Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
It's Life Of Brian season
I'll watch it a couple of times this week
As we slide into Easter
Christianity's peak
Malcolm Muggeridge called it tenth rate buffoonery
Casting stones made of disingenuousness
Though they could hardly be accused of flagrant too soonery
The Bishop of Southwark clutched his pearls
It's like they never heard of the sacred and the profane
To throw mirth at the infallible
Everyone gets it
Everyone to blame
We all have an effect
Wether in or out the game.
Rose, oh Rose, the queen of class,  
She’s dressed in silk, selling wine and grass.  
“Organic kale, it’s simply divine!”  
She twirls her trolley, a shopping shrine.  

Sain strolls by, with a cheeky grin,  
“Rose, dear, not everyone’s posh within!  
My aisles have deals that make hearts sing,
From the Basics line to the finest bling!”  

Tes rushes in with a clatter and cheer,  
“Stop squabbling, mates, I’m here for the steer!  
Clubcard's flashing like disco lights,  
I serve the masses with snacks for their nights!”  

Rose scoffs, “Tes, you’re much too loud.  
Your aisle décor? A tad less proud.”  
Sain adds, “And what’s with the bargain craze?  
Do shoppers dance through your maze?”  

Tes winks, “They sure do! I’m fun and bold,  
My shelves are stacked, my produce gold!  
Rose is posh, and Sain’s okay,  
But Tes  rocks - it’s hip all day!”  

And so they bicker, a trio delight,  
Rose rolls her eyes, Sain laughs outright.  
Tes bustles on with his Clubcard dream,  
While shoppers weave through their retail scheme.  

They’re rivals, it’s true, but in their zest,  
Rose, Sain, and Tes are retail’s best.  
For amidst the banter, one thing is clear—  
Every shop has a place we hold dear.
In the bustling heart of Marketstead—a vibrant town where every corner pulsed with the rhythm of daily commerce—three remarkable figures emerged as the keepers of distinct retail realms.

Rose, the epitome of refined elegance, curated a stall that was nothing short of a boutique of dreams. Draped in silks and surrounded by the finest organic indulgences, she was a connoisseur of quality. Each day, as morning light spilled over polished displays, Rose unfurled a banner proclaiming, “Taste the heritage of artisan excellence,” a promise that whispered of meticulous care and timeless craft.

Sain strolled in with a balanced blend of charm and practicality. His stall was a celebration of value and variety, where every offering was more than just an item—it was a carefully negotiated deal between quality and affordability. With a mischievous grin, he would remark, “Here, every bargain sings a song of smart choices!” His space was a bridge between tradition and modern sensibility, echoing with laughter and the shared joy of everyday wins.

Tes burst onto the scene as the spirited modern maestro, electrifying the streets with a dazzling display of digital flair and vibrant energy. His stall, lit by the playful glow of Clubcard miracles and modern promotions, became the talk of the town. Bold and unrestrained, Tes declared, “Innovation and access are the rhythm of our times!” His approach was a testament to the dynamism of the new age—where every shelf and every deal was imbued with a pulse of excitement.

One radiant morning, an unusual challenge arose. Whispers of an emerging marketplace—a mysterious rival promising both extravagance and economy—stirred the air. With the shoppers’ curiosity piqued, the three titans found themselves in a moment of rare convergence. Their usual banter, filled with teasing jests and competitive spark, gave way to a deeper resolve. Amidst murmurs of shared admiration for each other’s craft, they set aside their rivalries for a singular purpose: to remind the community of the irreplaceable magic that diversity brings.

That day, Marketstead transformed. Rose’s gentle sophistication paired with Sain’s pragmatic charm and Tes’s sparkling audacity to create a festival of choice. The stalls became stages where culinary wonders, unbeatable deals, and digital innovations danced in harmony. Shoppers wandered through a living tapestry where quality met value, and tradition embraced modernity. In this grand celebration, the differences that once divided them fused into a powerful mosaic—a tribute to the idea that every shop, every style of service, held a cherished place in the hearts of its patrons.
He still remembers his first love
Often thinks back to the time
Innocent, young, and then some
Continues to run across this old man's mind

Back when High School held them
As they held each other's hands
In their daily druthers, knew it would last forever
Until together they made other plans

One moved North for the Winters
One stayed down South with the sun
Kept in touch till it became too much
Then shared their love with another one

With no regrets from the past
It's something we must all go through
As far as we know no one goes it alone
This part of our growth that sets the mood

To help us remember our first love
As failing minds slide back to the times
Of when innocent, young, and the some
Tends to run across old men's minds
Every time I’m happy, for reasons I don’t know,
Lights flash in my heart and it kind of . . . . discos.

Why not a waltz, polka, salsa, jive, tango or calypso?
Of all dances, I am not sure why it chooses to disco.

Perhaps, it’s a dance that it can dance on it’s own,
A dance in merry solitude when I might be alone.

Maybe, I grew up in the time when Saturday Night Fever was in tow,
When pop charts went tizzy with songs that’d make the world boom-boom go.

Maybe, my heart beats to the rhythm of life, at times funky, at times slow,
Maybe, it’s in tune with electronic sounds around me — that in a humdrum, flow.

The top left chamber of my heart, leaps, jumps and thumps so,
The bottom right chamber shakes a leg to a psychedelic-lights-show.
My arteries and ventricles throb and pulsate oh . . . OH!
Pumping blood in a sudden rush all the way to my toes.

And like the ever-glittering disco ball, I spin, shine and glow,
Every time I’m happy, my heart jumps . . . And a-dancing it goes
Written by a very young at heart me
I am a coward in disguise
You will hear it in well made up lies
I try to knock the sphere of wise
But I am caught up to my device
Walking on tiptoes over my vices
Avoid setting them obscure at the wrong timings
I have an act up, kind of pretentious
Put up a brave face, being cautious
For time will come to test your defences
What we prepared is not enough, they are relentless
So it is the time, time to get up
Would I, If I am a coward in disguise,
Stand up and rise?
Next page