For the benefit of my newer friends, I am dragging this one, kicking and screaming, from the 2009 Yuletide  season…

I Can’t Wait Until Spring

Gray skies are drizzling, the children are sniffling
I’m tired from shopping, and in block-long lines living
Noels and chorales I’m damn sick of hearing
‘They’ve been in rotation since sometime last spring.

White lights nailed on rooftops fail to look very icicley
Lit candy-cane trails are in more ways than one treacly
There’s an inflatable Santa, and a reindeer, I think
It all makes me long for a holiday-free spring.

No groups come a-caroling, to answered doorbell ring
no fights with crusty snowball
We spend all our savings on unneeded things
for kids who complain, that’s all?

We gave up our big bed for loved aunt and uncle
who thrill us with detail about each mole and carbuncle
We get ten bathroom minutes at three each morning
hope our company leaves ere the coming of spring.

We brave malls so crowded to buy stuff loudly touted
and leave with a rain check, for it’s been sold-outed
we’re too late in buying our turkey and trimmings
shoulda put in an order sometime last spring.

No annual vacation, I can’t afford one,
I’m in hock to my ‘nads
I’m just too old now, can’t take the cold now
Was it more fun for Dad?

The big day’s at last here, I get dressed and ready
I’m greeted with smiles and by shiny new TV
That doesn’t work, and must be sent back to Lao-Ping.
Which means I’m stuck with a blank screen until early next Spring!!

4 responses to this post.

  1. I do not even know how I ended up here, but I thought this post
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  2. Thanks so much for the kind words…here are a few links to some other works of mine that you might enjoy….



    and one you don’t have to work so hard view….

    I think I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree

    I’m unhip to any script with more buzz than a bee

    I ‘ve never seen an eagle that was bald-faced as a lie

    Nor was any essay I have spied as bright as fireflies

    No one ever wrote a note as well-read as a beet is

    No rumor’s near as scorching as August’s brutal heat is

    No volumes of prehistory appear in pouches upon wallabies

    Or Newsweeks in the yellow beaks of any birds of paradise

    I don’t believe that sailors speak any saltier than a clam

    And nary a bear was e’er compared to a lover’s candy-gram

    I’ve never found a frescoe as sumptuous as a feast

    Or met a metaphor sans flaws; the end, to say the least.


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    • I would love to read some of your work, but the link that you sent is not good.
      I don’t intend to use other writers on my blog, but if I like your stuff, I will recommend it.


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