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Rusty Calhoun
Cookie’s Christmas Puddin’
When The Animals Talk
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Cookie’s Christmas Puddin’
Christmas in the mountains
A picture perfect scene
The ranch house smelled like punkin’ pie
Then Cookie began to scream.
He clattered all the pots and pans,
Smashed things on the wall,
A big cast iron skillet
Came rolling down the hall.
Pokes were jumping out the door
Into snowbanks off the porch,
And Cookie was behind them
Waving a fiery torch.
It looked an awful lot like
A flaming head of hair,
Impaled upon a serving fork.
All I could do was stare.
Sugar plums began to fall
As Cookie waved it round,
His violent gesticulations
Made it twirl without a sound.
‘Cross the big corral it flew
Chasing those ol’ pokes
Who obviously pulled another
Of their little , ornery jokes.
It smacked against the barn door,
And left a purple streak.
I was laughing so dang hard
My knees were gettin’ weak.
“Take it easy Cook,” I said
“No need to get irate
Wouldn’t it’ve just been better
To serve that on a plate?
Instead of on a javelin
Like an Olympic star,
Flingin’ it at them cowboys
Was taking things too far”
That’s when I noticed Cookie
Was in tattered underwear,
His shirt and pants were shredded,
There was rum sauce in his hair.
He looked up with a mournful face,
Tears running down his cheeks,
And told me ‘bout the Christmas puddin’
He’d been working on for weeks.
“Been makin’ this plum puddin’
Since sometime in November,
Soaked it up with brandy
Everytime that I’d remember.
Readyin’ to serve it up,
Was feelin’ mighty proud!
But when I put a match to it,
It blew up, good and loud.
One ofthem knot head jokers
Put kerosene in my jug
Instead of cookin’ sherry
So it blew up in my mug.”
That flyin’ Christmas puddin’
Was plastered on the barn
Where it remained for twenty years
This ain’t no cowboy yarn.
And Cookie put a patent
On that recipe of goo.
Sold it off to Elmer
Who made all purpose glue.
This poem is as true to the facts as I could remember them.
© 1999 Rusty Calhoun
Read more of Rusty Calhoun's poems here.
When The Animals Talk
The story is told about the night
The babe was born in the stable.
The animals gathered round the child
Admiring Him in the cradle.
Because they worshipped that little babe,
And sang their praises to Him
God has granted them one night a year
They can talk with the seraphim.
Late at night, on Christmas Eve
In every stable and barn,
The critters gather in Jesus’ name
Warm and safe from harm.
At the stroke of midnight, a miracle!
Lowing and braying takes form
As words of love and praise come forth
And the creatures voices transform
Into lovely, sweet, and comforting sounds
As they utter worshipful words
No one’s left out, there are sheep and elk
Coyotes, cougars and birds.
The angels sing and play their lutes,
The drummer boy thumps his drum.
The horses nicker an “Agnus Dei”
And all of the animals come
To lend their voices in adoration
At the birth of the blessed child
And teach us gentle lessons
In tones both sweet and mild.
“O holy Night”, the mother ewe bleats
As she snuggles her little lamb,
While benediction is offered up
By a majestic curly horned ram.
Voices ring out from the top of the lofts,
Across the meadows and plains,
A chorus of joyful, heavenly notes.
The Christ Child’s Glory proclaimed.Rusty Calhoun
Read more of Rusty Calhoun's poems here.
Page Five of Fourteen
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