CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

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

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

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)

A CHRISTMAS THOUGHT

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)

TAKE IT LIKE IT IS

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)

A MILE OF SMILES

Editor's note: "When I was a lad, my grandfather called me "Grinny Britches." But as I recall, when I grinned at someone, they usually responded in kind," Dad wrote in the introduction to this poem. I figure that in this hectic season of cooking, shopping and rushing thither and yon, we all could use a reminder to smile now and then!

The other morning I chanced to meet
A neighbor of mine from down the street,
And he hollered, "Good morning, Slim!"
With a vibrant voice, chock full of cheer,
And a great big grin from ear to ear,
And I couldn't help smiling at him.

Now, I'd been feeling a little blue,
As, once in a while, most people do,
When they've been taking their lumps;
But after I met this cheerful guy,
I felt a little ashamed that I
Had been so down in the dumps.

I felt rather sheepish because I knew
The trials this chap had just been through
Were greater than any I'd known;
So, straightening up, with a quicker stride,
I felt a whole lot better inside,
From the spirit this fellow had shown.

A little further on down the street,
Another acquaintance I chanced to meet,
And I hollered, "Good morning, Jim!"
He looked my way, and nodded his head,
And I grinned as wide as my face would spread,
And I got a big smile out of him!

So, I resolved, the rest of the day,
I'd foster good will in a similar way,
With folks wherever I went;
I found the idea to be worthwhile,
I got a great lift from every smile,
And it didn't cost me a cent!

--The Buckeye Poet (1991)

THANKSGIVING FARE

Editor's note: It's that time of year again: One big bird gets a Presidential "pardon" and thousands of others make their way to the cooking pot to satisfy the cravings of Thanksgiving celebrants. I'm sure I speak for most of us when I say I always eat too much - and Dad's poem for this week sums the whole thing up rather well!

Thanksgiving time is on us,
And we've cause to celebrate,
But I've been doing, maybe
More than what I should, of late.

For almost every evening
Finds me occupied somewhere,
At a banquet table loaded
With that good Thanksgiving fare!

Heaping mounds of turkey,
And the dressing piled up high!
Cranberry sauce and salad
And delicious pumpkin pie!

I'm thankful for the bounty
Of this gala festive board,
But my middle section shows it,
Which I cannot well afford.

I've been a turkey lover
For many, many years,
But I'm so full of turkey now
It's running out my ears!

When I came home last evening,
And the same the night before,
Lucy came and let me in
When I gobbled at the door!

--Hominy Grits (1986)

WELL, WELL, WELL!

Editor's note: "It's usually commendable to strive for improvement, but sometimes it's better to quit while you're ahead," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "The trick is in knowing when to settle for what you've got."

One time, my Uncle John perceived
His well was going dry,
And so he drilled another one
To get a good supply.

At forty feet he had a flow
That, near as he could tell,
Would give sufficient water
And serve him very well.

Now Uncle John was well aware
A shallow well is cheaper,
But still, he felt it might be well
To drill a little deeper.

He reasoned well, but after they
Had drilled a hundred more,
His well did not produce as well
As it had done before!

I have no doubt my uncle feared
The worst, as well he must,
When, at a hundred eighty feet,
His well was full of dust.

Two hundred feet below the ground
And still dry as a bone;
He should have stopped at forty feet
And let well enough alone!