Author: MrOrmsbyAtLarge

Secret Santa

The Office': Revisiting season 2's ill-fated Secret Santa | EW.com

The day before The Night Before
Their workplace turned into a store
With gifts galore from Santa’s stock
At lunchtime, right on one o’clock.

A furtive glance across the room
As someone tried to wrap perfume.
A figure hunched behind a fern
(the new girl had a lot to learn)

A friend will cough to help a mate
Disguise the sound of Sellotape

Shirley’s eyes revealed a glint
Each time she dropped another hint.
In knowing just what not to tell
She kept the weak under her spell.

And Andy, bless him, the poor dear
Just hoped he’d get it right this year.
For Sue, who longed for something French
He’d bought a Jean-Paul Gautier wrench.

Old Davey Wilcox saved a packet
Who thought the whole idea a racket.
His gifts were met with trepidation
Bought in the local petrol station.

All dreams of wintry escapades
Were dashed by half-price wiper blades

Still, pity those who drew Pru’s name
The dowager who ran the game
And claimed the true meaning had gone
Then priced her gift on Amazon.

Big Tony came to stuff his face
So ate at an alarming pace
Before they wrapped it up for Luke
Whose wife was just as bad a cook.

Stollen, edam, Toblerone
Belgian nougat in a cone
Baby Jesus, Heaven sent
Now came via the continent.

I’ve seen several scars happen
Over a slice of marzipan

Paper plates now put aside
Each festive tummy satisfied
Fiona stood to give a toast
But belched up Captain Morgan’s ghost.

So, Lenny then began to lift
And sift until he found his gift
50 ml of CK One
Would do quite nicely for his son.

Ooh, it’s lovely… that’s so sweet!
As girls are wont to coo and tweet
With every present they unwrap
And coddle gently in their lap.

Which makes guys pause and think a bit:
This Santa thing’s made me a hit
That perfume seemed to animate her
I’ll say ‘hi’ at the laminator!

So, Merry Christmas one and all
Be pleased you got a gift at all.
Enjoy that glass of Triple Sec
In your new purple turtle neck!

Present Tense

goat in Santa hat | Eden Hills

The day I want to bake some bread

You’ll be the first to know

Were you confused that time I said

I need to make more dough?

And should I wish to buy a goat

Around the holidays

Feel free to name it but take note

I’d like it honey-glazed.

A scented candle lets me know

Exactly what you think

You’re hoping when it’s all aglow

At last, my house won’t stink.

That weird liqueur with toads inside

Distilled by monks in France

Soon made me wish that I had died

Then made me shit my pants.

The Cookie Monster sweater seemed

To spread more disarray

On seeing it, the baby screamed

And both cats ran away.

Gym memberships address excess

With weights or on a mat

Do you think I need to de-stress

Or is it that I’m fat?

It’s not the gift, John, it’s the thought

While this, no doubt, is right

It’s what they’ve thought, not what they’ve bought

Which keeps me up at night.

Constellation Prize

The figure on the mountain knew
Far higher than the eagle flew
Beyond the sun and past the light
Were men who crossed the sky by night.
Soon after dusk their fires appeared
Then slowly, once a course was steered
Their caravan set out en masse
To make its empyreal pass.


Like beasts migrating on the plains
Like swarms that form to greet the rains
He found no word for the amount
Of travelers he sought to count.
A gallery would pass him by
Whose outlines seemed to signify
Proud emblems of a noble clan
Led by an even a greater man.


The bearing, always east to west
Suggested they were on a quest
Or maybe searching for a door
They’d passed through in a time before.
Each night the figure danced and prayed
Around the fire he had made
In hope his kin might see its glow
And teach him all he wished to know.


Then with the last beat from his breast
Great Spirit granted this request
And drew his outline in the sky
That men as he should never die

Time Lapse

I brush your hair and talk of things
You still remember.
The torch that lit the songs we’d sing
Now just an ember.
I pour the tea
You study me
And wonder why
I still come by.
I dig out photos of the boys
More reminiscing.
Now in a house devoid of noise
Each night you listen.
A vigil kept
While fear has crept
Into a mind
That’s been confined.
Sinatra’s on the radio
And works his magic.
This world which you no longer know
At once, less tragic.
It was our song
You hum along
Then understand
And take my hand

Alpha Mail

The moment I turn down your street
There’s no one that I wish to meet
So step aside or feel my wrath
‘Cause I’m a walking psychopath.
I don’t care how you feel today
If so-and-so has moved away
Or that you think your neighbour’s gay
Because he took up macramé.
I’ll knock your pots then slam the gate
And feed that dog of yours I hate
A Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup
To make the ugly mutt shut up.
As for your kid, if he’s on hand
And asks me for a rubber band
He’ll get one right between the eyes
Then several more until he cries.
And what’s the deal with Amazon?
Do you buy for the Pentagon?
Is it too much to take a bus
And shop just like the rest of us?
Just one more thing: if you complain
You won’t hear from your gran again;
When we hear something we don’t like
My friends and me, that’s when we strike.

Because I’m not like most men
For, I’m your local postman.

Arch Nemesis

What Is the “Ides” of March? | Britannica

Beware the Ides! foretells the fall
Of he who rose to conquer Gaul
And lands still further from his home
This warrior, this son of Rome.
On his return to claim his right
A haruspex with second sight
Met Caesar by the Senate arch
To warn him of the Ides of March.
They’d killed an ox and found no spleen
An omen that could only mean
The Consul should fear for his life
As did, Calpurnia, his wife.
But Caesar didn’t fear the gods
For he had overcome the odds
To overshadow mortal men
And take his seat in Rome again.
So came the day, but nothing passed
Until the Senators amassed
Fulfilling what was prophesied
Thus, on the fifteenth, Caesar died.
Of every haruspex, it’s said
They earn their living from the dead
And though they claim the role of seer
It’s often what we overhear