when the south wall had split

Nothing but rubble, and sadness and rain
An old man suggested how to ease all our pain
He quoted out psalm after psalm after psalm
And some wigged ladies came round and read from our palms

We had no time to proof read these novels and books
So we gathered the nearest man, and off we rook
We prepared a cross-shape from branches and stuff
And sewed it all together - it was enough

The shape of a dead man, or an airplane
That’s what it seemed like, anyway
We hung our saviour on the criss-cross mesh
The man with the pipe flute, the wives and the flesh

We strung him together, quite tight on the cross
And planted the statue away from the frost
And waited until God granted our wishes
For the fete to continue with his great assistance

We were not willing wait for more than fifteen
As the coconuts had dropped and the barbeque steamed
So we took it unto our own bloody hands
And started a fire to the side of this man

Sheltered only by the last bit of roof,
A leopard skin quilt and a head of a moose
We watched upon as his face was consumed
He muttered of children and fruits of the loom

The fire lasted for the rest of the hour
But still engulfed in the stench of the shower
The barbeque now, was nothing but ash
And the temporary tattoos now only a rash

So we gathered together a group of young minors
They were nothing but moaners and growlers and whiners
We strung them together in a line like a train
And we all put together our heads again

We singled out the old man, who murmured of times
When he and a group were whisked off to save lives
He said he didn’t mean to, he just couldn’t be bothered
But he had kept a shotgun inside of his cupboard

We ran to his house and into his drawers
And ransacked the place until ceiling was floor
We picked up some bullets and back to the fete
And loaded and practiced on the village hall gate

And we prayed to almighty that he should just listen
So we gave it some lead to show we weren’t messing
We gunned down the first few with a bullet to spare
But a mother ran on, and cried in despair

We had no time for argument, or bickering or stuff
So we filled her with lead, then took out her son
Just one more left for the transaction complete
But nothing, and nothing but hail and wind and sleet

We ran for the cake stall and tipped it right over
We ripped up the raffle, a four-leafed green clover
We emptied the lorries and vehicles for fuel
We took all the cattle, the poultry, a mule

We gathered ourselves, all snug in the hall
And petrol sprayed round us from doormat to wall
The crazy old coot whipped out his last match
As we prayed once again that the rain should be scrapped

We prayed and we screamed and we cried for the fete
But the coated up teen said that it was too late
So we told the old man to light up the fire
The villagers, the hall, the fete, the church spire.


And up from the wreckage, came a young boy
His angst now relieved by the fact he destroyed.