Chunk, The Chocolate King

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He’s not hollow,
He cannot melt,
He can hop like a jackrabbit,
Though he’s got no flesh or bone or pelt.

**********

Oh what a hand he was dealt,
The very first chocolate rabbit,
That one-hundred-thirty-five he is now,
Is not even felt.

Created on a whim,
In an old store-room,
He was a sight to behold,
And caused a new tradition to unfold.

When his campaign was done,
The evening of Easter, 1890,
As soon as the store was locked,
Away he hopped.

That chunk of chocolate,
Ran off like a rocket,
Before he could be melted or dumped,
And it so happens he ran through,
A patch of magic dust,
Blowing by on a gust.

And never was he ever,
Heard from again,
That is,
Not by men.

But when little bunnies say their prayers,
He is the angel,
God sends that way,
And gladly he watches over,
The little dears.

He is ever so big,
And lives in his own,
Hidden grove of figs,
Far from humans,
And their modern rigs.

There’s a hollow in a hill,
Under tree number four,
Covered with a green trap-door.

Carpeted steps lead down,
To a hardwood floor,
In a giant room,
Fitted just for him.

When he first ran away,
From that window front,
In P.A.,
This is where,
He chose to settle,
Hoping no one would find him,
And see fit to meddle.

What’s he been up to,
The last how many years?
Well he calms the fears,
That reach his ears,
From the above dears.

Then makes millions,
Of mini-mes,
In his factory,
Across the street,
Under tree number three,
Which he distributes to stores,
Shopped in by people,
Like you and me.

His brand is exceptionally fine,
And bought to be indulged in,
With fine whiskey or wine,
Oh! Look at the time!
Go and get you one,
Before it’s time to dine!

His life-size bunny plushies,
So many try,
To make their products as perfect,
But theirs all lack,
When compared to the ones made,
By this aristocrat.

**********

Only once,
Did someone think,
He was to eat,
When he was lounging under,
Tree number one,
To get some fresh air,
While avoiding the sun.

But they broke a tooth,
And on him,
Not a mark was left,
So they were forced to flee,
Without a chance,
Of committing the theft.

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No Wonder He’s Fat

What kind of cookies,
Did you leave Santa this year?
And was there milk,
So they could be,
Washed down properly?

**********

Were you the one,
Who cut out all those angels?
And iced the sugar dough,
With the pearly white?
Then sprinkled on,
The iridescent sprinkles?
Just wondering,
Because he sure devoured those.

Were you the one,
Who mixed up a world-class batter?
And added in,
Every flavor of Christmas chip,
Ever known to man?
Then rolled them in powdered sugar,
To look as though,
They were covered in snow?
Just wondering,
Because he sure raved on those.

Were you the one,
Who made men of gingerbread?
Then baked them to,
A golden brown,
And took time to dress each one,
With piped icing and candies?
Just wondering,
Because he sure fancied those.

Were you the one,
Who made them so light and fluffy?
Then colored them minty green,
And even made them taste,
Like peppermint sweets,
Before mixing in,
Some chocolate treats?
Then dusted them all,
In powdered sugar,
Giving them,
That happy holidays look?
Just wondering,
Because he sure took to those.

Were you the one,
Who twisted red and white ropes?
Then carefully shaped each one,
Into a candy cane?
Before shaking on the red sugar,
That made them extra festive?
And to finish them off,
Made red and white frosting for dipping?
Just wondering,
Because he sure went crazy over those.

Were you the one,
Who made such beautiful butter cookies?
Perfectly round,
Looking like cheery tree ornaments?
With the extra-large indentations,
Baked in every center?
That housed all different flavors,
Of jam mounds?
Just wondering,
Because he sure ate major amounts of those.

**********

He lives for this night,
And any you make,
Will help energize his flight,
All will be eaten,
Without a fight,
But some give him more,
Of a delight.

Christmas Delights

One reindeer,
That we all know,
Has a magic nose,
Not this one though,
This one here’s,
Got magic toes.

Toes polished green,
With sparkles like,
You’ve never seen,
And a mouth that’s both,
Sweet and obscene.

Sweet and obscene,
Is an odd, odd mix,
That makes him not a favorite,
Of Santa Claus,
But Mrs. Claus,
On the other hand,
Thinks he’s the fairest,
In all their land.

That far north land,
We call North Pole,
Where the main phrase,
Is ho-ho-ho,
Doesn’t have much room,
For a naughty deer,
But Santa’s wife,
Doesn’t mind a wee bit of strife,
She says he’s a dear,
And her perfect pet,
Throughout the year.

Each and every day,
He comes to her kitchen,
When he smells the cookies cooking,
And she gives him some,
Then they eat them together,
While she sips her rum.

Her peppermint rum,
And chocolate milk,
Is a favorite there,
For it’s smooth as silk.

Silky though,
It may be,
Her pet doesn’t much like it,
So she humors him,
And let’s him have a drink,
From the kitchen sink.

Drinks from sinks,
Aren’t the only way,
She spoils him rotten,
In front of her fire,
He has a big bed,
Lots of fluffy blankets,
On top of soft rugs,
Made of braided cotton.

A thick cotton comforter,
Covers him up,
When he hits the hay,
And he snores away,
For quite a bit of the day.

When day breaks,
He’s awake,
At the crack of dawn,
Delivering the cookies,
With candy canes,
And that minty-spiked milk,
Up and down every lane.

Such stunning lanes,
They have in that land,
From the packed and popular,
Modern lane called Main,
To the ones on the outskirts,
Where the roads are dirt.

The dirt outskirts,
Are lit up like tiny towns,
Decorations and lights innumerable,
Each enormous property,
Seems to set new heights,
And the lanes downtown,
Dazzle the eyes,
Because they are so bright.

Bright and pretty,
It’s Christmas all year here,
At times for Mrs. Claus,
The rest of the world,
Is pretty much forgotten,
For she paints each day,
Painting landscapes and portraits,
Is her hobby,
But you don’t know that,
It’s supposed to be secret.

Secrets here are many,
And we aren’t supposed to know any,
It would take away from its appeal,
If it became too real,
And then Christmas wouldn’t have,
Its special feel.

That feeling of quaintness,
Requires special maintenance,
Even Twinkle-Toes knows,
So he likes to help,
By putting on shows.

Shows that feature all the reindeer,
And trees and stockings,
As well as all the other Christmas things,
That get taken for granted,
But here in North Pole,
Are kind of enchanted.

And enchanted they must stay,
Which isn’t easily understood,
But if you ever get by that way,
On a Christmas Eve,
When Santa is away,
His missus,
Will show you ’round their ‘hood,
Her and the one,
With magic green toes,
Will dance their way down the roads,
Leading the way,
Pointing out all that’s charming,
But be aware,
As some shit’s alarming.

The Past Year’s Warfare…..Happy Thanksgiving, Again…..

Grateful and thankful,
For spiritual growth,
And also less,
Ornery oaths.

Grateful and thankful,
For God’s supernatural works,
And also less,
Of darkness’s perks.

Grateful and thankful,
For the silvers and the golds,
And also less,
Enemies in the road.

Grateful and thankful,
For the angel’s language,
And also less,
Demonic baggage.

Grateful and thankful,
For losing that inner child,
And also less,
Of easily getting riled.

Grateful and thankful,
For going the distance,
And also less,
Listening to liar’s insistence.

Grateful and thankful,
For increased boldness,
And also less,
Being overcome by coldness.

Grateful and thankful,
For Holy Ghost encounters,
And also less,
Friendship with the doubters.

Grateful and thankful,
For keeping the faith,
And also less,
Falling for puppy-dog face.

Grateful and thankful,
For holding my own,
And also less,
Taking shit from hearts of stone.

Grateful and thankful,
For laughing out loud,
And also less,
Of letting truth be cowed.

Grateful and thankful,
For bound blessings being loosed,
And also less,
Being captive in Satan’s noose.

That Shit Won’t Fly Around Here

Witches and wizards,
Gather ’round,
You’re going down.

The blood was shed,
And it won’t be wasted,
We’re here with a purpose-
To see evil dead.

The horror and gore,
We abhor,
And it’s gotta go,
In Jesus’ name,
For our God is more,
Thank just folklore.

Your spells are blocked,
And your cords are cut,
Your books are burning,
But luck is with you,
It’s modern times,
So you get to avoid,
The shower of rock.

Caught –
You’ll have to throw in the towel,
On tonight’s assignment,
Go tell your boss,
You’ve failed at this prowl.

With our praise and worship,
And the sword of the Spirit,
We’re ushering Heaven down,
Feel Him fill this room,
Overtaking your charms and brooms.

Crushed are your carvings,
Broken are your bones,
Torn are your tarots,
And cracked are your crystals,
This party is over,
With the win going to the savior.

Easter, Taken Seriously

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A long, long time ago,
A man-child was born,
Until he died,
Just a few decades later,
Crucified,
His head adorned,
With the crown of thorns.

But he was only dead,
For three short days,
He came to be,
Alive again,
And now to this day,
For the saved’s sins he pays.
**********

Free?
Free is for me!
That’s what they all say,
Until it comes to the deed,
That happened that day,
At Mount Calvary.

Then instantly,
It’s question this,
And argue that,
I’ve never seen such hesitancy,
For something completely free.

It’s uncanny,
Weird indeed,
This requirement of proof,
People need to concede,
That this ordeal,
Happened for real.

So disgraceful,
And undisputably unacceptable,
Misunderstanding this day,
As meant for that rabbit,
Rather than this lamb,
Will see you damned.

Oh the chicks are cute,
But can they give you,
A new life to boot?
Who doesn’t like a beautiful basket,
Full to overflowing with chocolate?
But will it get you,
Life beyond the casket?

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Think, think, think!
Life isn’t short,
Truth be told,
It’s very long,
Not gone in a blink,
Like you’ve been programmed to think,
But it’s lived mostly,
On the other side of the veil,
Spent in Heaven,
If here on Earth,
We prevail.

Going once,
Going twice,
Salvation is nice,
Won’t you accept it tonight?
**********

Brand New Year

By this time next year,
May it all have came to pass,
By this time next year,
May tears have turned to laughs.

The doors that need to open,
And the doors that need to shut,
May they swing in the right direction,
To spring you out of your rut,
And knock bad on its ass.

The ones that need to come,
And the ones that need to go,
May they make their presence known,
In with the chums,
And out with the scum.

The demons plaguing you,
And the angels protecting you,
May they align with God’s plan,
For you to seek deliverance from devils,
And become a willing vessel.

The bad cravings,
And the good inclinations,
May they take their proper place,
The good becoming concrete,
And the bad sprouting feet.

The things you love,
And the things you hate,
May they not affect you unfavorably,
Your loves being beneficial,
And your hates not interfering with fate.

Old Fashioned Winter Wonderland

The iridescent sparkles,
Shining off an icicle,
Light the path,
Of snow white,
And it makes a feeling,
Like all is right.

The path is deepening,
As the sleigh glides over it,
Here and there a street light,
Illuminates the falling snow,
As the horses go,
Down every road.

Bells ringing,
And properties lit up,
Like Santa’s North Pole,
There’s a soft wind now too,
As a left turn takes us,
Over a large knoll,
Where at the top,
We stop to admire,
The heart of town.

We can see,
For miles around,
All throughout,
Our marvelous little town,
Enough snow now coming down,
That maybe it will soon drown.

Everywhere is decorated,
For the coming of Christmas,
Light poles wrapped with garland,
To remind us of the tidings,
Of that old day long awaited.

Delightful lights,
Hang in every window,
For they’re all in competition,
Of who can be most glamorous,
From where we are up here,
It looks as though the beautician,
And the store promoting nutrition,
Are the ones worth voting on this year.

Be that as it may,
Every single building together,
Forms quite the picture,
The white light display to the north,
Has intertwined so many,
Sparkling red stockings,
And the reindeer springing forth,
From the center of the skating rink,
That’s surrounded by big sleigh bells,
Has the whole town talking.

As we descend,
From the hill,
We round a bend,
Headed to the town’s center,
To a celebration going on,
Looking forward to steaming cups with cocoa,
Each topped with lots of marshmallow.

There will be cookies covered with icing,
In the shape of Santa Claus,
And giant snowmen built by families,
Vying for a present and applause.

An organist is there,
Leading some in singing carols,
And while they’re doing that,
Others lie down to make angels.

Such an unforgettable gathering,
At the prettiest time of year,
And as the clock strikes midnight,
All gather ’round,
The town’s tallest tree,
It’s been bedecked with bows,
And little lights that twinkle,
Garland, balls, and bells,
Complete the evergreen,
And we all go home with gifts,
Fit for kings and queens.

Christmas Season Secret

Such essential accessories,
Take a picture with one,
For memories,
Hang it to be seen,
Season after season,
For no reason.

Do you suppose they feel froze,
When the wind blows?
Or do they enjoy being on a door,
As part of your holiday decor?

Vibrant evergreen,
Round and full,
Embellished with bells and bows,
That ring and blow,
When the weather brings,
Wind and snow.

Did you know,
At the far eastern edge of town,
There’s something supernatural,
At Christmas time,
Where any wreath hung,
Can communicate,
As though they’ve sprouted a tongue?

And they can see,
As though they’ve got eyes,
And they probably do,
They’re just not seen by you.

It’s mystical,
It’s unbelievable,
Remarkable,
And wonderful,
The way they tell the elves,
Who’s been naughty and nice,
While just hanging there,
Sparkling amongst,
The lights and ice.

What?
How did you think,
Santa finds out,
What you’re about?
Did you assume,
He’s all-knowing like God,
Or maybe finds out,
By committing fraud?

**********

I guess this is a shock,
Learning a piece of tree,
Can see and talk,
But please,
Don’t mock!
Things aren’t always,
As they seem,
Look beyond a surface,
And you may discover,
Dreams, screams, or schemes.

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Fact

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Happy Easter!
He is risen!
So it’s your own fucking fault,
If your heart and mind remain imprisoned!

I bet you’ve heard since the cradle,
About God and his Angels,
How a beating and some bloodshed,
Made it so you’re able,
To keep on living once you’re dead.

**********

Eggs and candies,
Put in baskets,
With plush chicks and bunnies,
Delivered or hidden,
By a fictitious rabbit,
Has become the modern day,
Holiday habit.

A way to show remembrance,
To the man who wore,
That crown of thorns,
To the Friday night fight,
That was foretold,
To take his life,
But through God’s might,
Came out alive,
On Sunday morn.

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A week before the first Easter,
Jesus arrived in Jerusalem,
And the people acknowledged him,
By throwing palm branches,
Hereby declaring,
Peace and victory’s coming.

Dogwoods and lilies,
Not the most commonly known,
But they’re symbolic to Easter,
Showing there must be someone,
Up there on a Throne.

The wood made the cross,
Where near the lilies sprung up,
As Jesus hung there,
These along with an empty tomb,
Were the recipe that made rebirth,
Possible for all,
Who walk the Earth.

Now we have butterflies and lambs,
Emblems of Easter,
That convey this same thing,
Crucifixion and resurrection,
For the forgiveness of sins.

We make hot buns,
With a cross on top,
And eat them the day,
Our not-yet-done sins were bought,
Buns in which even,
Their seasonings have deep meanings.

On Easter’s Eve,
A big beeswax candle,
Clearly marked,
Stating the cross,
As being Beginning and End,
Spreads God’s light,
To all in attendance that night.

Who knew baby chicks and new outfits,
Share similar significance?
……….Both define new life in this instance.

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Now we’re all blessedly able to pass over,
The old timer’s traditional,
Passover sacrifice,
Because when Jesus died,
Becoming the Lamb of God,
There was no longer need,
For the ritual to be applied.

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