Hands Across Texas

Programs on Native Americans, Buffalo Soldiers, Cowboy Poetry, Ethnic Characters in Texas History, Dance, Music with Siyotanka and Harmonica, Storytelling, and Mountain Men

Friday, August 26, 2005

Poem Four


Twas the night before Christmas, in the ghetto you know,
like we wanted a Christmas without any snow.
The lanterns were burning, the children uptight,
singing I'm dreaming of a Black Christmas by candlelight.
Finally the little ones retired to bed in a pack,
dreaming of the angels in that little old shack.
When outside their window a dark figure appeared
it had a groovy natural and a tiny little beard.
I paid it no mind as I blew out the lanterns,
then a sleigh appeared pulled by eight black panthers.
I knew at a moment, I knew it off hand,
that that was none other than Santa Soul Man.
Not wanting him to see me, I split like a flash.
I broke for the bedroom, like it was the forty-yard dash.
Then I dashed for the door and looked down the hall,
as he came down the chimney, with his bags and all.
His hair was curly, his eyes were bright,
lit up like a Christmas tree on Christmas night.
His face how round, his smile how merry,
his lips how large, his nose like a blackberry.
As he filled our tree with gifts galore,
he noticed there wasn't room for more.
So with a nod of his head, and a stomp of his foot,
up the chimney he went, straight to the roof.
As he shouted out one last command,
away the panthers flew, with Santa Soul Man.
And I heard him scream, as he split the scene,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all Sweet Dreams.