Had a Capra-esque* kind of a Christmas?

After re-reviewing 'It's A Wonderful Life' on the lead up to Christmas. 

It's time to give 'It's A Wonderful Life' its annual airing;
It starts with Jimmy Stewart broke, suicidal and despairing,
Looking down from Bedford Falls bridge, life in free fall,
Jimmy (or George Bailey) is about to step out and end it all.

But from on high, a few concerned Spirits look down,
They don't wish to to see George high dive then drown.

George cries out he wishes he had never been born,
That his lost lousy life would be one none would mourn,
Suddenly an angel arrives to give George a new perspective,
Of how life could've been had his Dad worn a contraceptive.

(This angel isn't one of the Cloud Corporations best-
Of God given sense Clarence was less than blessed.)

So before George does his somersault into the maelstrom
Clarence showed George what his town would've become
Had Dad not stumbled in from the pub to find Mom awake
And all ready for bed, happily without her usual headache.

Now, Clarence's plan was plain and simple cracker barrel,
See, he 'appropriated' the plot from 'A Christmas Carol.'

George's sweet wife Mary, librarian, lonely, frustrated, single,
With no George, love of her life, she's not known love's tingle;
Hardened drinkers in the rough hotel sup, bitter and sour,
The ladies of the night bear their company, but by the hour. 

His mother and brother are, in this iteration, both dead;
Bedford Falls is now a place even angels fear to tread.

Without the kind benevolence of Baileys Savings and Loan
All property belongs to Pitiless Potter, of the heart of stone,
There is no end to what was George's old towns current ills-
Silly Uncle Billy's in a straitjacket in Belle Vue, on happy pills.

George has seen enough, he can't let this nightmare occur-
He begs Clarry for a re-shoot, a re-boot, a reset, as it were.

And so George is catapulted back into the here and now,
But he must repay some missing money, Christ knows how?
Potter bangs at the door, soon his bailiffs will come a'calling,
George'll need more than pennies from Heaven to start falling.

George had faith in clownish Clarence, Heavens above?
Clarence as a good guide? Christ, what's He thinking of?

Lo and behold, Bailey's bailed out by customers and friends...
And there's where this sweet family favourite treacly ends,
Oh, first we hear Clarence is given his long overdue wings-
Don't that well up the tear ducts, tug at the heart strings?

Clarence is that new star up in the sky, so, unseen by day,
But even on a moonless night Clarry blinks dimly, far away.

And when Jimmy/George holds close his kids and spouse
There's rarely a dry eye to be seen in the sodden house!
If there's a deep well of sentiment, by George, Capra struck it-
But am I the only hard eyed cynic reaching for the sick bucket?

*Frank Capra, director of this classic feel-good flick.

(Hey, I like this movie- a lot- but it is getting cheesier by the year.)


Childish Christmas treats don’t age very well.

Re-reviewing Tim Allens 'The Santa Claus' On the 24th (after a few too many 'egg-nogs.')

When the fabled if slipshod Santa Claus
Pitches off Tim Allen's gabled roof
'Accidental death' must be the obvious cause,
But with no body, where lies the proof?

No remains of Santa, only an etherial presence;
To Tim the quintessential question arose?
'Who'll deliver this shit sled load of presents
Now Santa Claus has turned up his toes?'

There's tonnes of gifts stacked up in that sled
All requiring delivery by- Christ's birthday?!?!
That ain't happening now Santa's stone dead;
So on who does Santa's responsibilities weigh?

Poor Tim must fill Santa's shoes and follow suit,
Legally obligated to change clothes and career,
Duty bound to stand in and deliver for the ol' coot,
Be the ass stuck behind eight free-running reindeer.

'Bloody fly-by-night contractors.'

(Just time to sneak in a Christmas post before the new year.)

Put those everyday workaday cares and woes behind you- it’s Christmas holiday/vacay time.

A Joy Full Christmas.

Hark! Does not the sweet sound of carols remind us
We've put another sad working year happily behind us?
Now 'tis time to stop work, hang up the crusty coffee cup,
To clear out the In tray, dump the files and shut the Mac up.

Now we wait for the Boss to say her interminable piece
Before getting off on two glorious weeks of work release;
So nice to hear we're highly regarded by those who own us,
Such a shame 'tis not reflected in our wee Christmas bonus.

It's finally that jolly fu- festive time of the year-
Two weeks holiday leave lets me get outta here,
So, sadly, friends, I shan't be keeping you posted,
No, Dear loyal WordPress reader, don't feel ghosted.

As another year sputters to its Cov- Christmessy end
My sweetie and I've been invited to come and spend
Our Christmas far away from our normal domicile,
So, folks, you won't hear from me for a wee while. 

It has been an all too easy decision to make,
To take a wee writing break- for Christmas' sake-
So I provide silent nights and your E-mail feed clear
Of further sadly seasoned rhymes till nigh on New Year. 

For the next carefree work free week
Complete indulgent R and R is all I seek,
A chance to spiritually clear my weary head,
Leaving screeds I want to tell the Boss unsaid.

I need a break from overwork and WordPress,
My desire is to indulge myself sinfully, to excess,
So, 'Cheers; here's to goodwill and Peace on Earth,'
Even this heathen will toast to the special kid's birth.

The time is nigh to rest the work worn brain-
Plus, the joy of writing for pleasure's on the wane,
I'm looking forward to lazily watch the sun sinking,
So looking forward to sitting, drinking without thinking.

It's my time to really relax this Christmas time,
To sit back and turn my mind away from rhyme
And enjoy the hospitality of our youngest daughter
Drowning my sonnets in Tanqueray and tonic water.

Indeed 'tis high time I got myself pleasantly pissed,
Not brood over if my sparking verse is being missed,
I'll worry about work and writing after New Years Day,
Time to pick up a gin, lay down the pen and stick it away. 
My kind of Christmas? Christ yes.


It’s Christmas carolling time; let’s hope I won’t wind up singing soprano.

(A parody on an old well worn favourite; Sorry, Bing and Michael Bublé.) 

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Mechula.* 

It's beginning to look a lot like I'm insolvent,
Where'd my cash flow go?
Down to my last 5 and 10, credit card maxed out again,
Oh, the painful amount of IOU's I owe.

I'm beginning to wish I'd not met loan shark Carmine,
Now all hell will start,
The brass knuckles he will bring will make my head fair ring,
Then he'll rip out my heart.

A pair of brutes in ill-fitting suits with pistols that shoot-
It's Carmine's hit repo men,
They say 'Carmine wants to talk, let's take a walk,'
But I ain't saying 'willkommen,'
I'm not mad or dumb or fool enough to open my door again.

It's beginning to look like I might not make Christmas,
My debts Carmine won't ignore,
What an ugly sight it is to see some thug pounding heavily
On my barred and bolted door.

*Bankruptcy, Yiddish.

'Nope, not exactly Santa come delivering presents.'


Christmas is nearly here, time to start accumulating those memories that last the whole year long.

Hapless Christmas.

Jolly merry Christmas again draws near
Filling me with nausea, not good cheer,
For for fifty- one weeks I've slaved away
To pay for last years 'happy' holiday.

I've had miserable luck with lottery draws-
My best bet's on that real long shot Santa Claus,
My kiddies belief on him remains unshaken,
Is it only me the mean old codger's forsaken?

Santa please add me to your delivery list,
Lately I've been the one you've somehow missed,
This good ol' boy has been good, so why is it
You cain't once favour me with a flying visit?

And I need some of your largesse, believe you me
To help me survive the annual spending spree,
Leave me some goodwill when you grace our place,
Say, something crisp and green, in an attache case?

You well know, Santa, the poor year I've had,
The kids were so good, the 'conomy so damn bad,
I asked the boss for a rise, reflexively he resisted,
Hopefully Father Christmas won't be so tight-fisted.

But I  can't complain, though hours and money's down,
Covid's left my once buzzing office like a ghost town,
So one wrong word and my white Christmas turns black,
My Boss would secretly, Santa like, love to gimme the sack.

On Christmas day, shall my offsprings eyes shine?
Happily they will, but not nearly as tearily as mine,
'Cause in this poor house Santa has not yet set foot,
No filled stockings on the fireplace, no trace of soot.

The  gifts arrayed there are the few I've hard bought-
Plus, Walmart saw me coming, bastards sold me short,
Mine eyes will be red and running, my cheeks dripping wet,
Again my no-show Santa will drop me deep in the shi debt.

(One dragged up from the vaults, plus an updated verse- because of the year we've all had.)


‘Tis the season of jolly carols and yo-ho-ho’s. Oh, but there’s more. The highs and lows of Christmas

Thirteen Days Till Christmas.

(Two people close to my heart
Departed twenty-four hours apart,
So now come every thirteenth of December
I take a shot or two to help me not remember.)

With but a dozen lousy sleeps before Christmas Day
I can count on reminders of two who have passed away,
Today Carey's heart-wringing singing leaves me unenamoured
So I'll  flip Mariah's seasonal CD off and carry on getting hammered.

There's not a solitary sodden year I've let pass
Without solemnly raising my twice charged glass,
Sure, tomorrow todays toasts will leave me sorely troubled;
Now my efforts to forget todays regrets demand to be redoubled. 

(To Chet and Barb. Cheers.)


Christmas is just around the corner folks, it’s time for our end of year round up. We don’t wanna boast but…

(This began as an entry for Chel Owens A Mused poetry comp but snuck off on me. Again.)

Christmas Catch Ya'll Up. / John Deere Letter.

Hi guys, it's time to keep ya'll in the know,
With the festivities near we've horns to blow,
Folks do tell 'times is hard and the 'conomy's shot'
But we're happy as clams, cause we've got the lot.

Hubby Bubba's gone up yet another pay grade,
He must've sold every pickup truck Jeep made,
The twins is gettin' schooled and topping their class,
We're hopin', with luck they'll scrape a C and even pass!

Cody done won the Jumbo stuffed bear at the tri-county fair,
Took down them three ducks with two rounds to spare,
At the bake sale mah apple pie took out first prize as well,
The only Blue Ribbon you'll stick on this Southern belle.

Our Jolene is playing Virgin Mary in the nativity play,
Their damn Rodeo's ain't playing Joseph, if I have my way-
No mistletoe kisses a'tween Jo Hatfield and Rodeo McCoy,
I sez 'Jolene, you don't have no truck with that bad boy.'

But then that dang new preacher had to up'n speak
'Let's try to forgive and forget, turn the other cheek,'
If I believed that liberal trash I'd be a'wineing at Mass-
This Southern Baptist knows Rodeo's coveting Jolene's ass.

Still, I must say they look good together, they act pretty tight,
They've practised at the Church Hall religiously every night,
Now Jo is a shining star as Mother Mary, positively glowing,
We're praying, when Christmas comes Jo won't be showing.
‘Oh, oh, Sweet child of mine.’


Counting down the days till Christmas… and beyond. Somehow it kinda feels like holidays already.

Best Presents EVER.

We'll non-too-soon be seeing the end of Trump/Pence
Although Donald insists on living in the past tense,
His denying of fact, lack of tact and simple common sense
Means Don's childish tanTrumps still cause offence.

Forget fighting Covid, Don's focusing on firing off viral comments
And fragging his frazzled looking Secretary of Defence,
Don has sworn- loudly- he'll not spare one single donors expense
On recounting and courting his Supreme justice nonsense.

So though it's early, let's now let our Thanksgivings commence,
On till Christmas Eve fill the air with carols, joy and frankincense,
Then roll on January, when ends a reign of dumb ignorance,
Then we can all look forward to cool calm and quiet competence.



Isn’t Christmas great? I love the tradition, the gathering together of close family, the joyous imbibing. the gross consumption at the groaning table. Ah, good times.

Feastive Season, Festive Air.

That’s another Christmas meal complete,
Once again I’ve had far too much to eat,
Now here I sit, heavily settling in my seat,
Next, the dessert round, but first, the prickly heat.

I swore this year to avoid Ma’s tasty treat
But World Peace demands I keep her sweet,
And as the belt on my pants buckles in defeat-
Same ol’ story as last year, I’m bound to repeat.



How can one capture the rapturous joy of Christmas? Well, one can but try. Anyway, there’s always a warm welcome in my hearth for Santa.

Black Christmas.

On Christmas night as I lay in bed
I heard a heavy groan high overhead
As Santa landed his overladen sled.

I heard him prise up the chimney vent-
I’m sure Santa was filled with good intent
But nowadays Santa is a rather portly gent.

With speed and agility that impressed
He swiftly reached the chimney breast-
There’s where he came to a complete rest.

Santa was stoppered, like a cork,
Face pushed up against the chimney fork
Ooh Santa, that’s no way to talk!

There came a crack up in the smokestack,
Down tumbled Santa, suit sootily black
Landing hard, smack on his Santa sack.

Rising bowed and bloodied from the rubble
The old gent stood, gasped and bent double
So I entrussed him with a gift, for his trouble.