HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Good tidings to all, and a short rhyme.  Submitted to Poets and Storytellers United, 12-23-21.

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Strange things befell me on the

way to Christmas.  Seems I slipped a 

cog along the way.  

Had an “absence” spell and hospital

visit just when I had planned no life delay.

.Learned again to take no day for granted.

Each is a gift to treasure, come what may.

Here I am to say happy holidays.  I’ve come

to rhyme another day

SCRIBES

 Poetics Tuesday, and Merril has challenged us to consider "passions stamped on lifeless things". Since the beginning of time, men have attempted to leave their stories for those yet to come, and many of those stories have remained undiscernible and objects of intense study.  Submitted to dVerse, 12/8/21.

Beyond the dark of night and above the clouds, where brave men rode their man-made

steeds across the Milky Way to leave their footprints on our shining harvest moon, 

lies a vast nothingness that has captured man's curiosity for eons upon eons.  Ancient

hieroglyphs in distant caves speak of space beings and flying objects and a strange

menagerie called Nazca lines scripted in the sands of some distant land , discernible

only from high above, keep their purpose secret, ever eluding us.

In caves and buried cities,  cliff dwellings and civilizations beneath our oceans,

vanished men have left messages in pictographs, mystic marks and hieryglyphs, 

the penmanship of their time.  There are those who spend their lives attempting to

decipher those stories yet to be revealed.

Likewise, we write the stories of our time for some distant progeny to

attempt to decipher.  

TROUBLE AT THE NORTH POLE

Ah, secondary characters!  None more put-upon than Mrs. Claus.  Santa gets all the accolades, and she's left to handle details.  This occasioned me to reprise an old poem I wrote some time ago.  Like the original, I like to think it's worth the read every Christmastime. Ir's a little risque, so I hope I don't offend anyone!  Here's Mrs. Claus' story. Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, Deember 4, 2021.

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TROUBLE AT THE NORTH  POLE

‘Tis the night before Christmas, I’ve just cleaned the house

Now I find Santa’s been drinking, the louse

He’s been into that bottle of Christmas cheer

I’ve been using for cooking since some time last year.

So, now the sleigh’s loaded (and so is he)

There’s nobody left to drive but me

There’s no place to sit except on his lap

And he’s probably lost the blasted map.

Well, giddyup Prancer, and Blitzen too

We’ve got an important job to do.

Just fly high and fast as in days of yore

We’ll go really fast, so they don’t hear him snore.

We’ll deliver these toys with all possible class

In spite of this tanked-up irresponsible ass.

Who’d have thought when I married my handsome prince

He’d turn into the bum I’ve been living with since.

Rudolph, I thought I could count on you

But I see by your nose you’ve been hitting the brew

Oh, how will I travel this highway of stars

When even NASA can’t find Planet Mars.

I’ m only one woman, but can’t you see

All the boys and girls are counting on me?

Well, here we go fellas, it’s a leap of faith

Pretend you’re up and it’s the last of the eighth.

I knew we could do it, I just love you guys

In spite of our troubles, you were wonderfully wise

The toys are delivered, we’re almost back

With this besotted tippler, and an empty sack.

With MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT

We rose to the occasion and we did it all right.

He’s beginning to wake up….Oh you lecherous rake!

Not tonight, Santa, I have a headache.

THANKSGIVING

 It's Haibun Monday at dVerse, and Frank has asked us to consider in these troubled times those things for which we are grateful.  Submitted to dVerse, November 22, 2021.

My grandfather was a man of small stature, usually wearing  bib overalls.  His forbears founded the first Methodist church in the settlement just north of the Ohio not many years after the Revolution.  Each succeeding generation lived simply, working hard to scrape a living from the land.  Grandpa bowed his head each day at supper, and thanked his God for simple things -- food for sustenance, weather for his crops, the roof over his head, and his family.  I’m grateful I learned from him that these simple things are truly the necessities of life.  All the rest is detritus, the miscellaneous claptrap we think we need today, the embellishments of the necessities.  

grandpa had it right

we just need the basic stuff

giving thanks for enough

BEWARE

THE SUMDAY MUSE #178 

BEWARE

behind the façade of rust and peeling paint

chicanery and debauchery 

gambol with evil 

waiting….

for those who would open the door

AN ORDINARY MAN

FRIDAY WRITINGS~~ The following prose reflects my thoughts at the funeral service of my niece's husband in a neighboring state. Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, November 19, 2021. ********************

He grew up in a small town in a family of ordinary means.  He and his two brothers fished, played ball, and  honored their parents.  After school, he joined the Marines and served for four years.  He returned to his small town, and made his living as a carpenter, known for his skill in cabinetry.  He married and he and his wife settled at the edge of a small town where they raised two sons, of whom, he was extremely proud.  He was a kind man with many friends in his small town, always willing to lend a helping hand.   He led his life in an ordinary way, and when the years settled upon him, he became a beloved grandfather, taking great joy in time spent with his grandchildren.  

When his time came, he fought cancer to the end, and lost his battle at home with those he loved around him.  At his funeral service, a stream of family and acquaintances paid respect, most having a story of some kindness he had extended  them.  He’ll lie at rest in the cemetery on the hill overlooking a bend of little Rook’s Creek, where the cold November wind scatters the golden leaves of the aspen planted on my brother’s grave long ago. far from a city of any size, far from busy highways and high rises. 

 An ordinary man. Well loved.  A life well lived.  

QUOTH THE BARD

Quadrille 140 and we're given the word "fair" for our poem of exactly 44 words.   Submitted to dVerse, November 15, 2021. 

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To be or not to be

In words of the bard

We find  the being

     Is inordinately hard     

We give our best 

All we can bear 

But obstacles appear

      It doesn’t seem fair       

All’s fair in love and war

Says the bard, what’s more