Page Eleven

 

Anna Claus

As we near the Christmas season
Every year I have a reason
   To complain about my lot in life because
I'm unhappy as can be
No one ever thinks of me
   It's not easy being Mrs. Santa Claus

Who is always doing chores?
Who does sewing and restores
   That old tacky crimson suit with worn-out furs?
For a century, each year
I've been letting out the rear
   To accommodate the bulge that now occurs

When my absent-minded spouse
Lets the reindeer in the house
   Through that broken door the elves forgot to fix
Muddy hooves -- there's quite a few
If you're counting -- thirty two
   Unless Rudolph shows and then there's thirty-six

And speaking of those elves
They do not behave themselves
   All their noise while making toys compounds my woes
I am always mending frocks
And forever darning sox
   That they puncture with those awful pointy toes

Since the nearest grocery store
Is a thousand miles or more
   All I ever get to eat is frozen dinner
Although Santa thinks it's fine
When he sneaks a glass of wine
   That's why he gets fat while I keep getting thinner

Santa Claus is too darn jolly
And I think he's off his trolley
   When his cheerfulness becomes a bit extreme
I attempt a conversation
But it ends with my frustration
   If I hear another "Ho-Ho-Ho" -- I'll scream

"Santa: On this Christmas Eve
I'll mount up with you and leave
   Because Anna Claus deserves some holidays
Tell those elves that you released her
And she won't be back 'til Easter
   Even later if they don't amend their ways

You get all the World's applause
Rightly so . . . you're Santa Claus
   Every child appreciates the good you do
Good is good -- while I agree
Save a little good for me
   And you'd better if you know what's good for you!

© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Read more poetry by Omar West here.

 

 

Never Shop On Christmas Eve

Never wait 'till Christmas Eve
To shop for the ones you love
Unless you have the wherewithal
To kick and push and shove

On the other hand, however
If your funds are runnin' low
The bargains are abundant
You may save yourself some dough

Take last year, for example
When the budget hit the skids
My mind was runnin' rampant
What to get the wife and kids
 
On Christmas Eve, at the midnight run
At the K-Mart where I shop
I found my wife the perfect gift
And I only made one stop
 
On the bargain table, all alone
Was the perfect little gift
Twas made of lace and bungee cords
Guaranteed to separate and lift
 
Now, all I know is horses
Ain't got a clue about lingerie
So the tag, to me, was useless
What's a twenty-eight, cup double A
 
Although the clerk was rattled
She didn't smirk nor scoff
I said," Wrap it up, it's perfect
With eighty five per cent knocked off"
 
So, bright and early, Christmas morn
Before the coffee pot got hot
The wife had ripped the wrappin'
Off the goodies that she got
 
"Try it on", was my reply
So the missus took a chance
I had to sit through her rendition
Of the hoochy-koochy dance
 
The assurance that the thing would fit
Was my one and only fear
But it made pointers out of setters
I dodged the bullet one more year
 
© 2004, Jay Snider  
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Alert readers will notice that the usual BAR-D standards relax somewhat during Christmas.  But is it our official and inviolable policy that any poem with the above subject matter is always accompanied by a link to Yvonne Hollenbeck's poem, The Truth About the Bra. 

 

Read more poetry by Jay Snider here.

 

 

 

Pedro's Christmas Tree

Pedro was the newest hand when Christmas rolled around.
There weren't no signs that yuletide ways were part of his background.


So it wasn't any shocking thing that happened that's fer shore
when Pedro took the notion to complete this Christmas chore!

I'm guessin' he misunderstood the roll the tree would play.
When he returned from gettin' one we all were blown away!

His horse was strainin' mighty hard and his riggin' sure was tested.
When it come to Pedro's Christmas tree, the size won't e'er be bested!

With a smile that stretched from ear to ear, he pointed at the tree.
In broken English he exclaimed, " Merry Christmas!..si?"

© 2004, Tom King 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

At Tom's web site, you can see the accompanying Eldon Walls cartoon and a message about Ellen King, who stays in everyone's thoughts and prayers

 

Read more of Tim King's poetry here.

 

On the Border

Along Texas border down Mexico way
Santa staked out his reindeer and parked his ol' sleigh.
He stripped his red suit down to his waking shorts,
drew out his flask and then had a few snorts.
He said Texas heat would drive "Teetotalers" to drink
as he sat on a sand dune trying to think.
And as he sat there with his spirits a draggin'
along came a fellow with a nice empty wagon.
It was pulled by a team of burros you know,
'cause those little critters can stand heat by Joe!
The fellow took to Santa right off the reel
and they shook hands and made a sweet deal.
Santa drove the wagon with a "HO HO HO"
a chokin' on dust with a far piece to go.
Up and down those trails ol' Santa kept a goin'
with sand in his eyes and tumbleweeds blowin'.
When finally he had finished his run,
he said "I'm through with this sonofagun!"
He returned the wagon and picked up his sleigh,
said "Goodbye" to the fellow, and said, "By the way___
to me all the border children are dear,
but I think I'll just mail their presents next year."

© 2004, Tex Tumbleweed
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Read more of Tex Tumbleweed's poetry here.

 

A Cowboy Christmas

Through dust and scratchin' tumbleweed
The cowboy made his way,
For there were hungry mouths to feed,
And he'd just got his pay.
 
Tomorrow would be Christmas mornin',
Ma would be there waitin',
All the ranch she'd be adornin',
Set for celebratin'.
 
Little Bobby Joe and Sue
With little Christmas smiles
Had spurred him on - the cowboy knew
He'd have to cross those miles.

He'd hoped to get a dolly when
He reached a desert town,
But all was emptiness - no men,
No, not a soul aroun'.
 
For Joe, he'd long been whittling on
A stick to make a toy,
A gift the cowboy got upon
His birthday as a boy.
 
But as he walked he tripped and fell
And heard a mighty CRACK.
The cowboy gave a rueful yell,
Then reached around his back
 
And found Joe's toy in pieces, broke -
A tear fell from his eye.
Then off he went - no word he spoke,
Each breath more like a sigh.
 
.......................

On Christmas morning Sue and Joe
Got up and ran outside.
"Where's Pa?" they asked.  "He didn't show!"
Ma sat down then and cried.
 
Then off on the horizon, just
About a mile or so,
Sue saw a figure through the dust -
"It's Pa!" she screamed.  "Look, Joe!"
 
Ma wiped her eyes and looked amazed.
He came - he really came.
And when she saw him, eyes all glazed,
She heard him call her name.
 
From head to toe he looked as though
He'd hit a hurricane.
"I have no presents, Sue and Joe,"
he whispered through his pain.
 
Ma gave a smile that lit the sky,
And said, "Oh, yes you do!"
"That's right," said Sue, "cause Joe and I,
why, all we want is you!"
 
They brought Pa in, and gave him sup,
And Pa said, "My, it's fine
To be back home.   Now, grab a cup -
Let's toast to yours and mine!"
 
© 2004, Rich Roach
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Read more of Rich Roach's poetry here.

 

A Cowboy Christmas Gathering

Sittin' in this ol' empty bunkhouse
        with memories of another day
Thoughts of pards who touched my life
        in their own special way
Then in my mind this Holy Season
        it seems that they all gather here
For that Cowboy Christmas Gathering
        at this ol' bunkhouse every year.

I see that same old cowboy comradery
        when cowboys get together
And feel the warmth of friendship
        of cowboys greeting one another
These feelings are just a symbol
        of the life they live each day
For there is a bond of deep allegiance
        that is part of the cowboy way.

The cowboy way is a noble way
        with respect for God and fellow man
For all who live close to land and nature
        seem to know and understand
We share a common reverence
        for all creation of Heaven here beneath
And that is the essence of the message
        that Christ had come to teach.

As I sit in fond reminiscence
        of the many friends with which I'm blest
My prayers extend where ere you ar
        to wish you health and happiness
We have only the present before us
        there is no time to make amends
So, I take this precious moment
        to give thanks for my cowboy friends,

© 2003, Leroy Watts 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Read more of Leroy Watts' poetry here.

 

One Saturday in December

One Saturday in December we were at the ranch
A day we will remember. forget? not a chance
 
Cleanin section thirteen of wild heifers and steer
Brushed-up, not to be seen, like coyotes and deer
 
We lacked only a few and then we'd be done
and ready for new cattle to grow by the ton
 
Mark had seen a white tail then it was gone
That one wasn't gonna sell, till it got nylon
 
We rode back to the place and began to hear noise
A little man with a fat face was kickin some toys

Who is this guy? Don't you think it might be?
Did he fall from the sky? Is he lookin for me?

The man's name is Nick,the one and only
Here was not his pick, he is not phony
 
They were flyin south on a practice flight
They all had dry mouth from flyin all night
 
They spotted a fish farm from way up high
One drink wouldn't harm, is almost a lie
 
They came in close, caught gas from the sewer
Found it was gross, they needed water more purer
 
It was too late, they began to pass out
Almost their fate, the odor was to stout

It was a crash landin, just south of the tanks
No reindeer was standin,in Midland Draw they almost sank
 
They were in saltcedar, some wonderin about
Some could not stir, nor find their way out
 
They're runin behind, we offered help acourse
This was one time they needed help of a horse
 
Commet was passed out, Donner was dizzy
David started to shout, made it look easy
 
Get up or you'll die! it's called "Cowboy C.P.R."
Commet opened one eye, it kinda twinked like a star
 
Dasher and Dancer were stuck in the mud
Vixon and Prancer were chewin their cudd
 
Blitzen and Cupid were hung up in the trees
They all looked stupid (time to talk about fees)
 
With a rope and a kick we got em unstuck
Monty tought Nick how to haul with a truck
 
All groggy and drooped, did'nt want to load up
They looked all pooped, like a sick little pup
 
Lori cracked her whip and got their attention
Give her no lip will be a ounce of prevention
 
Load up like a good cow Brenda started fussin
And I mean right now fore Lori starts cussin!
 
I slamed the gate then Monty started haulin
Nick said we're late, soon kids'll be bawlin
 
We all took our rope and tied onto the sleigh
Nick said there's hope, let's be on our way
 
ON GEORGE,MONTEGO,PEPPER AND ARTY
ON WINCHESTER,BLUE,SONNY AND GOLDY
 
Sparkles came up our twines we were up and away
Higher than pines Nick said "lets talk about pay!"
 
Back at the barns was a pen full of reindeer
Concerned for horns not to mention the steer
 
Lookin at the squeeze chute they all got well
Nick was cleanin his boot Max waggin his tail
 
Juan got down from Blue brought wire and a letter
Fixed the sleigh like new maybe even more better
 
That was'nt so tough anything else you might need
Nick said "that's enough" we had done a good deed
 
He sat in his sleigh and told us all thaaanks
For savin his day from those smelly tanks
 
He shook his reins and was gone fast as light
Merry Christmas Santa and have a good flight

© 1997, Joe Kunkel 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Read more of Joe Kunkel's poetry here.

Visit our Art Spur project for poems 
inspired by Charlie Russell's "Seein' Santa."

"Seein' Santa" 
by Charles M. Russell, 1910
  C. M. Russell Museum
Great Falls, Montana
reproduced with permission

 

 

 

 

Page Eleven