NIGHT BEFORE CRISSMUSS IN WARSAW

Vos da nite before Crissmuss in my Polish howse.  I sneke downda stairs, yoost quiet like a mowse.

Da whole rest of famlee in bed all asleep, while visions of nut rolls trew heads of dem creep.

Wurk sox Mama hung by chimley with care, in hopes dat St. Stosh soon vill be dair.

While over in korner is silly to see, dumplings and kielbassa hang frum da tree.

Denn comes diss big bang making howse start ta shudder, an sum nut lands onna roof an breaks da rain gutter.

He wiggle downa chimley and swears cuz its tight.  I hides behind 12 packs way outta site.

He lands inna fireplace, skorching white hair, on bustid up bowling pin still burning dair.

He climbs out an I peaks to get good look.  Yoost like pichers in mine histree book.

He gots vodka glazed eyes an stummick like bubble, with 5 days old beard and soot onna stubble.

Wearing biggist tennis shoes I ever saw, he lost alla da buttins off his old Mackinaw.

He won't ketch kold, Polish Santa's no dope, cuz tying coat tagedder is old peece of rope.

I tries not ta laff but give a few snikkers, when I sees da big patch onna seat of his knickers.

Diss is shure Polish Santa I knows widdout fear, cuz he heads for da kichfin and opinz warm beer.

When finished wit 6 pak, he give a big smirk, reechiz inta potato sack an goes rite ta wurk.

Now, under da tree he is startin to set, most byooteeful prezzints a Polack kin get.

Dairs new bred baskit an shuvvil fer brudder, a bright red babooshka an pick-ax fer mudder.

6 quartz vodka to make papa gay.  Oy, might be big trubble in our howse to pay.

For baby I know he ain't missed her, when I sees pretty things he leaves for my sister.

Won't she be happy troo da spring anna summer, witt pipe rench an plunger, so she can play plumber.

Denn bote my eyes brighten an heart fills witt glee, wen I sees tings Polish Santa leaves ME.

Dairs wurk gloves and sledge hamnmer, my faverit tool, to wurk hard for boss when I flunks outta skule.

Witt new thermos jug, cabbage supe cannot spill, when I carries lunch onna way to stele mill.

He chugs 5 more beers an makes a wide grin.  I kin see ware da foam runs offa his chin.

Giving some burps, up da chimley he rose, while I quickly got inta alla my clothes.

I must see him leave, so's I rushes outside, an looks toward da roof, while in bushes I hide.

An what does I see as I looks troo da twigs, rusty old garbage cart pulled by 8 stinky pigs.

Polish Santa jumps in an gives dem a yell.  Come on alla youse, don't yoost sit dair an smell.

On Stella, on Stanley, on Walter an Joe, an alla youse whose names I don't know.

Fly over da junk yard an turn ta da right.  Let's visit all peeples before I gets tight.

Den I heard him say as he flew over me, "I'm da only old Polack who gives things for free!"

copyright 12-15-85 Bob Jaskolka

Ides Of April

No time to relax
Nigh the day of tax
Robins return
Crocus dots the lawn
Winnipesaukee ice retreats
A daring Harley on the streets
White, then brown snow melts
Baring again rock boundaries
Hills become temporary streams
Frost heaves abound
Streets grow
From receding snow
Parking spots re-appear
New buds grace tree limbs
As a woodpecker sets a din
Bring the spring
Oh God above
Spread Thy color
And the season’s love

8 Years, 19 Days, 'Twas Writ.....

In the middle of the desert
A cloudless night
Millions of stars above
Not a sound at all
No animals to be seen
Tumbleweeds without motion
Alone
Devoid of communication
Vehicles nowhere
Naked
Horizons all around
Without a single tool
Neither food nor water
On fire
OMG!!!

While the Coffee Brewed...

(Written 3-29-00, when I was with an Outreach Ministry that operated per Matthew 25:35)

Before the sun rises, MY world begins
Early morning is NOT for me
But I revel in the selfish quiet

It’s all I’ll have today

Today, I’ll hear the cries of hunger---the rasps of thirst
I’ll see the naked
Feel the loneliness of the imprisoned
And the despair of the afflicted

From that bleak rises a storm of compassion
Bolts of empathy powered by surges of caring
Surrounding me are the arms and hearts of those who TRULY care
They give…they love
They don’t stop

Can we help or save them all---or even SOME?
Are we on the right path?

Frustrated at times…I look to the sky
And there…..peering from behind a cloud

I see God and Matthew.....

I SEE GOD AND MATTHEW SMILE!

Reminiscing...from that Anon person via Paula M

Long ago and far away........In a land that time forgot,

Before the days of Dylan,.....Or the dawn of Camelot.

There lived a race of innocents....And they were you and me,

Long ago and far away.........In the Land That Made Me ME.

For Ike was in the White House...In that land where we were born,

Where navels were for oranges.....And Peyton Place was porn.

We learned to gut a muffler.......We washed our hair at dawn,

We spread our crinolines to dry...........In circles on the lawn.

We longed for love & romance......And waited for our Prince,

And Eddie Fisher married Liz.....And no one's seen him since.

We danced to "Little Darlin".....And Sang to "Stagger Lee"

And cried for Buddy Holly......... In the Land That Made Me ME.

Only girls wore earrings then......... And 3 was one too many,

And only boys wore flat-top cuts.....Except for Jean McKinney.

And only in our wildest dreams.........Did we expect to see

A boy named George with Lipstick......In the Land That Made Me ME.

We fell for Frankie Avalon,......Annette was oh, so nice,

And when they made a movie.......They never made it twice.

We didn't have a Star Trek Five.....Or Psycho Two & Three,

Or Rockey-Rambo Twenty...... In the Land That Made Me ME.

Miss Kitty had a heart of gold........And Chester had a limp,

And Reagan was a Democrat.......Whose co-star was a chimp.

We had a Mr. Wizard........But not a Mr. T,

And Oprah couldn't talk yet............In the Land That Made Me ME.

We had our share of heroes........We never thought they'd go,

At least not Bobby Darin...........................Or Marilyn Monroe.

For youth was still eternal.........And life was yet to be,

And Elvis was forever...............In the Land That Made Me ME.

We'd never seen the rock band......That was Grateful to be Dead,

And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson.....And Zeppelins were not Led.

And Beatles lived in gardens then.......And Monkees lived in trees,

Madonna was a virgin................In the Land That Made Me ME.

We'd never heard of microwaves.......Or telephones in cars,

And babies might be bottle-fed......But they weren't grown in jars.

And pumping iron got wrinkles out.....And "gay" meant fancy-free,

And dorms were never coed...........In the Land That Made Me ME.

We hadn't seen enough of jets.....To talk about the lag,

And microchips were what was left.....At the bottom of the bag.

And Hardware was a box of nails.....And bytes came from a flea,

And rocket ships were fiction.........In the Land That Made Me ME.

Buick's came with portholes...... And side shows came with freaks,

And bathing suits came big enough.....To cover both your cheeks.

And Coke came just in bottles......And skirts came to the knee,

And Castro came to power..........In the Land That Made Me ME.

We had no Crest with Fluoride......We had no Hill Street Blues,

We all wore superstructure bras.....Designed by Howard Hughes.

We had no patterned pantyhose.....Or Lipton herbal tea

Or prime-time ads for condoms.......In the Land That Made Me ME.

There were no golden arches.......No Perrier to chill,

And fish were not called Wanda.....And cats were not called Bill.

And middle-aged was 35........And old was forty-three,

And ancient was our parents........In the Land That Made Me ME.

But all things have a season.....Or so we've heard them say,

And now instead of Maybelline.....We swear by Retin-A.

And they send us invitations..........To join AARP,

We've come a long way, baby........From the Land That Made Me ME.

So now we face a brave new world.....In slightly larger jeans,

And wonder why they're using.......Smaller print in magazines .

And we tell our children's children.....Of the way it used to be,

Long ago and far away. .....In the Land That Made Me ME.........

Anonymous Oldie---Almost a Sooose?

Four all who reed and right (?)

We'll begin with a box and the plural is boxes;
but the plural of ox became oxen not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
yet the plural of moose should never be meese.

You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice;
yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men,
why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?

If I spoke of my foot and show you my feet,
and I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,
yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
and the plural of cat is cats, not cose.

We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
but though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
but imagine the feminine, she, shis and shim.

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger;
neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England.

We take English for granted.
But if we explore its paradoxes,
we find that quicksand can work slowly,
boxing rings are square
and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing,
grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend?
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes, I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
Ship by truck and send cargo by ship?
Have noses that run and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,
while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down,
in which you fill in a form by filling it out
and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
If Dad is Pop, how come Mum isn't Mop?

Author Unknown or is it Knotknown