Contributor Posts

Alone in my room,
wanting a drink.
The water is dripping
in the kitchen sink.

It's odd or funny,
how a mind works,
in finding a way
to avoid life's quirks.

Look for a reason
or a plausible excuse,
just don't get crazy
talking about a Moose.

The only moose
which comes into mind,
is Bullwinkle Moose
and a Rocket J Squirrel find.

One man.
One cause.
Enjoy the season.
Santa Claus.

Well, well, well,
A surprise.
The breakfast, lunch, dinner club,
has been invaded by newcomers.

Ignoring the Inner Sanctum rules,
newcomers invaded the
self-appointed elite status of
sitting in the same chair,
at the same spot, meal after meal.
Supposedly a "by invitation only"
table. The table was also moved a
few feet in the dining room.

A soft shoe shuffle,
off to Buffalo,
when fate interferes,
there is no place to go.

A vertical response to
those who haven't a clue,
when words won't cut it,
so, a fingered gesture will do.

A curl of smoke,
clouds the air.
What say you,
it's your hair.

Must not smoke,
in bed at night,
when fun of your smoking,
is not a delight.

I love hearing
the old songs
of Holidays sung
by a choir.

Tales of those
being sung near a fire
where chestnuts roast,
as we hear Jingle Bells,

old refrains of I'm
Dreaming of a White Christmas,
knowing Santa Claus is coming.
God Bless Yee Merry Gentlemen.

He was born upon a Midnight Clear,
as we heard the Angels sing
on high. Oh, Come All
Yee Faithful to Bethlehem.

Frosty the Snowman, rings true,
with All I Want For Christmas,
is You or My Two Front Teeth,
while Mommy was Kissing Santa Claus.

Then Sadly, "Grandmas Got
Run Over by a Reindeer.
Silent Night, Holy Night.
Noel, Noel, Noel.

Hour after hour,
day by day,
I hear the question,
"What did he say?"

These words are
muttered, again,
"Pardon me,
I don't understand."

A lack of hearing,
seems to be the cause.
Heavy words from
old Santa Claus.

The spirts fly,
high at night.
Some tequila,
will make it right.

Mein Gott en Himmel,
stand yourself up.
Your old enough to drink,
so here, bottoms up.

Small,
round,
wobbly,
its shape.
Chewing
on something,
stuck to
its thumb.
I became
apparent, it
was a
stick of gum.
It was tall
and spotted
with colors,
the likes
of a clown.
The merriest Soul
in this
World renown.

You could hear the grumble,
in all the voices a jumble,
flowed out of the jungle.
Someone outside did mumble,
what is this noise which is a bumble?
Be it proud or so humble,
to stay here, while we crumble,
down the hill, we did tumble,
so, this is where we belong