Best Bing Crosby Poems
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The Christmas tree was real, always~
pine needles littering the carpet
like fallen promises.
Mother's hands smelled of pine resin
and brandy-soaked fruitcake~
her laugh a ribbon unwinding
through the underheated rooms.
We believed in everything then~
the rustle of wrapping paper angels,
the miracle of snow settling on the porch
like an angel’s breath.
Through a haze of woodsmoke
the radio hummed of
Bing Crosby Christmas tunes
while our wool socks scratched
against Granny’s sofa,
its springs complaining
beneath our sugar-rushed weight.
No one told us time could be folded
like tissue paper around a gift~
that decades later,
we’d still taste peppermint sticks
and hear the distant choir
of a dozen jingle bells
still tied to the doorknob
of memory.
Anyone who has lived through them as I have,
Knows the Forties were the most memorial of all
Of the decades of the Twentieth Century
And surely the most vivid in recall.
Personally, they were the greatest of my life.
I was married in the year of Forty-One.
Then in March of Nineteen-Forty Three,
We were blessed with the birth of a new son.
Two daughters followed him in their own time,
One born in Forty-Five, and one in Forty-Six.
But intruding on the joys of my own life,
Was the world which was in a terrible fix.
Millions of Jews and others were slaughtered,
Although at the time we were mostly unaware.
In December we entered World War II
To fight Hitler and Hirohito, an evil pair.
Our young men went to war, the rest of us
Pared down our lives to help to win the war.
The barest necessities were all we had,
And we were proud to be giving more and more.
The Forties saw the first atom bomb dropped
On Japan by our own beloved country.
I would have begged Harry not to drop it had I known
But of course no one saw reason to ask me.
Despite the war there were many new inventions,
And we slowly climbed out of the depression.
We constructed bomb shelters in our back yards.
The horrors of war had left a bad impression.
There were block buster movies in those years
And television was just in its beginnings.
Rebecca, How Green Was My Valley, Mrs. Miniver
And All The King's Men, had coveted Oscar winnings.
Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole were famous.
Peggy Lee and Dinah Shore were heard.
These singers were featured and unlike today,
When they sang you could hear every word.
This is a small taste of the Forties,
I hope that I have made you understand
That everything was bigger during this decade,
War, rugged times, and big bang and big band.
Written 3/2/15
Hearing the jingling bells of Santa's sleigh,
Hanging silver tinsel on the tree for trim,
My cousin and I going sledding all day,
Reading the story of Scrooge and Tiny Tim.
Building a house made of spicy gingerbread,
And hearing a Bing Crosby Christmas tune,
Leaving out cookies before going to bed,
Seeing eight tiny reindeer flying by the moon.
Santa Claus bringing toys down our chimney,
Almost every house twinkling with lights,
Cutting down a fresh, pine Christmas tree,
Hanging antique ornaments, so shiny and bright.
Grandma and I baking my favorite cookies,
Shopping for Christmas gifts in every store,
A fireplace with a stocking hung just for me,
And singing Christmas carols at every door.
My hometown covered in glistening, white snow,
And the sweet, minty taste of a candy cane,
Presents containing treasures we wouldn't know,
And drawing snowflakes on a frosty window pane.
My Mom making a snowman, as perfect as can be,
Decking the halls with garlands, wreaths and more,
Whispering wishes to Santa, sitting on his knee,
And the excitement we all had the night before.
December 12th, 2013
After: Harlequin’s Carnival by Joan Miro, 1925.PD
After: Bing Crosby - Swinging On A Star (1944)
I try to apply colors like words that shape poems,
like notes that shape music. - Joan Miro
Listen to the mockingbird rings from ear to ear driven in a
frenzy of delight, naysaying the evil torts of Hieronymus
Bosch’s gardens. Feasting on nature’s foreplay, stringing
leaps of fancy, parading to an oompah-pah, lured by a rendez-
vous with Dali and melted timepieces.
to fly
to soar
soar unconfined
soar scored
scored notes
scored lines
The bliss of true tones, winged squirmings,
dancing snakes, acrobatic merfolk swinging on stars,
the ensemble gestates.
Cues coil, ping, the clocks tick; let your
wired heart purr. Jack-in-the Box to Jack outside,
take a spoonful of sugar with your medicine, & twirl
your partner round and round.
First published by illumen 2016
3 am.
The alarm clock in my head wakes me with a
silent clanging.
Outside, the rain is falling so hard. It sounds like someone's
trying to break into my room.
Jesus.
It's Christmas Day.
It might as well be August 25th because the conversation in my head has not changed
since then. "You are a piece of ****."
I think of things I need to worry about, things I've worried about since August 25th and way before that.
My anxiety runs through my veins like hot chemo.
I stagger to the living room and stare at the half-decorated Christmas tree ...
gold balls weighing down one side. Empty green takes up the other. Oh, there are two figurines of kittens that I bought at a garage sale in Staten Island in 1998.
God. 3:10 am.
A whole day to spend by myself.
Not a fake friend in sight today, with their banal conversations about picking up their laundry or meeting at the gym at whatever time to do arms or back.
Just as well; I get a blank stare from them when I want to talk about chasing happiness or being childless at 53.
The TV is my savior. It pulls me out of myself.
Bing Crosby comes on singing "White Christmas." He's dancing
with those two impossibly shiny bleached blondes. And they all have those white, almost blue American teeth -- not one out of place.
12 pm.
I wake up on the couch and "White Christmas" is still playing; it must be a marathon.
Outside, the rain has turned to snow and there are two messages on my phone -- from Christian friends inviting me to their houses for the day.
It's tough being a Buddhist on Christmas. OK, so I know, as the Buddhists say, everything is OK as long as I let it be OK.
But this is one day of the year I don't want to "be."
I consider whether to shower. It takes 10 minutes to decide. I let the hot water run down my back, and I don't know if it's burning from the water or my nerve endings.
I don't want to face Christmas - but I have decided to join life and go to Cory's to see his kids, stare at the tree and eat some turkey.
I decide to take a Xanax, and I stick one in my pocket as assurance.
Maybe some of this gloom will yet lift from my heart.
In Philadelphia, in the year 1929,
an actress was born that had a career that was fine.
Grace Kelly, the daughter of Jack and Margaret Kelly,
came from quite a distinguished Irish Catholic family.
Her father was successful as a self-made millionaire;
her brother, an Olympian and town councilman there.
Grace’s uncle Walter Kelly was a vaudeville actor,
and Uncle George Kelly, a Pulitzer-winning writer.
Any film critic would tell you her acting was quite good.
She was one of the beautiful women in Hollywood.
Among her films were, “Fourteen Hours”, “High Noon”, and “Mogambo”,
and Alfred Hitchcock’s “Dial M for Murder” and “Rear Window”.
For “The Country Girl”, she won the Oscar for Best Actress.
In several other major films, Grace made great progress.
Included with “The Swan”, her other great pictures would be
“To Catch a Thief“, “Green Fire” and “The Bridges at Toko-Ri”
Her last film would be with Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby.
This was the Cole Porter musical “High Society”.
Later that year, Grace would marry Monaco’s Prince Rainier.
She retired from the screen and became a princess that day.
Grace had three children, Albert, Caroline, and Stephanie.
With her husband, she ruled the tiny principality.
Grace’s life ended abruptly when she was fifty-two.
Her life was like a storybook fairy tale dream come true.
I heard Bing Crosby sing
My heart skipped a little
Close is the time
Of joyful rhyme
Sleighs and snowman
Georgia's southern clim'
Doesn't go for snow
Below the tinsel lighted star
We sing Bing!
Dear Frank,
I'm sending a little note,
A note in the wind...
May you find this
Like I found you...
It was nearly a year ago,
In early December,
When I stumbled upon you.
Your voice and your music,
Your heart and your soul.
Floating into my ear,
Another kind of
Note in the wind...
And it made me smile.
As fate would have it
Music would fill a void
That I never saw coming...
Just days later...
When the Coronavirus
Would take my uncle away from me.
Just weeks before Christmas.
The very next day,
I was in my car,
Tuning the radio
To the only station
That plays holiday music,
Hoping that it would lift my spirits.
The first song that came on...
Was your version of
'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas'
It was you.
I knew it was you.
It was not Judy Garland.
It was not Bing Crosby.
It was Frank Sinatra.
After the song ended
The announcer confirmed it...
No other song, no other singer
Could have been more appropriate
In that moment...
I knew it was you.
I don't believe in coincidence.
I do believe in fate.
In that moment...
I almost cried, but didn't.
I smiled.
Not a day has gone by
That I don't listen
To one of your songs.
They make me smile.
Just like my uncle had.
I'm sending a little note
A note in the wind...
Just to say thanks
For the music, dear Frank.
May you find this
Like I found you...
With a smile...
P.S.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light...
Someday soon we all will be together
If the fates allow...
(October 27th, 2022)
You and I by the Christmas Fire
Bing Crosby on the CD
I stare at your face
With a big smile across my face
The house is empty
There is no one home
So, we decorate the place.
Lighted candles in every space.
We put the presents where they belong
Waiting for the boys to get home.
So, they can help along.
When they arrive, what a surprise!
It is time to decorate the evergreen.
Colored lights, red and white
Ornaments last year seen
An angel on top, where she belongs
We gather around, sing some songs
The boys off to bed where
Sweet dreams drift in their minds
Waiting for Santa to make that big climb!
“Fond Memories Contest”
shining moment
bright angel
light shimmering
a halo on your hair
I am forever
blessed by this
visitation
baubles dance
on our tipsy tree
we sway too
on a Bing Crosby tune
slightly out of step
but never minding
your heartbeat
is all I hear
time pauses
holding my hand
you wonder
what gift you can give
so filled, voice
stopped by tears
this is the gift
this is all, Love,
that I could want
Well, here I am again, with my tales from the night before.
Just when you thought you heard it all, here I am with more.
Remember back in “one” of the tales I told to you,
Well please sit back and listen, because here comes number two.
Bob Hope and Bing Crosby didn’t make it, they’re on the road.
Buster Keaton remained quiet, but communicated in code.
The Babe and Lou Gehrig were playing there own game
While poor old Gracie Allen could not remember her name.
George Washington, yeah he was there, even holding his old axe
Until Lizzie Borden came along and took it for some whacks.
Lady Godiva was there and I didn’t hear a word she said.
Marie Antoinette was there, and not without her head.
Ah, there goes Nostradamus, who said the earth would fail.
Oh, and there’s the Birdman, who couldn’t keep himself in jail.
Poor Ben Franklin looked like he just came in from a storm.
Oh, wow, check this out! Hey, Sammie, is that Norm?
Louis fourteenth and Robespierre were rehashing their old times.
Oh, look, there goes Dr. Seuss. I always loved his rhymes.
I even had the chance to ask King Arthur of Guinevere,
But that’s when Nostradamus came back and said the end is near.
Pope John Paul the second was chatting with Lady Di.
I didn’t have the guts to talk to them. I didn’t want to try.
Mugsy and Satch came over, from the other side of town.
Wilbur and Orville were there, but couldn’t stay on the ground.
Too many of these famous people, to say that they know me
Therefore, from this poem, now, I will really have to flee.
But, if I get the time to write more of this , you see
Then please check back, again, for this poem, number three.
I rise from the bed, make coffee,
drink the obligatory first cup, sending
me racing to the "salle de bain" to begin
a day of eliminating the negative,
accentuating the positive, as Bing Crosby
instructed in our youthful days.
I select from a stack of magazines,
one, waiting to be opened, read about
the history of chess and young grandmasters,
considering that at 80, grandmistress
of nothing, I should teach myself chess,
swim good enough to compete, sky dive
into the air over my island beneath a sexy
instructor, coupling with the clouds.
Instead I cut out paper dolls:
a poem by Donald Hall, hoping it will
teach me improved line breaks. His,
are impeccable. Who is this guy and why
do I love him? Then on the credits page,
"Former poet laureate". No wonder,
I say, no freaking wonder!
I once asked my workshop director
from a former life in Atlanta, "Just how
important are line breaks?" HUGE,
he replies. "Rats." I say, "never be a poet."
Still, I want to be a scary, frightening
poet like Robinson Jeffers. I go
where the pain is, try couplets, take out
all adjectives, see what's left, watch
participles; turn, counter-turn,
and stand.
The word at the end of any line is most
important. Break on nouns, verbs,
and the words that describe them:
"When the blackberries hang / swollen
in the woods," (Mary Oliver) Timing,
as in most things, is everything, and I
have just broken all the rules
Where are the sounds of Christmas?
Locked in the hearts of the people you say.
Where did all the smiles go?
What happened to the glee filled,
'Happy Holiday!'
A greeting by strangers and friends you
Chanced to meet...
In a store or on the street...
What happened to the sounds of Christmas'
I haven't heard the old Christmas songs
On the radio...
These new songs, I don't even know.
Bring back 'The Christmas Song' by Mr. Nat King Cole
Bring back Bing Crosby Dreaming of a White Christmas
From days of old...
The sounds of Christmas once rang loud and clear,
With 'Merry Merry Christmas My Friend and have A properous
Happy New Year!:
I long to hear carrolers gathering, singing songs of the season
Where are the Christmas sounds, why have they stopped?
Do you know the reason?
Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing
Written 12:15 a.m. Dec. 4, 2009
#A GIFT...AN UPLIFT! A GLORIOUS SHIFT OCCURS WHEN HAVING BEEN PRIVY TO AN OUTSTANDING SINGER! THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW, YOUR HEART FEELS A GLOW...
BECAUSE A SINGER HAS MOVED YOU SO...
"A SINGER HAS M O V E D YOU SO! ! !"
ALLOW ME TO SHOW, AS FOLLOWS...
THE GREAT MR. LUTHER VANDROSS
{ONE AND ONLY, MOST DEFINITELY* SOLELY!}
QUEEN VOICE: WHITNEY HOUSTON
THE DIVINE MS. SARAH VAUGHAN
AL JARRAEU - MORNIN', DISTRICTED, BLUE SKIES
GLADYS KNIGHT
OLIVIA NEWTON JOHN
PHYLLIS HYMAN
KAREN CARPENTER
TEDDY PENDERGRASS, SHARON TATE AND
HAROLD MELVIN
AMY WINEHOUSE - "LOVE IS A LOSING GAME"
SEAL, CHRIS ISAAK, TOM JONES
BROOK BENTON, DAVID RUFFIN, LOU RAWLS
BING CROSBY, FRANK SINATRA AND ELLA FITZGERALD
LEN CARIOU - "PRETTY WOMEN"
ANITA BAKER, REGINA BELL AND CHAKA KHAN
STEVIE WONDER, TONI TENNILLE, LUKE EVANS,
MARVIN GAYE, ADAM LAMBERT AND
RUSSELL THOMPKINS JR.
ANGELA WINBUSH - "ANGEL"
JOHNNY CASH, K.D. LANG AND
FREDDIE MERCURY
SARA BAREILLES - "SMILE"
NANCY WILSON, BARBARA STREISAND AND
SARAH VAUGHAN
JOHN DENVER, JOSE FELICIANO, AND
JOHNNIE WILDER, JR.
NAT KING COLE, BARRY WHITE AND
ISAAC HAYES
LEON THOMAS - "SUNFLOWER"
MINNIE RIPPERTON, DORIS DAY, AND
TEENA MARIE
CELINE DION, LUCIANO PAVAROTTI, AND
PUTRI ARIANI
STEVE PERRY, LABI SAFFRI AND
ROBERTA FLACK
THE GREAT DONNY HATHAWAY
THIS WAS ONLY TO NAME "A FEW"
WHO'S MISSION BLEW US AWAY...
MADE OUR SOUL SWAY, WITH A MEMORABLE TAKEAWAY! IT'S THOSE UNFORGETTABLE, INCREDIBLE NOTES SUNG IN SUCH A WAY, FROM THEIR SIGNATURE INLAY...
"FROM THEIR S I G N A T U R E IN-LAY ! ! !"
THEIR GIFT, OUR UPLIFT, WHAT'S MORE PURE? NOTHING SHORT OF THAT, THAT'S FOR SURE!
WOW!!! WHAT MEMORIES....
SUCH EVOKING OF OUR SENTIMENTS AND SENSORY...
WHEN A VOICE WAS CREATED TO REMEDY! ! !
"THANKS SO VERY MUCH...ELLA! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !"
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} September 12, 2023#
Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Perry Como
Crooners from way back when, quite a long time ago
Today's hullabaloo
Don't know who's who
Guess you could say I'm an old over the hill crow