My Work

Friday, December 23, 2011

Your Christmas Card

A Christmas Card from Jolly Old Johnny.  Please enjoy these tid-bits of poetic fun, have a wonderful, warm, safe Christmas, and may 2012 be one of the best years ever.

Each of these poems have my copyright, of course, but if you care to pass them on to others, just please also pass on the writer’s name.

by Johnny Gunn

Cookies and sweets, mixed, poured,
Baked and cooled, topped with sweet
Butter and more sugar, ready to be
Spread among neighbors and friends.

Tinsel, colored balls, lights and candles,
Hung, nailed, draped, lit and displayed,
While Bing and Ella sing of reindeer and elves,
and old Foggy himself tells about chestnuts.

Snow is swirling in a cold norther, leaves
Mixing in a jolly dance, icicles broken from
Eaves and floating in punch, it’s almost time
For a visit from Kris Kringle, the gift giver.

This season of joy and peace, warmth and love
Spread thick as a wool three point Hudson Bay,
Gives our hearts and souls a break from reality,
A reason to grasp and hug even some we don’t

Care to hug and grasp at other times.  Joy
To The World, the choir sings, voices swelling
In their glee, and our voices return the pledge, our
World, one day at least, safe, warm, peaceful.

Those Holly Jolly Blues
by Johnny Gunn

Here he comes,
            Dancin’ and shakin’ and laughin’ and givin’,
            Awash in the holly jolly mood, covered in
                        Wools and fur, reds and whites.

‘An here I am,
            Cryin’ and poutin’ and cussin’ and sad,
            Feelin’ sorry for me, not carin’ ‘bout nothin.
                        Ripped denim, dirty socks, not white.

In you walk,
            Dancin’ and shakin that bootie, givin’ me life,
            Prancin’ about in heels and net, covered in
                        Silks and gauze, reds, and sheer.

No blues tonight,
            Not with a princess in hand, Santa Claus smile,
            Santa Claus laugh, a holly jolly mood, us covered
                        In reds and whites and satin sheets.

by Johnny Gunn

            Plum pudding has no plums, while Yorkshire pudding has no
            little terriers swimming about in a sea of brandy.
            Actually, has no brandy.

            Why on earth would we work so hard to make something made
            from rendered beef fat and apples,
            And then call it plum pudding?

            Or work our little minds into a twit with flour and eggs and skim
            milk, baking the morsels to a golden bread,
            Only to call it Yorkshire pudding?

            Ah, glorious Christmas.  We kill trees and say we’re making them
            pretty, we create a gift giving elf, so in just a few years,
            We can tell children he doesn’t exist.

            Tradition!  Tradition!  Dance, ye merry gentlemen, and plunder the
            pudding, for in just a week, remember, Auld
            Lang Syne will prevail.

by Johnny Gunn

Snow flying wildly through the cosmos,
Santa facing heavy turbulence,
Cookies baking deliciously.

Offerings of nog and gaily striped canes,
A tree filled with garlands of color,
Oak burning brightly.

Friends and fellows and lovers gathered,
Singing of a coming, an offering, from above,
And believing.

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