Dale Thompson
12-17-2004, 10:16 PM
Hi Folks,
Be prepared to be bored to death - another poem! :eek: :o ;)
CHRISTMAS IN 1:32 SCALE
‘Twas a week before Christmas, and out on my track,
The rec. room was full, all the way to the back.
The trophies were nestled, all snug on the shelf,
Made of bright bronze and granite, I had picked them myself.
Many laps I had practiced, with winning in mind,
I was sure that to me, fate and luck would be kind.
As the program progressed, it soon became clear,
To take back one statue, I had much cause for fear.
The little kids beat me. The teens laughed me off.
The parents took trophies and carried them off.
I just kept on trying, the best that I could.
I was hoping to bring back, the years I was good.
As the racing night finally, came close to its end,
The shelf that held statues, did no longer bend.
What had numbered so many, was now down to two,
I was that many flags, from a Christmas of blue.
Well, I glanced ‘cross the room, hoping all had their prize,
And that’s when I saw her, with those sweet five-year eyes.
I smothered my ego, I couldn’t say no,
When she said, “Mister, please, can I give it a go?”
I’d watched her in practice, turn eight was her weakness,
My Derby was lost, but here was my Preakness.
I vowed not bear down, too hard on the pedal,
But FINALLY I knew, that I’d claim some bright metal.
My plan worked out fine, and by lap number four,
I had a good lead, there were just sixteen more.
What happened on ten, I haven’t a clue,
I just saw a flash, as past me she flew.
For the rest of the race, my envy turned green,
When she checkered at twenty, I was still on fifteen.
She was really quite gracious, as winner she stood,
She said her big brother, had made her that good.
She had one small favor, if the rules I could bend,
I would make someone happy, and gain a real friend.
“My Great Granny’s sick, not expected to last,
Could you give her two laps, and not go too fast?”
Well how could I turn down, this thoughtful request,
I said I’d give three laps, plus my car that was best.
The kindly old lady, emerged to a cheer,
But she didn’t notice, ‘cause she couldn’t hear.
As they wheeled her chair up, for the driver’s inspection,
She struggled to fight her glaucoma infection.
Now the counter was set, for its usual twenty,
We gave her the three, but of time I had plenty.
When the lights counted down, I took off like a rocket,
I knew the last trophy, was right in my pocket.
Down the long straight, my car it just shot,
With my high bank I knew, I would stay in the slot.
Early on in the race, I was perfect I knew,
Of the three laps I’d given, I nearly had two.
The next lap was different, I think it was eight,
I saw the curve coming, but it was too late.
The car jumped the slot, and flew by us all,
It would now be in orbit, if not for the wall.
I hastened to gather, my car and my pride,
In the meantime ole granny, was hitting her stride.
As the old saying goes; for the best or the worst,
I was so far behind, that I thought I was first.
By the time I discovered, I needed a wrecker,
The lady was gleefully, taking the checker.
My night was all over, on that I was clear,
What I needed right now, was some holiday cheer.
As I sat in disgust, and tried to relax,
I looked the room over, and surveyed the facts.
The racers were gone, and the soda was too,
Of the barrel of popcorn, they had left not a chew.
The drained jug of spirits, on the bar stood alone,
My bucket of ice, was as dry as a bone.
A beer would suffice, so the effort I gave,
My fridge looked inside, like a big empty cave.
I cried, “What to do, with the rest of my life!”
I’m too much a coward to fall on a knife.
With Christmas fast coming, I needed some cheer,
Should I give up on slots? The answer was clear.
I thought to myself, if I had any brains,
I’d quit all this mayhem, and go back to trains.
Well, it wasn’t a noise, and there was no song,
But a voice way down deep, told me something was wrong.
It was not in the room, so I just stepped outside,
The northwoods were silent, it caught me in stride.
The moonbeams on snow, yes they silently glistened,
There was no other sound, and, trust me, I listened.
No coyotes would chuckle, no gray wolves’ faint howl,
From the breeze came no whisper, no hoot from an owl.
It was really quite scary, a world close to death,
It was like Mother Nature, was holding her breath.
There still was no noise, but I felt the ground move,
That I state as a fact, I’ve got nothing to prove.
Then I heard the first rumble, from far, far away,
I wanted to run, but decided to stay.
The roar as it neared, was magnificent fun,
Like thirty-three Offys, all chasing turn one.
After such a bad night, I had drawn the “trump” card,
As the whole rig with Santa, set down in my yard.
Of course there were reindeer, alas, not a sleigh,
But a great covered van, they had pulled all the way.
The sign as it blinked, on both sides and the back,
Would have gotten attention, anywhere, any track.
The red and green letters, in a spotlight’s bright beam,
Shouted out just four words, “NORTH POLE RACING TEAM”!
Now we’ve all grown up, thinking Santa had elves,
Well that’s a misnomer, these guys were themselves.
Each one wore their colors, with class and with pride,
It was plain they were ready, to go for a ride.
The first one I saw, wore shades on his eyes,
With his big cowboy hat, he was not in disguise.
He was tall and quite slim, and he wore a bright ring,
I searched for the lyrics, to “God Save the King”.
The next man I saw, brought a tear to my eye,
It must have been brake dust, I’m not prone to cry.
As out of the mist, strode a man dressed in black.
We all gave him space, he wore “3” on his back.
Santa gave we a wink, and then turned his back,
He led his whole team, right up to my track.
And as they passed by, I was nearly in shock,
I searched for some words, but my head was a rock.
I wanted to greet them, but before I could move,
A racer walked by. It was Jacques Villeneuve.
From the past and the present, many answered the call,
The next one in line, was a “chap” named Jim Hall.
They continued to walk by, in real flesh and bones,
Then one of my favorites, it was Parnelli Jones.
There was Schumacher, Coulthard, Lazier and Andretti,
What a racers parade, and I had no confetti.
There was Unser and Cheevers, Fittipaldi and Tracy,
Each one grabbed a car, and was working like crazy.
There was Gordon and Wallace and A.J. and Rudd,
Now I know how he feels, when a hog rolls in mud.
There were many more Heros, surrounding the track,
I could list all their names, if I really think back.
If your favorite is missing, I am much in disgrace,
But it’s fast coming time, to cut to the chase.
The pros had all taken, my slot cars apart,
For the busted up pieces, they needed a cart.
For the cars that they fixed, they had all the pieces,
They had motors and gears, and two kinds of greases.
All the magnets and tweakers were put in their places,
Weight was added to some, in all the right spaces.
The wheels were all trued, and the tires were too,
On all plastic parts, was no trace of a sprue.
They not only tuned, each drive train and chassis,
New paint and decals, made the bodies look classy.
There was one special guy. I swear he had wings,
He replaced all my spoilers and small broken things.
Even the reindeer, helped out with a twinkle,
They pawed at the track, and smoothed every wrinkle.
Well now it was time, to try this stuff out,
One by one they drew straws, so there was no doubt.
If to win has no value, then why keep a score?
Up to now our best lap, was eleven point four.
In the very first heats, they dropped that by two,
It seemed with each lap, a new leader came through.
I wanted a chance, to make those cars burn,
But to me Santa’s comment, was really quite stern.
To me he said, “Stay there. Just watch, learn and listen,
That shelf on your wall, needs some trophies that glisten”.
I quickly stood back, to honor his bidding,
While out on the track, those guys were not kidding.
They powered the curves, and ate up the straights,
They blasted the high bank, and rattled the plates.
Remember the record -- eleven point four?
By the time they were done, it was six and no more!
“OK!” shouted Santa, “We’ve no time to burn,
This guy owns the track, Let’s give him a turn!”.
To say I was nervous, would not be a lie,
But I gathered my courage, to give it a try.
On the very first lap, that I took on the track,
I knew right away, I could never go back.
The cars moved like velvet, the track had no rattle,
I juiced it a bit, as I warmed to the saddle.
As I brought up the speed, I thought none could be finer,
On lap seventeen, I cracked me a niner.
Then I thought to myself, as the course I did roam,
Those prodigal statues, very soon would come home.
Then with handshakes and thank yous, we all bid good night,
“Thank you guys!” shouted Santa, “Seems we’ve taught him a mite!”
Then the room was all empty, save for me and the Claus,
And the words that he said, gave me reason to pause.
“This world is a GOOD place, that I knew from the start,
What my team did tonight, was right from the heart.
But to me there are billions, who are just as great,
Whether tilling the fields or hauling the freight.
Then why is there fighting, and rumors of war,
Perhaps it takes toys, to get to the core.
If our kings and our leaders, were slot racers all,
They could work out their rancor, while having a ball.
All our babies and children, could curl in their beds,
With no visions of bullets and bombs in their heads.
They could dream in a sugar plum world that is dandy,
Their pockets would jingle, with coins for sweet candy.
Our sons and our daughters, could plan for their future,
Without facing harm, at the whim of some butcher.
If people need war, let them go to a movie,
Let the rest of us do, what we find to be “groovy”,
I know it’s a thought, but deserves some reflection.
The folks of the planet, will return your affection”.
As Santa turned back, and made for the door,
The record for laps, didn’t count anymore.
I followed him out, but he was too fast,
He was up on his seat, and my time was past.
This time when they left, there was no roar or noise,
He gently leaned over, to talk to his “boys”.
“On Panoz and Caddy, Ferrari and Ford.
We must all be in tune, we can’t miss a chord.
On Chevy, Mercedes, Pontiac and Toyota,
Please give me your best, we must fill out our quota.
As they rose like a feather, right up to the skies,
The deer that was leading, should be no surprise.
As Santa relaxed, with his cookies and coffee,
He knew that his team, was led by old “Offy”.
And the last words he shouted, way back to my ear?
“Keep on trying old ROOKIE, we’ll check back next year!”
Now I know that true slotters, will accept this as true,
But this world has some doubters, although they are few.
There are cynics and whiners, and that is real tragic,
Why can’t they wake up, to a world full of magic?
The meaning of life, is to trust in your dreams,
But to question all things, is in vogue now it seems.
Well, by gum and by golly, if you want to keep pace,
Just grab your best toys – c’mon up and race!
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU AND YOURS!!
Dale T.
Be prepared to be bored to death - another poem! :eek: :o ;)
CHRISTMAS IN 1:32 SCALE
‘Twas a week before Christmas, and out on my track,
The rec. room was full, all the way to the back.
The trophies were nestled, all snug on the shelf,
Made of bright bronze and granite, I had picked them myself.
Many laps I had practiced, with winning in mind,
I was sure that to me, fate and luck would be kind.
As the program progressed, it soon became clear,
To take back one statue, I had much cause for fear.
The little kids beat me. The teens laughed me off.
The parents took trophies and carried them off.
I just kept on trying, the best that I could.
I was hoping to bring back, the years I was good.
As the racing night finally, came close to its end,
The shelf that held statues, did no longer bend.
What had numbered so many, was now down to two,
I was that many flags, from a Christmas of blue.
Well, I glanced ‘cross the room, hoping all had their prize,
And that’s when I saw her, with those sweet five-year eyes.
I smothered my ego, I couldn’t say no,
When she said, “Mister, please, can I give it a go?”
I’d watched her in practice, turn eight was her weakness,
My Derby was lost, but here was my Preakness.
I vowed not bear down, too hard on the pedal,
But FINALLY I knew, that I’d claim some bright metal.
My plan worked out fine, and by lap number four,
I had a good lead, there were just sixteen more.
What happened on ten, I haven’t a clue,
I just saw a flash, as past me she flew.
For the rest of the race, my envy turned green,
When she checkered at twenty, I was still on fifteen.
She was really quite gracious, as winner she stood,
She said her big brother, had made her that good.
She had one small favor, if the rules I could bend,
I would make someone happy, and gain a real friend.
“My Great Granny’s sick, not expected to last,
Could you give her two laps, and not go too fast?”
Well how could I turn down, this thoughtful request,
I said I’d give three laps, plus my car that was best.
The kindly old lady, emerged to a cheer,
But she didn’t notice, ‘cause she couldn’t hear.
As they wheeled her chair up, for the driver’s inspection,
She struggled to fight her glaucoma infection.
Now the counter was set, for its usual twenty,
We gave her the three, but of time I had plenty.
When the lights counted down, I took off like a rocket,
I knew the last trophy, was right in my pocket.
Down the long straight, my car it just shot,
With my high bank I knew, I would stay in the slot.
Early on in the race, I was perfect I knew,
Of the three laps I’d given, I nearly had two.
The next lap was different, I think it was eight,
I saw the curve coming, but it was too late.
The car jumped the slot, and flew by us all,
It would now be in orbit, if not for the wall.
I hastened to gather, my car and my pride,
In the meantime ole granny, was hitting her stride.
As the old saying goes; for the best or the worst,
I was so far behind, that I thought I was first.
By the time I discovered, I needed a wrecker,
The lady was gleefully, taking the checker.
My night was all over, on that I was clear,
What I needed right now, was some holiday cheer.
As I sat in disgust, and tried to relax,
I looked the room over, and surveyed the facts.
The racers were gone, and the soda was too,
Of the barrel of popcorn, they had left not a chew.
The drained jug of spirits, on the bar stood alone,
My bucket of ice, was as dry as a bone.
A beer would suffice, so the effort I gave,
My fridge looked inside, like a big empty cave.
I cried, “What to do, with the rest of my life!”
I’m too much a coward to fall on a knife.
With Christmas fast coming, I needed some cheer,
Should I give up on slots? The answer was clear.
I thought to myself, if I had any brains,
I’d quit all this mayhem, and go back to trains.
Well, it wasn’t a noise, and there was no song,
But a voice way down deep, told me something was wrong.
It was not in the room, so I just stepped outside,
The northwoods were silent, it caught me in stride.
The moonbeams on snow, yes they silently glistened,
There was no other sound, and, trust me, I listened.
No coyotes would chuckle, no gray wolves’ faint howl,
From the breeze came no whisper, no hoot from an owl.
It was really quite scary, a world close to death,
It was like Mother Nature, was holding her breath.
There still was no noise, but I felt the ground move,
That I state as a fact, I’ve got nothing to prove.
Then I heard the first rumble, from far, far away,
I wanted to run, but decided to stay.
The roar as it neared, was magnificent fun,
Like thirty-three Offys, all chasing turn one.
After such a bad night, I had drawn the “trump” card,
As the whole rig with Santa, set down in my yard.
Of course there were reindeer, alas, not a sleigh,
But a great covered van, they had pulled all the way.
The sign as it blinked, on both sides and the back,
Would have gotten attention, anywhere, any track.
The red and green letters, in a spotlight’s bright beam,
Shouted out just four words, “NORTH POLE RACING TEAM”!
Now we’ve all grown up, thinking Santa had elves,
Well that’s a misnomer, these guys were themselves.
Each one wore their colors, with class and with pride,
It was plain they were ready, to go for a ride.
The first one I saw, wore shades on his eyes,
With his big cowboy hat, he was not in disguise.
He was tall and quite slim, and he wore a bright ring,
I searched for the lyrics, to “God Save the King”.
The next man I saw, brought a tear to my eye,
It must have been brake dust, I’m not prone to cry.
As out of the mist, strode a man dressed in black.
We all gave him space, he wore “3” on his back.
Santa gave we a wink, and then turned his back,
He led his whole team, right up to my track.
And as they passed by, I was nearly in shock,
I searched for some words, but my head was a rock.
I wanted to greet them, but before I could move,
A racer walked by. It was Jacques Villeneuve.
From the past and the present, many answered the call,
The next one in line, was a “chap” named Jim Hall.
They continued to walk by, in real flesh and bones,
Then one of my favorites, it was Parnelli Jones.
There was Schumacher, Coulthard, Lazier and Andretti,
What a racers parade, and I had no confetti.
There was Unser and Cheevers, Fittipaldi and Tracy,
Each one grabbed a car, and was working like crazy.
There was Gordon and Wallace and A.J. and Rudd,
Now I know how he feels, when a hog rolls in mud.
There were many more Heros, surrounding the track,
I could list all their names, if I really think back.
If your favorite is missing, I am much in disgrace,
But it’s fast coming time, to cut to the chase.
The pros had all taken, my slot cars apart,
For the busted up pieces, they needed a cart.
For the cars that they fixed, they had all the pieces,
They had motors and gears, and two kinds of greases.
All the magnets and tweakers were put in their places,
Weight was added to some, in all the right spaces.
The wheels were all trued, and the tires were too,
On all plastic parts, was no trace of a sprue.
They not only tuned, each drive train and chassis,
New paint and decals, made the bodies look classy.
There was one special guy. I swear he had wings,
He replaced all my spoilers and small broken things.
Even the reindeer, helped out with a twinkle,
They pawed at the track, and smoothed every wrinkle.
Well now it was time, to try this stuff out,
One by one they drew straws, so there was no doubt.
If to win has no value, then why keep a score?
Up to now our best lap, was eleven point four.
In the very first heats, they dropped that by two,
It seemed with each lap, a new leader came through.
I wanted a chance, to make those cars burn,
But to me Santa’s comment, was really quite stern.
To me he said, “Stay there. Just watch, learn and listen,
That shelf on your wall, needs some trophies that glisten”.
I quickly stood back, to honor his bidding,
While out on the track, those guys were not kidding.
They powered the curves, and ate up the straights,
They blasted the high bank, and rattled the plates.
Remember the record -- eleven point four?
By the time they were done, it was six and no more!
“OK!” shouted Santa, “We’ve no time to burn,
This guy owns the track, Let’s give him a turn!”.
To say I was nervous, would not be a lie,
But I gathered my courage, to give it a try.
On the very first lap, that I took on the track,
I knew right away, I could never go back.
The cars moved like velvet, the track had no rattle,
I juiced it a bit, as I warmed to the saddle.
As I brought up the speed, I thought none could be finer,
On lap seventeen, I cracked me a niner.
Then I thought to myself, as the course I did roam,
Those prodigal statues, very soon would come home.
Then with handshakes and thank yous, we all bid good night,
“Thank you guys!” shouted Santa, “Seems we’ve taught him a mite!”
Then the room was all empty, save for me and the Claus,
And the words that he said, gave me reason to pause.
“This world is a GOOD place, that I knew from the start,
What my team did tonight, was right from the heart.
But to me there are billions, who are just as great,
Whether tilling the fields or hauling the freight.
Then why is there fighting, and rumors of war,
Perhaps it takes toys, to get to the core.
If our kings and our leaders, were slot racers all,
They could work out their rancor, while having a ball.
All our babies and children, could curl in their beds,
With no visions of bullets and bombs in their heads.
They could dream in a sugar plum world that is dandy,
Their pockets would jingle, with coins for sweet candy.
Our sons and our daughters, could plan for their future,
Without facing harm, at the whim of some butcher.
If people need war, let them go to a movie,
Let the rest of us do, what we find to be “groovy”,
I know it’s a thought, but deserves some reflection.
The folks of the planet, will return your affection”.
As Santa turned back, and made for the door,
The record for laps, didn’t count anymore.
I followed him out, but he was too fast,
He was up on his seat, and my time was past.
This time when they left, there was no roar or noise,
He gently leaned over, to talk to his “boys”.
“On Panoz and Caddy, Ferrari and Ford.
We must all be in tune, we can’t miss a chord.
On Chevy, Mercedes, Pontiac and Toyota,
Please give me your best, we must fill out our quota.
As they rose like a feather, right up to the skies,
The deer that was leading, should be no surprise.
As Santa relaxed, with his cookies and coffee,
He knew that his team, was led by old “Offy”.
And the last words he shouted, way back to my ear?
“Keep on trying old ROOKIE, we’ll check back next year!”
Now I know that true slotters, will accept this as true,
But this world has some doubters, although they are few.
There are cynics and whiners, and that is real tragic,
Why can’t they wake up, to a world full of magic?
The meaning of life, is to trust in your dreams,
But to question all things, is in vogue now it seems.
Well, by gum and by golly, if you want to keep pace,
Just grab your best toys – c’mon up and race!
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU AND YOURS!!
Dale T.