To be taken just in jest as some readers might be willing to do
Trudging through the snow --
heavy Mary,
baby-laden,
time a-fadin'
for midnight delivery,
Joe in tow,
grumbling, mumbling all the way –
"Every place I go
it's No! No! No!
Holy Day Inn?
Not a chance!
Come Forth Inn?
Sponsored Dance!"
"Go! Try the Hilton!"
Some little shiite said.
"Nope, " said Joe.
"Saved for Milton.
For he's a jolly good fellow;
but, he's blind, you know
and pissed, you know, not mellow
at all since he lost his sight
and Paradise as well, last night."
"Oh," said the manager. But, we got a manger
if you can manage."
Joe paused a moment, pensive.
He turned to the very pregnant woman.
"Waddya say, Mar?
Wanna take a chance?
We come this far.
Okay?"
Mary just glared at Joe for not having made the reservations
when they were back in Jerusalem.
The scribe there warned him,
but did he listen?
Naw! Just like every other Tom, Dick, and Harry;
just like a scorned man – he had it all figgered out.
"Hay! Whatever you say, Joe."
as she tried to bale him out.
"Look," she noted,
"There's the manger in the shed."
"A bit mangy," Joe said, adding quickly,
"No pad for your head."
Mary looked around and saw a trio of official-looking bodies approaching.
"If they're here to make trouble,
I've had it. This is the last straw.
Every place we went was full
and bars closed down, chanting:
There's no RUM at the inn,
thus sending us on our
bloody Mary way.
Leave it to me, baby!
I know what to say."
"Wait, Mar. They seem to be carrying stuff.
Let's hear 'em out, a little – just enough –
"Why not?" she quipped.
"Can't dance, and we haven't stripped
for bed of straw yet."
They advanced.
"A – hymn, a – hymn, a – hymn," they all stammered in unison.
"We three Weissmen from dis-orient are, on the North side.
I'm Tom Weissman, this is Dick, and that is Fat Harry.
We have come to bring gifts to make your stay merry,
as comfortable as we may – or as we mght
on this cold, Winter's night."
"Watcha got, there, Tom? Dick, or are you Larry?"
"Harry, not Larry! Gifts for your indefinite stay,"
"Blankies, pillows, comforters, Sir?"
"Naw! Just gold, Frankincense, and myrrh."
[Silent night, blank look, dumbfounded]
"Geeez! Do I look like I need that kind of stuff?
Life for Joe and me's been rough
what with all this 'pregnant guff'
from some kinda holy spirit – '
Joe didn't even wanna hear it."
"Well, here it is, the best for him and her:
For him the gold, a stock and bond or two;
the frankincense and myrrh are both for you."
[more silent night, more dumber looks]
Mary broke, "I'm not ungrateful, take no offense,
but what th' hell is frankincense
and myrrh, sir?"
Then, her water broke
and the rest of hell broke loose.
Harry blurted out in no words too few:
"Hojary frankincense is gathered from what there remains
of ore deposits crystal-like from Boswellia sacra tree
in Oman and Yemen (from what was told to me),
and myrrh, dark red from thorny branches
somewhere in not too far Arabia
some tree with name Myrrha Commiphora."
Mary shouted loud above the din
of screaming voice, her own, and theirs:
"I need some swaddling clothes and underwears
NOT Frankenstein nor red incense!
The child-god to come is still within
I virgin mother lie without a sin
and Joe – he knows this was no whim
some ghost had something in for him.
Mary screamed again with all her might:
Geezus Kreyest is borne tonight.
Then all fell still as North star glistened
and all the universe awakened, listened
while Joe and Mar lay in the hay
till what becomes our Christmas Day.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 1528 times
Written on 2006-12-15 at 23:49
Tags Humor Irreverance Christmas
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Christmas Eve, An Irreverent Look at the Possible Beginning
Christmas EveTrudging through the snow --
heavy Mary,
baby-laden,
time a-fadin'
for midnight delivery,
Joe in tow,
grumbling, mumbling all the way –
"Every place I go
it's No! No! No!
Holy Day Inn?
Not a chance!
Come Forth Inn?
Sponsored Dance!"
"Go! Try the Hilton!"
Some little shiite said.
"Nope, " said Joe.
"Saved for Milton.
For he's a jolly good fellow;
but, he's blind, you know
and pissed, you know, not mellow
at all since he lost his sight
and Paradise as well, last night."
"Oh," said the manager. But, we got a manger
if you can manage."
Joe paused a moment, pensive.
He turned to the very pregnant woman.
"Waddya say, Mar?
Wanna take a chance?
We come this far.
Okay?"
Mary just glared at Joe for not having made the reservations
when they were back in Jerusalem.
The scribe there warned him,
but did he listen?
Naw! Just like every other Tom, Dick, and Harry;
just like a scorned man – he had it all figgered out.
"Hay! Whatever you say, Joe."
as she tried to bale him out.
"Look," she noted,
"There's the manger in the shed."
"A bit mangy," Joe said, adding quickly,
"No pad for your head."
Mary looked around and saw a trio of official-looking bodies approaching.
"If they're here to make trouble,
I've had it. This is the last straw.
Every place we went was full
and bars closed down, chanting:
There's no RUM at the inn,
thus sending us on our
bloody Mary way.
Leave it to me, baby!
I know what to say."
"Wait, Mar. They seem to be carrying stuff.
Let's hear 'em out, a little – just enough –
"Why not?" she quipped.
"Can't dance, and we haven't stripped
for bed of straw yet."
They advanced.
"A – hymn, a – hymn, a – hymn," they all stammered in unison.
"We three Weissmen from dis-orient are, on the North side.
I'm Tom Weissman, this is Dick, and that is Fat Harry.
We have come to bring gifts to make your stay merry,
as comfortable as we may – or as we mght
on this cold, Winter's night."
"Watcha got, there, Tom? Dick, or are you Larry?"
"Harry, not Larry! Gifts for your indefinite stay,"
"Blankies, pillows, comforters, Sir?"
"Naw! Just gold, Frankincense, and myrrh."
[Silent night, blank look, dumbfounded]
"Geeez! Do I look like I need that kind of stuff?
Life for Joe and me's been rough
what with all this 'pregnant guff'
from some kinda holy spirit – '
Joe didn't even wanna hear it."
"Well, here it is, the best for him and her:
For him the gold, a stock and bond or two;
the frankincense and myrrh are both for you."
[more silent night, more dumber looks]
Mary broke, "I'm not ungrateful, take no offense,
but what th' hell is frankincense
and myrrh, sir?"
Then, her water broke
and the rest of hell broke loose.
Harry blurted out in no words too few:
"Hojary frankincense is gathered from what there remains
of ore deposits crystal-like from Boswellia sacra tree
in Oman and Yemen (from what was told to me),
and myrrh, dark red from thorny branches
somewhere in not too far Arabia
some tree with name Myrrha Commiphora."
Mary shouted loud above the din
of screaming voice, her own, and theirs:
"I need some swaddling clothes and underwears
NOT Frankenstein nor red incense!
The child-god to come is still within
I virgin mother lie without a sin
and Joe – he knows this was no whim
some ghost had something in for him.
Mary screamed again with all her might:
Geezus Kreyest is borne tonight.
Then all fell still as North star glistened
and all the universe awakened, listened
while Joe and Mar lay in the hay
till what becomes our Christmas Day.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 1528 times
Written on 2006-12-15 at 23:49
Tags Humor Irreverance Christmas
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Chris Fernie |
