Christmas Poetry

The painting above is displayed at www.cowboypoetry.com, and was the inspiration for the following poem.

Uncle Charlie's Christmas Eve

Before every Christmas, we'd revel in glory,
As great-uncle Charlie, would tell us the story
Of a cold Christmas Eve, back in nineteen n'ten
Out near Johansen's, dear Karin and Sven.

He was ridin' from town after gettin' some things,
To give to my folks, for the joy such fun brings.
A generous man, quite sober and straight,
Bein' happy was why Uncle Charlie was great.

The sun had not set, but was floatin' real low,
Above the horizon of fog and light snow.
The air was dead calm, with nary a sound
'Cept the breath of his horse, as its hooves hit the ground.

He heard in the silence, but sure didn't know
Whether sleigh bells were ringing, or a voice said; "Ho ho."
When stopping his horse in its tracks on the trail,
The sound seemed to come from way down in the vale.

Then all became quiet, as a corpse in a tomb.
After listening awhile, nudged his horse to resume.
Most likely the Frogget boys out on a tear.
But weren't they in Texas, on a roundup down there?

Next he heard sleigh bells from the ridge up ahead,
As an old soundin' voice spoke to someone and said,
"Girls and boys it's hopeless, I'm afraid we're lost!
In this thick winter fog, my directions got crossed."

"We just need to find a good soul who well knows,
Where Johansen's place is, to leave'm these clothes."
Upon hearin' this Uncle Charlie spoke out,
Through the fog he acknowledged, with a half-hearted shout;

"Peace to you friend! I know Karin n' Sven.
You're not too far off, I'll just whistle, and then
Follow the sound over here, to the trail.
I'll give you directions good enough you won't fail."

Charlie puckered his lips and began Silent Night.
A voice through the mist cried, "Circle to the right!"
Charlie had doubts of what to expect,
There was no sound of hooves, which he could detect.

Sleigh bells were ringing as if all around,
And back to his left, 'bout a foot off the ground
Came a team of small reindeer all hitched to a sleigh,
With an old driver guidin'm down Charlie's way.

Charlie's whistle went dry and his eyes got real big,
When seein' how this old man handled that rig.
The team bore in close, at a gallopin' speed,
Then stopped in a wink as those reindeer took heed.

The old gentleman smiled, then said; "Th' name's Kringle."
Charlie froze stiff, with his skin in a tingle
Knowin' full well from the stories he knew,
That a legend of fancy, must somehow be true.

Kringle told Charlie, "You've saved us dear friend.
We got turned around when we had to descend.
This cloudbank you're in, as near as I've seen,
Runs from Sigurd to Preston, and all towns between."

Great-uncle Charlie soon started to grin,
Then thought of the hurry that Kringle was in.
"Take this trail back, to a lone poplar tree,
Turn a hard left to Johansen's, you'll see."

For kindness received, Kringle reached in the back
Of his sleigh to retrieve, a brown paper sack
Full of oranges and candy, and a bottle of cheer,
That Charlie kept always, as his own souvenir.

Old Kringle shouted, "Take it up boys and girls!"
They disappeared quick in the fog and snow swirls.
The sound of the bells, helped Charlie to trace
Whether Kringle had made it to Johansen's place.

Their last visit finished, away they did fly.
Looking up, Charlie glimpsed through the haze in the sky
A sleigh and eight reindeer, off to the west,
As he held hat in hand, up close to his chest.

I realize it's hard to have faith in this yarn.
Let me be clear, I could not give a darn.
My dear sainted uncle convinced me it's true.
I'm here to say now that I'll prove it to you.

Before passing on, he left in his will,
The sealed antique bottle, which I possess still.
In print, on the label, the words clearly state:
"North Pole Distillers - 1908"

The above picture and poem was my 2004 Christmas card

I actually have the bottle mentioned in the last verse.

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A Day In December

In a line shack in the mountains of Utah

In late December so cold

My ol' dog Ry, with his two light blue eyes,

Lays watchin' the warm glowing coal

Soft wood and a jackknife keep me company

As I carve out a small wooden horse

On the long winter nights, the old oil lamp lights,

Those bare walls of timbers so coarse

My memories go back to my young days

When my mother and I went to town

This same time of year, 'cause she wanted to hear,

A preacher that was comin' around

He spoke of a mother and father

And a young baby just barely born

I remember a star, and three men traveled far,

And angels that played golden horns

I recall there was somethin' said of cattle

And how they were quiet and still

Near the baby so small, as he lay in the stall,

In a stable near the top of a hill

"The babe was a king", cried the preacher

"That shepherds and rich men would praise

He was sent to this earth, in a humble, quiet birth,

In December we remember that day"

I've seldom set foot inside a church

Only two or three times at the most

I'm a cowboy that rides, and kicks dogies sides,

And goes searchin' for strays that are lost

But when snow falls my thoughts are of mother

And the preacher who stood there so tall

On a day in December, and a tale I remember,

Of a star and a baby so small

The above picture and poem was my 2005 Christmas card

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St. Nic's Beginnings Pt. 1

In the mid 1800's when St. Nic was young
In the days when he started that long midnight run
He knew there were children who needed some joy
With a sock full of candy, or a small hand carved toy

Though the way to accomplish this feat of good cheer
Was not yet perfected, using sleigh and eight deer
A system of transport from the old wild west
Was tried early on and put to the test

A twenty mule team, with wagons behind
Would carry those gifts the children would find
Yep, that spry jolly elf was once a muleskinner
Of course he was younger and quite a bit thinner

His mules were all sturdy, with strength that would last
But a method was needed to help them move fast
An old man from Persia told St. Nic to try
A secret, when used, would make carpets fly

With effort and practice it worked like a dream
Though acres were needed to maneuver the team
Calling twenty names caused more than frustration
Only half were acknowledged 'til their next destination

Because of the size and length of the rig
There were no housetop landings, there was no roof that big
The weight of the wagons was prohibitive too
When resting on buildings, they'd fall right on through