Holiday & Special Event Poems

CONTENTS:

-Jackpot– Jan 21, ’22 our 50th Anniversary): https://azrockdodger.com/2022/01/20/jackpot/

-Empty Saddle– https://azrockdodger.com/2021/09/08/empty-saddle/

-Bustin’ Out At The Bluebonnet

-The Package

-Jose y Maria

-The Man Who Killed Santa

-Mama I’m Still Here

-Section Two, Row 7, Site Number 1 https://azrockdodger.com/2021/05/31/section-2-row-7-site-number-1/

-Ragweed– https://azrockdodger.com/2021/09/12/ragweed/

Section 2, Row 7, Site Number 1

The band it was ‘a playing an uplifting martial beat,

He maybe had a sweetheart, young and soft and sweet.

His mother she stood bravely, holding back her tears,

Surely he would be OK, in spite of all her fears.

Hissing and ‘a huffing, the train blew off some steam,

Rollin’ to the platform, like in some lonesome dream.

The handshakes and the hugs, “Ye’r gonna’ do us proud!”,

They climb into the cars, to the wavin’ of the crowd.

For two long years they wait for letters in the Post,

Makin’ sure he hasn’t given up the ghost.

The hometown paper tells of a battle far away,

Though it was ferocious, the good have won the day.

Anxious weeks they roll by, no casualty report,

And everyone is hopin’ that the list is really short.

Finally there’s a letter, the Commander has regret,

The noble lad is missin’, his Mama is upset.

The battle was a seesaw, the chaos did abound,

Though they looked and looked, he was never found.

All he left were memories, that jaunty little grin,

A lad who did his chores, the dimple on his chin.

They never know he lies in Site Number One,

Still, they all are grateful for all that he’s done.

LDT May 31, ’21

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 053116_0144_FortLeavenw6.jpg — **Fort Leavenworth, Kansas**
Probably Civil War

Bustin’ Out At The Bluebonnet

See the source image — The Bluebonnet Palace. Selma, Texas

Y’all know it ain’t Dallas, it’s just the Bluebonnet Palace,

And all you need’s a longneck, forget the silver chalice.

Place for down-home country, with bulls on the side,

Watchin’ someone takin’ that ol’ eight second ride.

Grab that pretty gal and head out on the floor,

Get too drunk they’ll show you out of the door.

Two steppin’ round in circles, usin’ all the floor,

Stay right here, ‘cuz we’re gonna’ dance some more.

That openin’ band sure sounds awful good,

Swingin’ to Bob Wills , always knew they would.

Then someone hollers, “Cotton Eye Joe!”

We all line up and we’re just rarin’ to go.

“Wha’d you say?” No answer here repeat,

‘Cuz maybe that ol’ pie really ain’t that sweet.

Band takes a break, it’s time for the bulls,

Busts out a bull rider, the riggin’ he pulls.

Countin’ out eight seconds, seein’ how it goes,

Rankest bull around see the rider that he throws.

The world’s fattest clown takes a dive in the dirt,

As they pack him off, we’re hopin’ he ain’t hurt.

A bull bucks and spins, it’s a qualifyin’ ride,

It’s eighty-three points, the judges do decide.

Contest bein’ over, we head back for the floor,

The headline act will be good, we know that’s for sure.

Singer is Ed Bruce and he leaves us all quite breathless,

As he serenades us with “My First Taste of Texas”.

Gather round the stage, the dancin’ it is done,

And all of us are callin’ for just another one.

“There’s girls, there’s women and there’s ladies…”

And all the urban cowboy gets is maybes…

When it comes to leavin’, you better all watch out,

That speed trap in Selma waits for you no doubt.

When y’er down in Texas, don’t go lookin’ for a sonnet,

If you need to tap y’er toes, just head out for the Bonnet.

LDT 3/26/’21

The Bluebonnet Palace was our favorite Texas dancehall. It is located in Selma, just north of San Antonio. Selma was immortalized in Steve Earle’s song, Guitar Town. If he sang, “There’s a speed trap ahead in Selma Town….” there would have been a riot.

The Package

There’s a package ‘neath the tree, somewhere in the back,

Hidden from our sight, is the ribbon red or black?

Did it come from someone who couldn’t make it home?

And however did that one so dear pick this time to roam?

Shall we stoke the fire, keep the memory bright?

Or should we all get angry, because it isn’t right?

A package full of hopes and fears all shuttered up inside,

Are the memories bittersweet, with tears we cannot hide?

Will we ever feel what lives beyond the void?

Waiting for a time when hearts again are buoyed.

There’s a package ‘neath the tree, somewhere in the back,

And maybe if you chose it, you’ll find the joy you lack.

LDT Dec. ‘20

Jose y Maria

Jose y Maria

Jose and Maria wander in the night,

Guided by a star burning very bright.

Weary, worn and worried, baby on the way,

Hoping they will find a path to a better day.

Got to take the census, but do they really count?

With their cares and worries, troubles to surmount.

Do they flee from Harrod, or is it just the law?

And why is their birthright such a mortal flaw?

Standing at the door, they learn the Inn is full,

They huddle in the cold, serapes made of wool.

It seems they are not wanted, sadly it is so,

As down the trail they trod, nowhere left to go.

Can you take them in, your stall or your barn?

Or will you call on ICE, others to forewarn?

If you love your Jesus, you will know the answer,

Do not let your hate fill your soul with cancer.

Feliz Navidad,

Larry and Karen

2020

The Man Who Killed Santa

The Man Who Killed Santa

Mesa Arizona, in the year of Thirty-Two.

Damn old Depression’s got everybody blue.

Prospects for a Merry Christmas lookin’ kinda’ bad.

Empty stores aboundin’, merchants feelin’ sad.

At the local paper, the Editor expounds,

If only Santa’s early on his joyful rounds.

But Santa drives a sleigh, on snow he must land,

And all that Mesa offers is shiftin’, driftin’ sand.

What if Santa ditched the sleigh, if only for a day?

Maybe in an areophane he could make his merry way.

The city fathers are quick to go along,

Planes are pretty safe, nuthin’ can go wrong.

They find a parachutist lookin’ for a thrill,

With all that courage, he will surely fill the bill.

The Sixteenth of December will mark the happy date,

When Santa floats to Earth and wouldn’t that be great?

McPhee has planned it all, he puts it in the paper,

For all the world to see, it’s Santa’s greatest caper.

When the day arrives, as kids do scan the skies,

McPhee he goes a’ lookin’ for his Santa, fat and wise.

He finds him in the tavern drunker than a louse,

Not the sort of Santa for your chimney or your house.

The Editor he panics, he’ll have to improvise,

If Santa doesn’t show, he’ll face a lot of whys.

He begs for a mannequin from the clothing store,

Nuthin’ makes up Santa except the clothes he wore.

He dresses up the dummy in the Santa suit,

And all the kids will see him with his parachute.

The happy, smilin’ kids are linin’ up the street,

Waitin’ for old Santa to perform his daring feat.

They jump and cheer as the areoplane draws near,

Perfect day for Santa, the weather’s very clear.

The plane, it banks and turns all watchin’ it in awe,

Then lookin’ at the door that merry face they saw.

Santa has appeared, he’ll soon be on the ground,

Then he’ll pass the candy to everyone around.

Santa’s plane aims for a hayfield field just beyond the town,

And Santa gets a shove ‘cause Santa must come down.

But one detail is missin’ from this careful plan,

Nobody pulls the ripcord, thinkin’ Santa can.

All the kids are lookin’ up as Santa makes his jump,

All their hearts are cheery, they even start to thump.

They watch him as he falls, somethin’ seems amiss,

Maybe somethin’s wrong, someone’s been remiss.

Mothers grabbin’ kids to shield them from the fright,

Of Santa’s mortal plunge, and his awful plight.

The kids they cannot see him landin’ in the dirt,

But they gotta’ know that Santa’s gonna’ hurt.

McPhee he will dress up in Santa’s battered suit,

Even though it’s missin’ its hat and its left boot.

The kids they aren’t convinced, they saw Santa fall,

And for the town of Mesa there is a mournful pall.

McPhee has killed Santa, he’ll never live it down,

The sorrow never ends, he’s driven from the town.

LDT Dec ‘20

Link to the story: The Man Who Killed Santa Claus | Mental Floss

Mama I’m Still Here

Mama I’m Still Here

Sunday marks the date, for the woman who gave life,

and kept me safe from the harm, tempest, toil and strife.

There were times enough that I forgot about her day,

as along the path of life I made my weary way.

Mama sittin’ home alone, waiting for the call,

and wonderin’ if she’s even on my mind at all.

Did he get arrested and spend the night in jail,

and will he only call when he needs to make his bail?

Or is he in some far-off land hidin’ in a hole,

maybe should a’ wrote ‘fore “Charlie” takes his toll?

And when Mama’s gone will I see her on the hill,

or think about the love she’d every day instill?

Now the virus lurking, can’t even hug her tight,

a call, a prayer, a letter, Mama knows what’s right.

So Mama if you’re listenin’, let me shed a tear,

And though we are apart, Mama, I’m still here.

LDT

5/10/20

Section 2, Row 7, Site Number 1

Bustin’ Out At The Bluebonnet

Jose y Maria

The Man Who Killed Santa

Mama I’m Still Here

Return of Kid Curry