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The Boy Who Laughed at Santa Claus -- Ogden Nash

Guest poem submitted by Firdaus Janoos :
(Poem #1964) The Boy Who Laughed at Santa Claus
 In Baltimore there lived a boy.
 He wasn't anybody's joy.
 Although his name was Jabez Dawes,
 His character was full of flaws.

        In school he never led his classes,
 He hid old ladies' reading glasses,
 His mouth was open when he chewed,
 And elbows to the table glued.
 He stole the milk of hungry kittens,
 And walked through doors marked NO ADMITTANCE.
 He said he acted thus because
 There wasn't any Santa Claus.

        Another trick that tickled Jabez
 Was crying 'Boo' at little babies.
 He brushed his teeth, they said in town,
 Sideways instead of up and down.
 Yet people pardoned every sin,
 And viewed his antics with a grin,
 Till they were told by Jabez Dawes,
 'There isn't any Santa Claus!'

        Deploring how he did behave,
 His parents swiftly sought their grave.
 They hurried through the portals pearly,
 And Jabez left the funeral early.

        Like whooping cough, from child to child,
 He sped to spread the rumor wild:
 'Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes
 There isn't any Santa Claus!'
 Slunk like a weasel of a marten
 Through nursery and kindergarten,
 Whispering low to every tot,
 'There isn't any, no there's not!'

        The children wept all Christmas eve
 And Jabez chortled up his sleeve.
 No infant dared hang up his stocking
 For fear of Jabez' ribald mocking.

                He sprawled on his untidy bed,
 Fresh malice dancing in his head,
 When presently with scalp-a-tingling,
 Jabez heard a distant jingling;
 He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof
 Crisply alighting on the roof.
 What good to rise and bar the door?
 A shower of soot was on the floor.

        What was beheld by Jabez Dawes?
 The fireplace full of Santa Claus!
 Then Jabez fell upon his knees
 With cries of 'Don't,' and 'Pretty Please.'
 He howled, 'I don't know where you read it,
 But anyhow, I never said it!'
 'Jabez' replied the angry saint,
 'It isn't I, it's you that ain't.
 Although there is a Santa Claus,
 There isn't any Jabez Dawes!'

        Said Jabez then with impudent vim,
 'Oh, yes there is, and I am him!
 Your magic don't scare me, it doesn't'
 And suddenly he found he wasn't!
 From grimy feet to grimy locks,
 Jabez became a Jack-in-the-box,
 And ugly toy with springs unsprung,
 Forever sticking out his tongue.

        The neighbors heard his mournful squeal;
 They searched for him, but not with zeal.
 No trace was found of Jabez Dawes,
 Which led to thunderous applause,
 And people drank a loving cup
 And went and hung their stockings up.

        All you who sneer at Santa Claus,
 Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes,
 The saucy boy who mocked the saint.
 Donner and Blitzen licked off his paint.
-- Ogden Nash
It's a bit too  early for Christmas [not any more it isn't! -- ed.], but
I had to send this one in -- it is one of Nash's real gems. I'll not say
much about it -- a light, witty ditty, showing Ogden Nash's typical
flair for nonsense verse.  I'll let your readers chuckle over its silly
simplicity, without my analyzing or philosophizing over it.

Firdaus.

Brown Penny -- William Butler Yeats

Guest poem submitted by Jessica K. Schnell:
(Poem #1963) Brown Penny
 I whispered, "I am too young,"
 And then, "I am old enough";
 Wherefore I threw a penny
 To find out if I might love.
 "Go and love, go and love, young man,
 If the lady be young and fair."
 Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
 I am looped in the loops of her hair.

 O love is the crooked thing,
 There is nobody wise enough
 To find out all that is in it,
 For he would be thinking of love
 Till the stars had run away
 And the shadows eaten the moon.
 Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
 One cannot begin it too soon.
-- William Butler Yeats
This little poem was recited by Christopher Plummer in the 2005 motion
picture  "Must Love Dogs," and a part of the reason for my submitting
this particular selection.  It seems all too rare that poems are found
in modern culture, and always a wonderful surprise when quoted in films
(another popular W. B. Yeats one is Poem #597).  And, as always, I
delight in poems that encourage one to carpe diem and be run away with
love.

Jessica.

The Year -- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Guest poem submitted by Jeffrey Sean Huo:
(Poem #1962) The Year
 What can be said in New Year rhymes,
 That's not been said a thousand times?
 The new years come, the old years go,
 We know we dream, we dream we know.
 We rise up laughing with the light,
 We lie down weeping with the night.
 We hug the world until it stings,
 We curse it then and sigh for wings.
 We live, we love, we woo, we wed,
 We wreathe our prides, we sheet our dead.
 We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,
 And that's the burden of a year.
-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Ms. Wilcox was introduced in Minstrels, Poem #911 ("The Traveled Man");
this poem I think speaks for itself.

Thank you, and happy holidays,
  -- Jeffrey

[And a very Happy New Year to all our faithful Minstrels subscribers!
  -- Martin, Thomas and Sitaram]

Topography -- Sharon Olds

Guest poem sent in by David Grabill
(Poem #1961) Topography
 After you flew across the country we
 got in bed, laid our bodies
 delicately together, like maps laid
 face to face, East to West, my
 San Francisco against your New York, your
 Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
 New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
 bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
 burning against your Kansas your Kansas
 burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
 Standard Time pressing into my
 Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
 beating against your Central Time, your
 sun rising swiftly from the right my
 sun rising swiftly from the left your
 moon rising slowly from the left my
 moon rising slowly from the right until
 all four bodies of the sky
 burn above us, sealing us together,
 all our cities twin cities,
 all our states united, one
 nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
-- Sharon Olds
             (published in "The Gold )

Here's another poem on a flying theme that a friend gave me before I took a
long flight a few years back.  Sharon Olds is a master of transforming
mundane airplane flights like this and common garden slugs [Poem #1003],
into sensual feasts. This one's an outrageous mix of metaphors that kept me
smiling for a thousand miles or more on that flight, and continues to
enchant every time I reread it.

David Grabill

[Links]

Biography:
  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sharon_Olds

The Day Flies Off Without Me -- John Stammers

Guest poem sent in by Hemant Mohapatra
(Poem #1960) The Day Flies Off Without Me
 The planes bound for all points everywhere
 etch lines on my office window. From the top floor
 London recedes in all directions, and beyond:
 the world with its teeming hearts.

 I am still, you move, I am a point of reference on a map;
 I am at zero meridian as you consume the longitudes.
 The pact we made to read our farewells exactly
 at two in the afternoon with you in the air
 holds me like a heavy winter coat.

 Your unopened letter is in my pocket, beating.
-- John Stammers
I love the quiet strength of this powerful piece. It speaks volumes about an
unrequited love in a way that is neither sappy, nor reflective. It just "is"
and seems to convey "This is how it is, and that is so". Every once in a
while, a poet creates something so heartfelt that all his/her other poems
pale in comparison. This is one of those pieces. 'nuff said.

Hemant

[Links]

Biography:
  [broken link] http://uk.poetryinternationalweb.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=6964