~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The limp red sock, half-forgotten on the mantel,
still smells of oranges crushed in December mittens.
Its toe cradles a fossilized candy cane,
while the heel remembers the weight of walnuts.
Once, it bulged with promises—
a tangerine sunrise, chocolate coins,
and the thrilling rustle of cellophane.
Now, it sags like an unanswered letter.
I press my face into its woolen hollow
and inhale childhood like woodsmoke.
Please rate 1-10
(1 Santa would be proud or
10 A coal in your stocking!)
A white Christmas in Chicagee don't make no sense
Bout time we skeedaddle, let good times commence
So where to go, my darlin' Maggie and me
As we swig down our egg nog and pack our tree?
The lil' miss and I'll be spendin' this Christmas
Way down yonder on the Panama Isthmus
There's a honky-tonk there on the ol' canal
Tequilla will be flowin' for me and my gal
I'm heading home for Christmas
(Snows on the way)
In a plane, then a cab and a sleigh
Bringing presents and prizes I've made
Giddy yup horsey! I musn't be late
Of God we are saints, of myth this Nick
This mystical and elusive controtionist
Over rooftops, down chimneys without a slip
Hanging stockings and mistletoe
For an occasional kiss
Stretch and yawn and wiping sleep from our eyes
Hey there's frost on the window
On green bows dancing lights
On the mantle the the stockings "Oh boy, what's inside!?"
There's no coal in my stocking, that isn't right
There's no coal in my stocking, but I need it for heat
Then on with the stockings to comfort my feet
Silk stocking filled with mud was Talleyrand.
With the future of France held in his hand,
He played kibitzer-informed cards with skill,
Maneuvering a Congress to his will.
There once was a Marquis named Talleyrand,
Who loved ladies and a fine sarabande
Smarts from ladies gained as a teen
Helped him escape the guillotine,
Surviving four regimes as he had planned.
Vested in priestly garb this backslidden Bishop
Chose diplomacy over baptism and hyssop.
Though Talleyrand walked with congenital limp,
He was never known as a diplomatic wimp.
They struggle with a violent grace,
the bawdy cries of a bandoneon,
the open gash of her torn stocking.
They both understand
that naked desires come last,
first there is this ceremony,
the ritual goading
white flesh and dark shadows
must be rubbed
with an urgent blood.
This bar is a plaza de toros,
a place for the lace mantilla
to be torn away,
a dance floor for broken nightingales.
They are cheap wine,
but they know how to pour,
crushed and tied as they are
to the pressing moment.
The gap in her stocking
seems to reflect their deeper wounds,
holes where hope died,
and nothing they seek now,
can ever fill them.
Pity the Poor Octopus
The octopus is a curious creature
With eight long tentacles his most outstanding feature.
But because of his oddly shaped cephalopod bod,
He's not one of those who looks stylish in clothes,
For his head's much too big to put a hat upon.
And like the squid and the manta,
He could never play Santa,
'cause he has no lap to be sat upon.
Christmas Q and A:
Q: What's a favorite Christmas holiday entertainment for many domineering women?
A: "The Nutcracker"
Q: Why is it better to give at Christmas than to receive?
A: it might be tax deductible.
Q: What would the Sugar Plum one be if she had a bad case of hypertrichosis?
A: A very hairy fairy.
Merry Christmas Poetry Soup!
They struggle with a violent grace,
the bawdy cries of a bandoneon,
the open gash of her torn stocking.
They both understand
that naked hopes come last,
first there is this ceremony
the ritual goading
white flesh and dark shadows
must be rubbed
with an urgent blood.
This bar is a plaza de toros,
a place for the lace mantilla
to be torn away,
a dance floor for broken nightingales
They are cheap wine
but they know how to pour,
crushed and tied as they are
to the pressing moment.
The gap in her stocking
is not large
but its wound is deep,
and sadly nothing,
nothing they have to offer
can ever fill it.
on the street lights stands
a hawk talon wraps around
perching standing tall
~
eyes surreal micros
sees his pray half mile away
darts off racing fast
~
spies and focus scene
sees his victim tiny mouse
a fine meal for "HAWK"
3/3/2022
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
Candy canes, sugar cookies and more
Sneaking joy into stockings galore
Except for Uncle Bob
Who was always a slob
His held brush, comb and blade he’d ignore
I Need a Good Laugh: XMAS LIMERICK CONTEST Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
December 13, 2021
They struggle with a violent grace,
the bawdy cries of a bandoneon,
the open gash of her torn stocking.
They both understand
that naked hopes come last,
first there is this ceremony
the ritual goading
white flesh and dark shadows
must be rubbed
with an urgent blood.
This bar is a plaza de toros,
a place for the lace mantilla
to be torn away,
a floor for broken nightingales
They are cheap wine
but they know how to pour,
crushed and tied as they are
to the pressing moment.
The gap in her stocking
is not large
but its wound is deep,
and sadly nothing,
nothing they have to offer
can ever fill it.
The Judiciary would not budge
For Lawrence van Dyke was a smudge
He knew not his job
But how to hobnob
So Trump made him a lifetime Judge
The Whistleblower's indirect goal
Was to stop Donald Trump burning coal
By some miracle
Trump's stocking is full -
Just reward for selling his soul?
~
~ GRANDSON~
your stocking is stacked with building blocks
so you may build a path straight up to God
there's a timepiece wrapped in a blue ribbon of love
to weave a journey of timeless purity, in honor of his son
you'll find a book of wisdom-softly and wisely it speaks
~ to fill your soul with noble truth so turmoil can find its peace~
at the bottom there's a tiny cross
always hold tight to its golden light
if you ever become adrift and lost
in a harsh and starless night
~GRANDSON~
~
There was a babe
Not unlike others
Who wished upon a star
A Christmas wish
Heard by most mothers
As that’s how mothers are
The child wished for
So many things
But most of all, his mom
She faced alone
All that life brings
In sweet demeanor, calm
On Christmas Eve
Her tears did flow
No money for a tree
No gifts to wrap
Just rags to sew
A stocking, just for me
And though there were
Treats, precious few
Some candies, fruit and such
With love, it swelled
Empty no more
I cherish it so much
I will still hang your stocking...
Christmas will be different this year.
One stocking will be missing from the mantel.
One red Christmas plate will missing from the table.
One less gift under the tree.
One less person to sample my holiday cookie.
One less card to send this year.
Always know you will remain in my heart.
And you won't be any less remembered.
My heart will still send out love to you.
I will have to do the shopping this year without you, but I will still shop the same
stores and wear your holiday pin on my jacket.
All the holiday traditions you've taught me will be in full force this season. I will be sad
but that is to be expected. I will give myself permission to enjoy the tree and all the
preparation. Because Mom that is what you gave to me.
And Mom I will still hang your stocking in memory of you...
honestly, i wanna live as stuffing in my stocking
i could hide from the world and lie to myself in vain without the guilt of guilt
i could miss her without the wax buildup free expression can sometimes bring
i could miss her without the dead skunk smell of public opinion and just be good ole martin l. king
my middle name could take a rest and quit making painted faces at every thousandth hundredth joke
every daydream could be a salt water pool in my mind turning my skin into melted m and m tan butter
i could laugh at myself because of the simple fact that i made you laugh
honestly, i just wanna live as happily habitual liar as stuffing in my stocking
maybe then i could give myself each day my daily buttered bread....preferably freshly made texas toast
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