Sunday, December 25, 2011


Editor's note: "Some people celebrate Christmas," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "Others celebrate at Christmas and don't really know the difference."

The bells ring out, and music resounds
In ten thousand cities and country towns;
New York to Podunk, and in between,
The glitter and flare of the Yuletide scene.

Rivers of people meander and flow,
Into and out of the markets they go,
Spending their money in huge amounts,
And going the limit on charge accounts.

"Come all ye faithful," these words we hear,
Through the clangor and din that falls on our ear;
"Come all ye faithful, spend all your dough,
It comes only once each year, you know."

Cash registers whirring and buzzing away,
They gobble up money like horses eat hay!
Oh, how the merchants rejoice to hear it!
Their cups runneth over with Christmas Spirit!

All these gaudy activities stem
From a peaceful village called Bethlehem,
Where a star shown down on a placid sight,
And a baby was born on a silent night.

Come all ye faithful! Join in the throng!
But let's not forget, as we scurry along,
We should be rejoicing at Christmas because
It's the birthday of Jesus, not Santa Claus!

--Hominy Grits 1986

Sunday, December 18, 2011


Editor's note: "If Christmas came only once in ten years, still, most of us wouldn't do our shopping till the last minute," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.

The Christmas game is on again,
All my money's gone again,
And yet, I'm only halfway down my list;
I'll have to figure out a way
By hook or crook, so I can pay
For something like a dozen I have missed.

I'll re-avow, come New Years Day,
That, ere the summer slips away,
I'll pick up little items, one by one;
Once again, I'll swear that I
Won't let another year go by,
To find me at the end with nothing done!

But this is what I've said before,
I guess, for thirty years or more,
And somehow seem to never carry through;
December twenty-third is when
I'm sure to find myself again
With all my Christmas shopping yet to do.

I guess what really bothers me
Is all the many folks I see
Doing the same, because I realize
when I'm among this frantic crew,
I'm being just as dumb as you
And fifty million other stupid guys!

Hominy Grits (1986)

Sunday, December 11, 2011


Editor's note: Some people never expect anything for Christmas, and they are never disappointed," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "Anything added to nothing equals something."

Most people look forward to Christmas morn,
And wonder what Santa will bring,
But Lucy has said she doesn't expect
The old fellow to fetch her a thing.

She says, with the clothes she already has,
She's been getting along very well,
And though her things are all out of style,
She'll try to make do for a spell.

Her kitchen ain't fixed as fancy as some,
With up-to-date gadgets, it's true,
I've never believed in throwing around
My money, like some people do.

I buy all the stuff that we really need,
And manage to pay all our bills,
But I'm not a guy to squander his dough
On presents and trinkets and frills.

So, on Christmas morn, I don't think she'll look
For a present under the tree,
And anyway, what in the world could she want
When she's already got me?

--Autumn Acres (1982)

Sunday, December 4, 2011


Editor's note: "Some folks worry so much about getting old that they promote the process by trying to hold it back," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.

Some people fret and worry,
As the years go rushing on,
Missing joys of the present,
While lamenting what is gone.

This fact of life is certain,
Very sad, but true,
You can't stay young forever,
No matter what you do.

When this becomes apparent,
And the wrinkles start to show,
Some measures can be taken
That will minimize the blow.

Perhaps it won't be noticed,
If only you will stay
In dark and shady places,
And avoid the light of day.

When your hair starts getting thinner,
And your jowls begin to sag,
You might conceal your features
In a supermarket bag!

So you won't be reminded
That the bloom of youth is gone,
When you look into a mirror,
Never have your glasses on!

But better yet, old timer,
Be contented with your lot;
Think the least of what you're losing,
And the most of what you've got!

Hominy Grits (1986)