We’re having a heatwave
our clothes are all sweat-stained
Everyone’s dressed to the minimum
my board-shorts are all dri-wick fabric
and a bikini top hides my little secrets
How hot is it?
Standing still counts as cardio
Still, everyone is suffering beautifully
I’ve got a handheld fan that sprays mist
and getting some rewarding second glances
Those coming ashore from yachts
dressed in Missoni and Camilla couture
act like perspiration is a styling trick
but they’re casually hugging shade,
like vampires avoiding sun
If fashion is fantasy. Sweat is reality.
The heat is very democratic.
.
.
A song for this:
heat wave by Bing Crosby
.
youtu.be/lMwZ6LvY7NM
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
Someday I’ll miss the sound
Of my mom singing carols
Off-key in the other room
While I’m trying to fall asleep
(We agree Bing Crosby and Dean Martin
Have astonishingly similar voices)
Mingled with her announcements
I got another one!!
Tallying up her finds
On our impossible cupcakes puzzle
Marooned on half our dining table
Ever since last Valentine’s
(She wants to entice me to help her find more
But I lost my patience long ago
So I just made her a glass of lemonade
With five ice cubes falling from the fridge)
It’s mildly annoying right now
Hearing her argue with cupcakes
Singing along quite out loud
With her unending playlist
Yet it’s also kind of comforting
To pause and think
This will be a memory of her
I can make it sad or happy
And I know I’d regret it if I complained
Because someday I’ll miss the sound
Of my mom singing carols
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men." ~ The Bible, Gospel of Luke 2:14
"...peace on earth, goodwill toward men" ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from the poem, Christmas Bells
and later put to a melody as the song "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" recorded by Bing Crosby, Johnny Cash, and others.
Once thoughts inside a poet's head,
an uninspired conscious thread,
they are now this poem instead,
one you might regret you read -
but can I call it a dream?
Poets with no poem, it seems,
cannot place dreams within dreams.
I generate no conscious streams.
A silent voice in my brain screams,
"what happened to my muse?"
I'm your muse, but I've run dry
Do you know the reason "why"?
No matter how hard I try,
I can only sit and sigh,
inundated by the news.
Yes, inundated by the news -
if you were walking in my shoes,
I think you, too, would have the blues.
So, here's the inner dream I choose -
if you can believe it.
Poet, this is your muse, come in.
Shut out all the noise and din,
Here's your message without spin.
Your dream is these words herein,
- "Peace on earth, goodwill toward men."
Q: Who is the young man who takes care of a child with no parents?
A: Little orphan's manny.
Q: How can a meth addict contact his supplier more quickly?
A: Put him on speed dial.
Q: What is the sharpened pole upon which the "sea eagle" impaled himself?
A: A tern pike.
Q: What do you call a sheet of glass eaten by a donkey?
A: A pane in the ass.
Q: What is it called when one ethnicity at work gets a larger office than another?
A: Racial spatial discrimination.
Q: What do you call a kid who demolishes his Cheerios instead of eating them?
A: A cereal killer.
Q: What did the call girl call the midget when he didn't want to pay her for her services?
A: A little prick.
Q: What's the one exercise Mitch McConnell can't do at the gym?
A: Chin-ups.
Q: What is the antique lawn statue near the door of my plantation in Lexington?
A: My old Kentucky gnome.
Q: Where did the first Mrs. Bing Crosby keep her love for her family?
A: Deep in the heart of Dixie.
Does this mean much to you,
Force fed at Yuletide too?
Unsure if Jesus meant all this,
Tinsel town of retail bliss,
Beginning to feel like Yuletide,
Snow in Aussie ocean tide,
Swimming and drinking,
What is Santa thinking?
Overfeeding everyone,
Overstuffed games in the sun,
Does Jesus think we're crude?
Groaning, here's more food,
Gimme more gifts and a card,
Graft for Christmas, that's so hard,
No matter who's to blame,
Mega stores feel no shame.
Buy, buy, buy, right away,
Rather ceasefires this festive day,
Despite Bing Crosby, okay
That's what Jesus would really say!
Some called the radio station demanding they throw them out of the studio.
Others called to brag about their talents, their arrangements, their sass.
Boswell sisters had been singing together since their Vaudeville days as teens.
Connee played sax and trombone,
Vet played banjo and guitar and Martha held down the piano.
They were popular in their hometown of New Orleans, playing with big bands.
Dorsey Brothers, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman all knew them.
These sisters blended “blackness” and “whiteness”, natural for them.
They loved to rework and rearrange popular songs; they were musicians.
They appeared in a film with Bing Crosby and Cab Calloway.
This led to thirteen appearances on the Bing Crosby Show.
Ella Fitzgerald patterned her style after Connee Boswell.
As did the Andrew Sisters a few years later.
The Boswells had a profound effect; incorporating scat, jazz and swing.
Bob Hope,
at birth Leslie Towns, died at one hundred and his life was an interlope;
admired for his comedic timing, facial expressions, and a great one liner,
the "road" movies with his pal Bing- for comedy there are none finer !
Bing Crosby
at birth Harry Lillis, this man so funny and never ever sang off key,
he did so many things before he died at seventy-two, some with Bob his friend
accomplished much and it is said he was the most admired man to his very end
__________________
September 29, 2021
Poetry/Clerihew/Bob and Bing
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1391-891-29
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Clerihew 2
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 10/29/2021
First Place
As we are spending quality time together in the dark,
I will freely admit I feel happy as a lark.
What splendor you display as you shine in the moonlight.
Without a doubt, I think you are a delight.
You have become someone I truly adore.
I feel like Bing Crosby singing to Dorothy Lamour.
What a wonderful feeling of coming together as one.
For once, I don't want to see the rising of the sun.
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
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
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
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
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”
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!
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