We have recently received unreliable evidence suggesting that our robin redbreast beloved of Christmastide has persistently and perniciously deceived us in his twitterings and titter-tattle, in his endless demur posings for that sycophantic card, and his coy modeling for a place between Santa and the fir-tree atop our white-decked cake.
Whilst concluding the Christmas whirlwind this afternoon with my father and Aunt Vera in Raynes Park over cold duck and a fanfare of pickles, I winced at the multitude of black macabre eyes staring out from Christmas card after Christmas card, and which had become the consort for my every negotiation at the luncheon table: another dollop of piccalilli, a slither more duck, another spring onion... they've got to be eaten, they'll only go to waste, the birds won't eat them! These pricked eyes belonged to Robins on a five-bar gate, Robins afluff in a holly bush, Robins in the falling snow, and they shined, oh how they shined, from every place where cards displayed themselves.
The evidence presented suggests, in contradiction to our fondly held beliefs, that the robin leads a contrary life of savagery, sex and sinning. Photographic evidence presented confirms the gratuitous social blood-bath preferred by this creature and his inability to maintain normal relationships or build lasting bonds.
The mythical tale of this robin attempting to pluck the piercing thorns from the crown of Jesus, so staining his pretty white breast or his quenching the souls of sin in the fiery pit with droplets of water carried in his bill, so colouring his pretty white breast with the scorching red flames of hell, only go someway to explaining his appearance. And here we look to the holly bush for a sign. It is my firm belief that as this creature bothered our saviour on the cross at Calvary he acquired an unquenchable taste for this sweet holy blood. God looked down upon the sight of this little winged chap in disbelief that such a creature could have fluttered from the ark, and banished him - right there and then - to his own thorny den, the holly bush. Where this robin took to perch blood dripped from breast to bow and held in globs where came to rest, as warnings of this creatures foul demise, they formed as holly berries, there before our eyes.
So don't be deceived by card or sketch this little bird is such a wretch !
11 comments:
I can offer no other comment beyond observing that you have nearly as warped a mind as I do.
That is a compliment, by the way.
I bow to you.
I was wondering whether you two were reading one another...
oh, it would be terribly rude not to.
Actually, am still contemplating the thought that you might *be* one another.
Am such a terribly suspicious type.
Oh how you honour me with your Cheerfulness. Your fears alas will only be compounded by the curious cheap rhyme unfolded in the 'aching' post.
Heaven forbid the Unreliableness of he, having to witness himself in yet another literary responsibility when there is so much to attend to at home.
This would be stretching things beyond the pale I suspect.
Interesting that the caption below this box is emploring as I type: "choose an identity" - no mistkes in this case, however.
I can unreliably confirm that I am not Blatherskite. Mind you, since taking on the pseudonym of An Unreliable Witness six months ago, I am no longer sure I am even myself. Maybe we are parts of the same whole, where the whole also does not know who he or she is.
Or maybe I am just confused.
Gosh, such mystery.
I have come to the conclusion that we are all Colin. And Colin is everyone. This is the only solution that makes any sense whatsoever.
Ah - Colin the omnipresent - could he even be omnipotent ? He certainly seems to be potent.
(And bedsides, UW doesn't make as many spelling mistakes... I implore above, seldom emplore... such a shambles, honestly !)
I put you in my bookmarks for further study: I like your language but my English is not sufficiently advanced to read it fluently. Nice poetry.
erik - sometimes the sounds are as good as the meanings.
Funny you should say that actually; I've been suspecting some kind of Andre/Vaughan collaboration - not unlike the Nirvana/Britney Spears mashup I heard on BBC Radio 6 last night, but a lot pleasanter on the ear.
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