Christmas in July

If you have the Presence of mind
I recommend – Christmas in July
coming to you from Down Under
the rabbits bring the thunder
Have you ever met a Richmond rabbit
You should get in the habit
they eat the little blades of grass
on Minoru Boulevard
it’s a present that doesn’t need wrapping
They’ll also pose for photographs
no matter how good your camera is
I used a phone
and no one said hello

Take out three semi-precious stones
any weekend in July
and the magic will happen
take your alligator shoes
and hide inside: a bottle a’ booze
‘could be Absinthe – ‘could be Chartreuse
Let the Celebration begin
Perhaps Three Dog Night could sing
“Jeremiah was a bullfrog…”
and all your long-lost stable friends
could have a picnic on the grass

If you borrow all those unused dog baggies
– they’re green you know
You could make a plastic Christmas tree
for all we know: Love is All You Need
if you start before Santa gets there
you’ll get no pudding

The Christmas whistles will blow
throw down the odd “ho ho”
and watch a movie: like: Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July (1940)
join your neighbours in a dance
see the two-horned reindeer prance
It’s all up to one-and all

Chomp out some dandy yule log
with the roaring digital fireplace on the screen
hell, take the rollercoaster if you can
bring some pots and pans
and plink and bang upon them like some Tinkerbell
wear you favourite Mrs. Santa suit
or bring your horn and give a toot

Soon you’ll fill with Christmas Cheer
‘cause soon Old Santa will be here
he’ll dance around and spring
and join the picnic like some Roaring Rasputin
And fill his pipe with solar flare
and go raring through the sky at 9 pm

Look at the old photo albums
when you were 2 or 22
and remember your long-lost compatriots

Dream the Dream of Santas past
and hope the sunny skies will last

Call London, call Rome
shovel up after the reindeer and call home
Sweeten up with some Turkish Delight
and set up some candles for the night
they’ll twinkle like a million stars
when seen by strangers from afar

© 2018 Rudolf Penner

references:

Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July Trailer

How to make a yule log

 

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Without Their Consent

Telling people what to do without their consent

Drives ‘em all around the bend

2 grand won’t pay for the way a person feels

4 grand won’t pay for ‘em to ‘eal (heal)

Tight-lipped with no Voice and no Freedom

You may as well have left them bleeding

8 miles down there’s a horse and carriage riding

in the Underworld, that’s why it smells like shit   on  the way to freedom

There is a river and a man with bow and quiver

       taking aim, yet no arrow

nodding for justice and not begging pardon

16 miles along the road to higher learning

there’s a dip , and a ruby mist

waiting to be born on the wings

of a red-breasted meadowlark: soldier bird*

There is unharvested land where nothing is canned

and serpents await the plowing  whereupon

they go out into the fields

older than the leaves of the gingko biloba*

I sit and dream of all the four-leaf clover

it may not pay for all my pain

but sun may smile, and then again

tight-lipped freedom is no freedom at all

on the hind legs of Tatu’s* ball

© 2000 Rudolf Kurt Penner (name of blackbird, and research added April 16, 2018)

lyrics for potential song

*(Leistes militaris) Trinidadian: “soldier bird”: a black bird with a red breast. Also seen in Costa Rica, Peru, Brazil and Nicaragua (Formerly called red-breasted blackbird, but it is not a member of the red-winged blackbird family)

*gingko biloba: a type of leaf from which is made a supplement that helps clear thinking and blood circulation

*Tatu virando bola: a type of armadillo that can roll itself into an armoured ball when in danger. Native to Brazil   https://youtu.be/-x71UlnYVEU name of video:

“Tatu virando bola, Armadillo rolls into a ball – In the wild Brazil”

the pussywillows

in the window, dying to get out

I left the door open

Too tired

The hardwired highway twisting, rushing

A few trees from the reflected light

of beams on the road

it’s Athabascan weather

so get out your furs

the wood heat curls around you like a warm cat

lost among the ruins

lost among the ruins  Old Gordon Lightfoot plays the fools
and fools are in the show and shoes are in the school
fouling up the lockers, scaring all the schoolgirls
webfeet wetness and street sense smartness
calling coo-cooing through the fields
with trees on their side
and old wagon wheels rotting between
the long grasses

I grew my cherry on a tree that grew and grew
beside a children’s playground. And hardly
any one knew it was there, just my pet detective

west among the flowers I dot my q’s and p’s
and fools are lost among sloughs and snowmobiles in the great outdoors
messing up the scenery, ticking off the animals
snoeshoe webness and backpacking hardware
tempting Natures’s own strict laws
4000 ft above the ground
timber lying across
the boy’s skinny legs

I grew up but never compare my growing
to the maturity of others my age and older
we were not fond of each other. they all knew
it and we knew and slandered each other

© 2017 Rudolf Penner

from catch yourself falling listening to Elvis

make the most, they say, of your friends

and Bobby Zimmy will reward you in the End

even though he got SAVED some time ago

and some don’t trust him anymore

 

© 2013 Rudolf Kurt Penner

 

from the poem: catch yourself falling listening to Elvis

(ask for the rest)

Ode by Lewis Carroll = me

the chocolate eight
of a cake of chocolate cherry
the magic buttons on the silver coat
turned twice
and presst against the breast of society
the cake was great – as a matter of fact
it was all we ate

the cherry turned full-round on its heel
and rolled into the cup of orange peel
and then a cup of tea

Something cannot take away the joy
of cake of chocolate; not a hater or a debater

not a Wilmhing winer of a dine
the hourglasss and the end of the old oak table
stained brown

the cake remains a perfect harmony
unto itself

©2016 Rudolf Kurt Penner

Tall Order. drinking 9.5% beer do you

hear the Christmas bells

The peacocks wish to show their wings, amid silver ornaments

The chrome of an old car coming in the rear view mirror

like a fountain pen no one would ever

touch

 

The elevator is taking us up – its rich

walnut stain handrail – a comfort

to the blonde panelling with dark hearts

 

I wear a black shirt and underneath the hurt

I suck the straw of festive music

Like i was sitting on a throne in technicolor

Walt dizzily would listen to jazz

on Tall Order Wednesdays

at his favorite dive

percolating rhythms and aromatic espresso

into the blue stage with its golden horns

‘twas a hive of bees and birds

and thin rectangles of red stage lights

on the floor

 

like a fountain that never knew it was shut off

and hazelnuts never to be harvested, he hooked

his eyes into her lightly tanned face with its

green irises and blonde straightened

shined hair

 

Tall order. drinking with peacocks in the warm

sultry air by the salt sea

and silver and green iridescent wings

 

© 2013 Rudolf Kurt Penner

parent(heses)

As we were walking

  and in a group, she said

I’ll put that on when we get to my place:

  it was Fernando, by ABBA

and that was the artist, Inge

  but she never did

But some forlorn loudspeaker

     that was rather quiet,

       was playing it on the street

I said I could play in on the guitar:

     no comment, so I said it again

     no comment  plus – I’ll put that on

       when we get back home

I have that one

The sun was shining for once; and we’d met

  on the wall that goes around the sea

There I was taking photos of my friend Sylvia

        practicing kung fu

born of a forlorn preacher

The Russians stept in,

and everybody left; everybody who could, that is,

   they soldiered on thru

       to other continents,

miserable oceans by boat

I caught a glimpse of my mum’s Chinese,

   but she would say she forgot

   she would lay in bed for days

     after she got cancer

     and stink up the house with

her rotting peaches

What a drag it must be, to be like that

mentally ill people don’t get cancer

at least I’ve never met one

      miserable oceans apart

what it must be like, living on

  a dog’s leash

a gift of the horse in the mouth

     a grave on either side

     some artist wrote a book

some author plays the game of brandy + cigars

   talks with the gen’lmen-scholars

  and they go back to their boots and hunting

      and triggers and hairpins

and planning the annihilation of the enemy

Tigers walk slowly, eyeing up their prey

   the tips of crows’ wings  setting off the sky

What if the grass is greener on the other side

   And parents off the tan their offspring’s hide

I don’t know what i feel inside

with all the oil paint sitting there unused

the tiggers hoped I’d create a portrait

of them stealing through the brush

the way I figger I can’t get caught

doing something bad

   It’s the best linen canvas you ever had

I would lay back for days

coaxing my back back into shape

  It hurts after working

  and the frog outside keeps croaking

Crow may leave a versatile feather

        for me to pick

  from the ashes

in the sand

And I will go play in the band

with all my wet music

  stained and haunted by

        a silent sadness

©2014 by Rudolf Kurt Penner