Toys

Looking up and down

I see what you’re trying to do to me,

This fine winter day,

This day of all days.

This day to give gifts

Is a special day.

This day to eat cookies

And pray, Hey, hey!

Christ comes

On a rocking horse,

Every December

Twenty-fifth!

Don’t ya know?

A Poem

Writing a poem is as easy

As saying please for help

When you’re broken down

With a flat tire

Or your radiator has overheated.

Boy, I could sure use some help right now.

Well, friend, what do you need?

A bottle of water would be just fine, Jim.

Okay, brother, don’t mind if I do.

Let’s work on this together.

To my wife, I say, I love you.

So what’s the trick, Bill?

Just say what you mean,

Or if you’re more daring,

Say what you don’t mean.

Easy as pie!

Echoes of a Silent Gift

Silent echoes ring in your ear.

The emptiness is mystifying.

One crumb, a feast for a family.

Rats crawl out of the cellar.

What is the path to warmth

On this chilly day?

A gift is given in some time and place,

Far away from the city.

Stars in the swirling sky

Shine hope to a lonely heart.

Is there yet love? He asks himself.

Ah, but how could this beautiful world exist

Without it?

Little Things

As I strolled along the beaten path,

I thought of how a dinner roll

Might be the nasty thing to do the trick,

Or maybe some fried, breaded okra.

Do you see the harmony

In the little things in the cemetery?

Jump into my arms, just as the wave

Crashes upon the shore.

The tide is coming in, my dear,

So count your blessings for this year.

Christmas Mess

Christmas comes but once a year.

Once a year is more than enough.

Couldn’t we change it to every other year?

That would be more practical, I think.

It would fit my budget and my

Planning calendar better that way.

Couldn’t we carol every six years,

And maybe give gifts every ten?

Traveling, and standing in line,

Making a turkey, a ham, or both;

Oh, what stress I’m in just

Thinking about all the fun.

Holidays are never as

Wonderful as they are

Hyped up to be.

Christmas is a religious holiday,

At its heart. But it’s gotten

So commercial, or it’s a time

For family to gather,

Which means asking off of work.

Can my schedule fit

The schedule of everyone else?

Oh, what a mess!

Nothing

Waiting for a sign,

Just a little clue,

Something to signify

When my day is through.

Sitting here, doing nothing,

Wondering which way

The wind is blowing.

Don’t you know

That I am bored;

But I’m not

A bit sore.

Follow this

Brief direction.

There won’t be

An insurrection.

Do the thing

That comes to mind.

If you seek,

You will find.