THE RECEPTION FROM HELL
Posted: Thu Jan 27, 2011 4:42 pm
This is a true if somewhat exaggerated story.
It was written to try and recite at the Cervantes poets breakfast, and was my first attempt at a humorous poem'
Terry
THE RECEPTION FROM HELL
The battle lines were drawn; the local hall was filled with hate,
the parents of the bride had waged a verbal war of late.
An acrimonious divorce had led to this sad state,
and any face to face, could cause undignified debate.
The mothers group was lined up seated all along one wall,
across the hall the father’s mob sat glaring at them all.
Such was the type of tension that persisted in that room,
and cowered in the background were the rellies of the groom.
The hall was now divided up, all looking for a fight.
That place was like a war zone, tempers ready to ignite.
Her mother’s side had claimed the left; the father’s held the right.
The groom’s friends huddled fearfully and kept well out of sight.
The wedding feast was smorgasbord and darn near caused a blue,
about a flam’en drumstick, and believe me this is true.
There’s Uncle Bill and Uncle Ron now standing toe to toe,
inviting one another if they’d like to have a go.
Now dear old aunty Bertha had been at the port again,
and under that influence, she was more than just a pain.
She bit into a cream donut that sprayed across the room
and splattered those who stood nearby, this added to the gloom.
The speeches gave an ideal chance for all to vent their spleen,
and out came all their fury in a most unsightly scene.
Soon food was being thrown about and nowhere now was safe,
the father of the bride had copped a cream sponge in the face.
Bride’s granny on her dad’s side was now itching for a fight,
and making nasty comments as she prowled around that night.
Then grandma on her mother’s side came charging through the door,
and launched a flying tackle knocking granny to the floor.
There’s kicking and there’s screaming as the grannies rolled about-
the language was appalling - there were tuffs of hair pulled out.
Their fam’lies had to break them up and try to calm them down,
amid the loud applause that came from blow’ins from the town.
The husbands of the grannies had been doubled up with mirth,
until their spouses saw them and soon brought them back to earth.
Then granddad on the father’s side decided to make peace,
but granny intervened and dragged him back behind the crease.
The mother of the groom stood up, demanding to be heard,
and raised her voice in protest, and then said this was absurd.
She should have kept her silence, and of that there is no doubt,
for one of grannies rock cakes hit and almost knocked her out.
Her rellies rallied to her cause and joined into the brawl;
there’s fighting men and women in a willing free for all.
Then someone called the Coppers and they had their work cut out,
they had to call up all reserves, before they stopped that bout.
It’s almost unbelievable, that marriage worked out fine,
they’re still together now, their love continuing to shine.
But tensions do run deep, there still remains that tinge of hate,
that ends up in a punch up when they come to celebrate.
******
© T.E. Piggott 26/10/2010
It was written to try and recite at the Cervantes poets breakfast, and was my first attempt at a humorous poem'
Terry
THE RECEPTION FROM HELL
The battle lines were drawn; the local hall was filled with hate,
the parents of the bride had waged a verbal war of late.
An acrimonious divorce had led to this sad state,
and any face to face, could cause undignified debate.
The mothers group was lined up seated all along one wall,
across the hall the father’s mob sat glaring at them all.
Such was the type of tension that persisted in that room,
and cowered in the background were the rellies of the groom.
The hall was now divided up, all looking for a fight.
That place was like a war zone, tempers ready to ignite.
Her mother’s side had claimed the left; the father’s held the right.
The groom’s friends huddled fearfully and kept well out of sight.
The wedding feast was smorgasbord and darn near caused a blue,
about a flam’en drumstick, and believe me this is true.
There’s Uncle Bill and Uncle Ron now standing toe to toe,
inviting one another if they’d like to have a go.
Now dear old aunty Bertha had been at the port again,
and under that influence, she was more than just a pain.
She bit into a cream donut that sprayed across the room
and splattered those who stood nearby, this added to the gloom.
The speeches gave an ideal chance for all to vent their spleen,
and out came all their fury in a most unsightly scene.
Soon food was being thrown about and nowhere now was safe,
the father of the bride had copped a cream sponge in the face.
Bride’s granny on her dad’s side was now itching for a fight,
and making nasty comments as she prowled around that night.
Then grandma on her mother’s side came charging through the door,
and launched a flying tackle knocking granny to the floor.
There’s kicking and there’s screaming as the grannies rolled about-
the language was appalling - there were tuffs of hair pulled out.
Their fam’lies had to break them up and try to calm them down,
amid the loud applause that came from blow’ins from the town.
The husbands of the grannies had been doubled up with mirth,
until their spouses saw them and soon brought them back to earth.
Then granddad on the father’s side decided to make peace,
but granny intervened and dragged him back behind the crease.
The mother of the groom stood up, demanding to be heard,
and raised her voice in protest, and then said this was absurd.
She should have kept her silence, and of that there is no doubt,
for one of grannies rock cakes hit and almost knocked her out.
Her rellies rallied to her cause and joined into the brawl;
there’s fighting men and women in a willing free for all.
Then someone called the Coppers and they had their work cut out,
they had to call up all reserves, before they stopped that bout.
It’s almost unbelievable, that marriage worked out fine,
they’re still together now, their love continuing to shine.
But tensions do run deep, there still remains that tinge of hate,
that ends up in a punch up when they come to celebrate.
******
© T.E. Piggott 26/10/2010