Hi All, I tried to use the bulletin board for this, but found it no longer exists. I'm sorry to hear that. This is totally off topic, but I just thought it may put a smile on your faces. I've been combining writing with my photography, and while musing, this poem (the word is used loosly) took shape in my mind. I hope it offers readers a chuckle. (Just to share some news, A story I wrote was published in an anthology of short stories. I doubt you'll find the book on Amazon - I haven't checked - but it was a neat project.) The story is titled The Ancient Messenger and is in the anthology, Tales of the Green Jackalope. Forgive this intrusion into the Photoforum list. Marilyn ---------------- And, Dear Santa, I Blame You By Marilyn Dalrymple Yanking his beard, hard as I could, I got his attention and got it good. "I've something to tell you, Man-in-the Red-Suit. Your beard and ho-ho's are no longer cute. Listen" I hollered, "I've had all I can take Of this spend, shop, wrap and mail and cook and bake." While twisting his arm behind his back, I continued to say, "Let me explain what you started with your deer, elves and sleigh. My wallet is empty, my gas tank, too. And this, my dear Santa, I blame on you." He was shaking now, a sight I enjoyed. I could tell by his pout he was greatly annoyed. Nose to nose, I did loudly implore, "Sit down, relax. I've still got more." I could tell by his squirming he wanted to run, but not a chance. I had a tight hold on his bright red, flannel pants. "My forehead's on fire and I've got a hunch, In a minute or two I'll be launching my lunch. Can I go home, Santa, and let elves work for me? Do I have time to bounce baby on knee?' I continued with my diatribe and list of rages. I had them in order, pages and pages. "Do I soar in a sled among skies of blue? Not me, dear Santa, and for this I blame you. People are cranky, testy and mean. Please tell me dear Santa, when's the last smile you have seen?" Tiring now, I was just about done. (Too bad, I thought, I was just having fun.) Softening a little, I realized, my anger this man did not cause. 'Twas not this poor old Santa Claus. "We've lost sight of Christmas," I said with a tear. I know this is true. It's the fault of us all, though. I can't blame just you." I sat beside him, ashamed of myself. I had no words left to say. Then Santa took my hand in his, "Come on, he said, "Let's pray."
