SANTA’S HAT

By: Cynthia DiSciullo and William Zigmont

Sunshine leaned back into her comfy overstuffed chair,

Felt the amber glow and warmth of the fireplace there

The magic of a youthful mind is so very scrumptious and delicious

A charming place things are really-real even if they are fictitious

Rambleton Acres felt a jolt of winter’s mighty breath and gale

Which now becomes the back-drop of this cutesy child’s tale

Snow and cold had frosted the windows and whitened the yard

Icicles hung from the eves like shark’s teeth all pointy and hard

Beneath her seasonal blanket she tucked her leg under and said,

“Why, oh, why are hats worn by Santa Claus just white and red?”

Sunshine closed her eyes and traveled in the beauty of her fertile mind

In hopes of an answer but instead possibilities is what she’d find

In the corner of her mind’s room stood dapperly dressed Saint Nick

His pants pleated, and his coat adorned by epaulettes the color of brick

Four brilliantly polished stag-head buttons held the sable coat snuggly tight

And his boots were more the slipper, ornate much the festive delight

But it was the hat, the most unique hat that caught the child’s mind’s eye

Its minutia of intricate detail was the reason and the only reason why

Alas, an unusual coiffure of white framed it as might holly beneath a bow

The traditional hat was not that any more, for she imagined a sideshow

A snowman with a full bristled broom, held in arms thin for they were stick

Eyes and crooked smile coal, scarf plaid, a carrot nose, sporting a cowlick

The mailbox wore a red hat, showing Santa ringing a bell bedecked in

A swan covered shirt, a gingerbread neck tie held with a wreath tie-pin

The details of the hat revealed that four frogs sat on block spelling noel

The chorus singing from parchment songbooks the song Jingle Bell

A tiny rocking horse covered in cloth, the print poinsettia and holly on white

Wore a red bow, matching ribbon it rein and a white mane trimmed tight

A Christmas raccoon was placing a glow star on the top of an orange tree

Four teddies looked on, their vest’s button of star shaped shimmered glee

A woman’s handbag sat beneath that tree shaped exactly like the tree it sat below

Fifteen and twenty pine cone cluttered in a pile circled by a train, chuggin’ slow

Carrying a drum, wrapped presents, a pup, a kitty, four birds, a sled, and mittens

If you looked in one car’s window you’d see a girl sitting with three kittens

To the left, just above the brim, a girl was pulling her sled on shiny gliders

On it was one red-headed dolly, a stuffed bear and penguin as lucky riders

Look hard and you will see an old typewriter with paper in its carriage that said,

“Dear Santa…” and two mice were depressing the keys in dresses red-on-red

There do you see it, yes, a mouse turning a wheel, grinding coffee a holiday blend

One can easily imagine it must be a special gift for a very special friend

Standing alone on a frozen pond of ice is one lone snowman completely colored blue

Blue jays abound a blue birdhouse, blue top hat, scarf, coat, mittens, blue, too

A Christmas seal wears, yellow ear muffs that match in color to hand muff of a miss

She shyly turning her head beneath the mistletoe avoiding a beau’s frisky kiss

Duck… duck… goose… duck… duck… swan… all about to fly if you holler

Look closely and notice wreaths, bows, bells and bears are hanging from their collar

Three skunks are marching two carrying signs, one reading “I heart snow!”

The other, “I brake for reindeer!” while the drummer skunk-boy tympanis slow

In the far corner up near the tips ball is a huge up-dumped gold Santa sack

And all the things she saw were flowing from the wonderful Christmas pack

Her whimsical thoughts were interrupted by the call of her older brother

“Sunny, it is time for us to go, ready to visit our wonderful great grandmother?”

Sunshine looked around the room, smiled, fluffed her curls, and rose from her chair,

Neatly folded the blanket, covered Wally, and then winked to the teddy bear

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at SANTA’S HAT.

• Au Revoir (4)
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The winters come and winters go,
And some have rain and some have snow,
But there is something you should know,
Some things remain the same.

At times they’re wet, at times they’re dry,
It’s quite enough to make you cry,
But there’s one thing you can’t deny,
Some things remain the same.

Some days are warm and some are cold,
To venture out you must be bold,
But some things never do get old,
Some things remain the same.

The things that stay are winter days,
Where, as a kid, I used to play,
And speed down hills upon a sleigh,
Those things remain the same.

The fireplace where I would dry,
And warm my toes and feet and thighs,
And maybe have some apple pie,
Those things remain the same.

When Mom would tuck me into bed,
Where dreams would often fill my head,
Of toes and pies and speeding sled,
Those things remain the same.

Now, through my kids, I live those years,
When life was simple, free from fears,
When silly hurts brought easy tears,
Those things remain the same.

Now even as I’m growing old,
And watch my children’s lives unfold,
I pray their children will be told,
Some things remain the same.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Some Things Remain The Same.

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Every day I pass it by

This house of solid wood,

I would like to go inside

If only that I could.

It has a large veranda

With wicker rocking chairs,

And beautiful red geraniums

Sit upon the stairs.

Each time that I walk by it

I feel the warmth inside,

It makes me want to run away

From the outside world and hide.

The curtains on the windows

Are made of pure white lace,

I have to stop, and star awhile,

And wish this was my place.

There is no pain or sorrow here

They’re not rich, nor are they poor,

Only love, and solitude

Behind the white front door.

I know it’s hard to understand

No problems, not a trace,

This house is not on any street

It sits on my fireplace.

You see it’s just a doll house

Not real in any way,

But it gives me inner peace

When I see it every day.

And sometimes when I’m feeling down

And have lost my faith within,

I look behind the white front door

Perhaps they’ll let me in.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at BEHIND THE WHITE FRONT DOOR.

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