Monday December 21st, 2009

The exercise:

Your prompt for this final Monday before Christmas: chestnuts roasting on an open fire.

Yes, I know the actual title is The Christmas Song. But I think the name pretty much everyone knows it by is a better prompt, so nyah.


He is being swallowed
By his parka,
This man who roasts
And sells
Chestnuts in the park.

He is no king,
But he does
Use coal.
And he does
Want you to have
A merry, merry Christmas.

But he'd also
Really appreciate it
If you have
Exact change.


Greg said...

I don't think I've seen a lot of non-rhyming poetry from you, so this is refreshing. I think perhaps you've let a couple of your lines get too short in the middle verse though: Setting Use coal on a line on its own like that gives it an emphasis that I don't think it deserves.
But the poem overall is uplifting, and the request in the last verse brought a smile to my face!

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

"Not now, Dave. I think he's getting one of the knots loose."
"No, Vince, really. Look at me."
"In a minute Dave. Pass me the crossbow, I reckon I can pin his wrist to the tree trunk."
"Vince, for God's sake, it's Christmas! Give the bloke a chance."
Vince finally looked up, to see that Dave had put Santa Claus's costume on. The beard kept slipping down his face though, revealing yellow teeth and two-day-old stubble. Vince's upper lip lifted slightly in what might have been the start of a sneer, and then settled down again.
"We could give presents out," said Dave. "Make some kids happy this Christmas."
"Where will we get the presents from?" Vince felt around behind him for the crossbow, and when he found it checked that it was loaded.
"Don't shoot him, Vince." There was a choked sob in Dave's voice.
Vince sighed. "Alright Dave. It's Christmas, I'll do something more Christmassy." He felt for his lighter in his pocket. "What's the tree he's tied to?"
"Er... horse chestnut, I think," said Dave. "There's still shrivelled conkers on the ground here."
Vince struck the lighter, and held it to the oil-soaked rag around the crossbow's head. It caught immediately and burned with a smoky yellow flame. He barely glanced at the struggling man tied to the tree as he fired the crossbow.
"What the f--" shrieked Dave, his voice high and tight.
"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," said Vince as a crackle rose the dry, bare branches of the tree and the light of the flames cast dancing shadows. "It's Christmassy."

Marc said...

Yeah, I don't indulge in much free verse, but this one didn't want to rhyme.

I know what you mean about cutting those lines too short, I just couldn't figure out how to sort it.

And... that's quite the take on the prompt ;)

Those two are quite the pair.