Happy holidays, everyone.
Here are some holiday poems. The first two were written in response to a post on the poetic muselings blog
One cold winter day, I selected a pen
to write down a poem or two or three, when
there cam a rap, rapping, a tap on my door.
“Oh, bother, oh, darn it,” I said. “What a bore.”
“I have to stop writing.” And then I stood up,
gulped down the cold coffee dregs left in my cup.
The front door swung open, and who should I find?
The poet police, who said, “Dearie you’re fined.”
“The poetry fashion is all for free verse.
Yours has rhyme and meter. It couldn’t be worse.”
“We hereby command you to cease and desist.
You cannot evade us, so do not resist.”
I slammed the front door and slumped down,, debating
how long the verse coppers would stand outside, waiting
to haul me away, place me under arrest
from penning my rhymingest poetry best.
Somehow my mind is all a blank,
no memories remaining.
However hard I strain my brain,
all I get is complaining.
Recall’s a stall of holidays
or gifts both great and small.
So lift a glass to my old past.
It’s passed beyond recall.
And here are couple more:
What Happens Christmas Night
I’ve noticed that Saint Nick’s a bit
too big around for him to fit
inside our chimney, Christmas night
the struggle must be quite a sight.
Perhaps he oils his nice red suit
all over so that he can shoot
right down the chimney. Then you’ll see
he’ll cut his hand and sprain his knee.
I guess that all those aches and pains
will hurt so much that he’ll complain
that getting down was such a chore
he’s going to leave us by the door!
And here’s one I wrote one year when contemplating writing a Christmas letter. I never did write one.
Names Changed to Protect the Innocent
I am writing you this letter,
I had hoped things would be better
than they were the year before.
I am sorry I’ve not written
but it’s really hard to fit in.
I am sure you know the score.
I am hoping you are all well.
Did you hear my husband Al fell?
It has really been a bore.
We found that his leg was broken
when he went to let his folks in
and was answering the door.
He went and slipped on the ice.
He grabbed the rail but no dice;
getting up was quite a chore.
We took him right to the doctor;
the bad break has really shocked her.
His leg’s still really sore.
And my Mary’s back to drinking,
you can hear the glasses clinking,
and she drinks more than before.
We were hoping she’d stay sober,
that her drinking days were over,
and her drinking was no more.
Alas it was all a vain hope.
She says that she needs it to cope,
She finds holidays a chore.
And my Al has started smoking;
even though he’s always choking
he just keeps on smoking more.
James is smoking like his father,
it is really quite a bother;
I don’t need to tell you more.
And our Sally’s started dating
a boy Al is really hating
and the rest of us adore.
All the rest of us are betting
there will surely be a wedding,
maybe June if not before.
Little Gary’s grades are falling;
it is really quite appalling.
He won’t study any more.
I’ve tried everything they told us.
We have all made quite a big fuss,
and we’ve added to his chores.
Nothing that we’ve tried helps at all.
We have run into a wall,
I simply want to slam the door.
I hope your news is better
than the news that’s in this letter.
I feel I’ve been in a war.
I have written you all my news.
Please write back to me when you choose.
Love to everyone, Lenore