Christmas Alphabet : A for Asleep At The Wheel – Merry Christmas Y’All

The Immortal Jukebox

I don’t know about you but the emotional intensity of the last two Posts in The Christmas Alphabet series has sent me searching for something a little lighter in tone!

So I call upon a premier party band.

Heroes of the Hoedown and the Hootenanny.

Brimful of Texas Texture.

Wild with Western Swing.

Asleep At The Wheel.

Merry Texas Christmas Y’all!

Find yourself a well sprung floor and get dancing!

Or to put it another way.

Feliz Navidad!

Merry Christmas Y’all.

Merry Christmas.

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A Vignette.

Sitting in the glaring sun, he wasn’t such a vision.
Fat and fortyish, the wicker chair in which he sat appeared not manufactured for a person of his stature.
The glass topped table reflecting the high afternoon sun, displayed an overflowing ashtray.
The smouldering havana cigar lying next to two empty beer glasses while he held on tightly to a glass full of an alcholic beverage.
The monkey sitting at his right shoulder, his eyes gave the appearance of being glased over as though he had partaken of some of the liquour.
Then picking up his cigar, the couple standing close by, seeing him struggle with the silver zippo lighter, offered him a box of matches.
The conversation was quite brief, he thanked them for their gesture they replied “nada” and moved on.
Checking his watch he thought, 16:30 time for a siesta.
The people in the village of Mijas were now familiar with his movements.
He had learned to live in this place, people also got used to his tone, he’d be heard to say in conversation “You learn about a country by living in it, experiencing its cultures, mixing with the larger community and in general engaging and talking to its people”
(c) Chris Black. December 2017.

Dark midwinter days.

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Eerie is the only description
Those leaden grey skies, leaves
Which not long ago
Dressed trees and hedging
Now clog shores and roadside outlets.
The house lit only by candle light
A collection of torches with used batteries
Add to the dreariness
As dark days fall into pitch black night.
The open fire the only source of comfort
Playing conjuring tricks with food
As the one ring ‘scouting’ stove takes centre stage.
“Hunger is the spice of food”
(c) Chris Black. December 2017.

The Beauty Of Her

Walt's Writings

In a world of constant aggravation
Noise, commotion, hatred
There is also a calming force I cling to
It is the beauty of her

The magical smile of her eyes
Brings peace to my weary soul
The wonder in her whole being draws me in
And I find comfort in her arms of hope

Because of her I found love again
I had lost the music in my heart
But it came back the moment we met
Because of the beauty of her

My life has changed in so many good ways

©Walt Page 2017

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Ode to Two Teddy Bears.

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Mortimer and Orange Ted
Continue to be favourites of this household
Like family members they have aged
One faded slightly into a shadow of his former self.
Still greeted by young and old thus
Ah they’re lovely, when did the pink one lose the eyes?
Are you not the lucky ones eh?
Spoken to as though they could answer back
Adults do act strange around stuffed toys?
While children just enjoy their company
Left alone with them you can hear various conversations.
Stories of the activities of the day, secrets shared
The let us lay down and have a cuddle innocence.
Magic company children and teddy bears.
Mortimer and Orange Ted have lived together
Slept in the same bed, listened to bedtime stories
Never a cross word.
What stories they could tell.
If only the human race could be as civil
What a charmed life we would live.
©Chris Black. December 2017.

A vote for symmetry.

Trying so hard to frame words

This picture he had of what he wished to write

Kept moving hither and thither

As if the goal posts were being moved

He saw himself out in a field of words

Yet he felt alone, abandoned

His independence knocked for six.

Then he decided, in a wordly way

To paint the landscape about him

Weave words into a poem

Feeling the ebb and flow of words

He realised this was a concept

He could happily work with.

His deft touch allowed poetic rhyme sing out.

(c) Chris Black. December 2017.

Ry Cooder & The Drifters (with stellar supporting cast) : Mexican Divorce

The Immortal Jukebox

In Dave Alvin’s wonderful song, ‘Border Radio’ (sure to feature here next year) there are some lines which have always intrigued me:

‘This song comes from 1962 dedicated to a man who’s gone
50,000 watts out of Mexico
This is the Border Radio
This is the Border Radio’

What was that song from 1962?

What was the old song they used to know?

A song able to summon the life that was.

The life that was lost.

The life that haunts the life lived now.

It whispers of broken promises up and down the Rio Grande.

One day married. Next day free.

Except you’re never really free.

How could you be?

An old adobe house where you leave the past behind.

Except (and everyone knows this in their heart of hearts) you can never truly leave the past behind.

The past shadows your every step.

Another set of footprints in…

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