‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – 2019

This will be the 10th straight year I post my rendition of a classic holiday poem. It’s my MuseTracks tradition. The only variation is the fantasy Santa. A girl can dream…oh, can she dream…

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even my wireless mouse;

The laptop glowed blank
With all creativity kaput,
My Muse took a holiday
From inspiring my book;

The NaNo craze had ended
I’m in edits neck-deep,
While visions of “the end”
Dance out of reach;

Exhausted from writer’s block,
And with my satin sleep mask,
I had just curled into bed
For a long winter’s nap;

When out on the street
There arose such a thunder,
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the rumble.

Away to the window
In fuzzy slippers I sprang,
I stumbled and tripped
And drew back the drape.

The vapor lamps casting pools
Of pale light on the street
Gave the luster of mystery
To objects beneath,

When what to my wondering eyes
Caught my sight,
But a red ragtop muscle car,
And eight Harley bikes,

With a super hot driver
And smirk sinfully salty
I knew in a moment
It must be Tom Hardy.

More handsome in person
His buds they came,
And I whistled and squealed
As he called them by name.

“Now Cavill! Now Reynolds!
Now Momoa and Tatum!
On Heughan! On Hemsworth!
On Franco and Beckham!

To the edge of the curb!
To the end of the way!
Now pull over! Pull over!
Pull over here, I say!”

As the growl of engines
Revved and roared,
Testosterone oozed
From their very cores;

So up to my house
The hotties they drove,
With Tom Hardy in the lead
Of this tasty treasure trove.

And then in an instant,
I heard them out front,
The back-slapping and laughing
Of each manly hunk.

As I wiped the drool
And raced to the den,
In sauntered Tom
Truly a perfect Ten.

He was dressed all in leather
From his head to his boots
Just like in his films
He was lip-smacking good.

A bundle of goodies
He’d flung on his shoulder,
And with his smooth swagger
He simmered and smoldered.

His eyes—how they seared!
His lips, how inviting!
His jawline so strong,
His smirk too enticing!

His russet goatee
Was trimmed just right
And his dark tousled hair
Gilded in the firelight;

The end of a toothpick
He held tight in his teeth,
And he took off his jacket
And rolled up his sleeves;

Leather wristbands and tattoos,
And sculpted firm rear,
Completing the package
All but brought me to tears.

He was lean and fit,
A right sexy heart-breaker,
And I fanned my face,
A coveting stargazer.

A wink of his eye
And I nearly swooned,
Naughty or nice?
My thoughts lampooned;

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work,
And left festive presents
As I giggled and lurked,

And smiling at me
My Muse had more than awaken,
And giving a nod,
Tom left me a-quaking.

He hopped in his convertible,
Gave a whistle to his team,
And away they all drove,
Leaving me to dream.

But I heard him exclaim
Ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas Writing to all.
And to all a good night.”

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – 2018

 

This will be the 9th straight year I post my rendition of a classic holiday poem. It’s a tradition now. The only variation is the fantasy Santa. A girl can dream…

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even my wireless mouse;

The laptop glowed blank
With all creativity kaput,
My muse took a holiday
From inspiring my book;

The NaNo craze had ended
I’m in edits neck-deep,
While visions of “the end”
Dance out of reach;

Exhausted from writer’s block,
And with my satin sleep mask,
I had just curled into bed
For a short catnap;

When out on the street
There arose such a thunder,
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the rumble.

Away to the window
In fuzzy slippers, I sprang,
I stumbled and tripped
And drew back the drape.

The vapor lamps casting pools
Of pale light on the street
Gave the luster of mystery
To objects beneath,

When what to my wondering eyes
Caught my sight,
But a red ragtop muscle car,
And eight Harley bikes,

With a super hot driver
And smirk sinfully salty
I knew in a moment
It must be Tom Hardy.

More handsome in person
His buds they came,
And I whistled and squealed
As he called them by name.

“Now Eastwood! Now Reynolds!
Now Momoa and Tatum!
On Hunnam! On Hemsworth!
On Franco and Heughan!

To the edge of the curb!
To the end of the way!
Now pull over! Pull over!
Pull over here, I say!”

As the growl of engines
Revved and roared,
Testosterone oozed
From their very cores;

So, up to my house
The hotties they drove,
With Tom Hardy in the lead
Of this tasty treasure trove.

And then in an instant,
I heard them out front,
The back-slapping and laughing
Of each manly hunk.

As I wiped the drool
And raced to the den,
In sauntered Tom
A true perfect ten.

He was dressed all in leather
From his head to his boots
Just like in my dreams
He was lip-smacking good.

A bundle of goodies
He’d flung on his shoulder,
With his smooth swagger
He simmered and smoldered.

His eyes—how they seared!
His lips, how inviting!
His jawline so strong,
His smirk too enticing!

His russet goatee
Was trimmed just right
And his dark tousled hair
Gilded in the firelight;

The end of a toothpick
He held tight in his teeth,
And he took off his jacket
And rolled up his sleeves;

Leather wristbands and tattoos,
And flawless firm rear,
Completing the package
All but brought me to tears.

He was lean and fit,
A right sexy heartbreaker,
And I fanned my face,
As plotting struck this story-maker.

A wink of his eye
And I nearly swooned,
Naughty or nice?
My thoughts lampooned;

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work,
And left festive presents
As I giggled and lurked,

And smiling at me
My muse had more than awakened,
And giving a nod,
Tom left me a-quakin’.

He hopped in his convertible,
Gave a whistle to his team,
And away they all drove,
Leaving me to scheme.

But I heard him exclaim
Ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all.
And to all a good night.”

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – 2017

This will be the 8th straight year I post my rendition of a classic holiday poem. You could say it has become a tradition. The only variation is the fantasy Santa. Hope you enjoy!

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even my wireless mouse;

The laptop glowed blank
With all creativity kaput,
My Muse took a holiday
From inspiring my book;

The NaNo craze had ended
I’m in edits neck-deep,
While visions of “the end”
Dance out of reach;

Exhausted from writer’s block,
And with my satin sleep mask,
I had just curled into bed
For a short catnap;

When out on the street
There arose such a thunder,
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the rumble.

Away to the window
In fuzzy slippers I sprang,
I stumbled and tripped
And drew back the drape.

The vapor lamps casting pools
Of pale light on the street
Gave the luster of mystery
To objects beneath,

When what to my wondering eyes
Caught my sight,
But a red ragtop muscle car,
And eight Harley bikes,

With a super hot driver
And smirk sinfully salty
I knew in a moment
It must be Tom Hardy.

More handsome in person
His buds they came,
And I whistled and squealed
As he called them by name.

“Now Johnny! Now Reynolds!
Now Momoa and Tatum!
On Hunnam! On Hemsworth!
On Franco and Heughan!

To the edge of the curb!
To the end of the way!
Now pull over! Pull over!
Pull over here, I say!”

As the growl of engines
Revved and roared,
Testosterone oozed
From their very cores;

So up to my house
The hotties they drove,
With Tom Hardy in the lead
Of this tasty treasure trove.

And then in an instant,
I heard them out front,
The back-slapping and laughing
Of each manly hunk.

As I wiped the drool
And raced to the den,
In sauntered Tom
A true perfect Ten.

He was dressed all in leather
From his head to his boots
Just like in my dreams
He was lip-smacking good.

A bundle of goodies
He’d flung on his shoulder,
With his smooth swagger
He simmered and smoldered.

His eyes—how they seared!
His lips, how inviting!
His jawline so strong,
His smirk too enticing!

His russet goatee
Was trimmed just right
And his dark tousled hair
Gilded in the firelight;

The end of a toothpick
He held tight in his teeth,
And he took off his jacket
And rolled up his sleeves;

Leather wristbands and tattoos,
And flawless firm rear,
Completing the package
All but brought me to tears.

He was lean and fit,
A right sexy heartbreaker,
And I fanned my face,
As ideas struck my story-maker.

A wink of his eye
And I nearly swooned,
Naughty or nice?
My thoughts lampooned;

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work,
And left festive presents
As I giggled and lurked,

And smiling at me
My Muse had more than awaken,
And giving a nod,
Tom left me a-quaking.

He hopped in his convertible,
Gave a whistle to his team,
And away they all drove,
Leaving me to scheme.

But I heard him exclaim
Ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas Writing to all.
And to all a good night.”

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

This year, the poem features someone new.

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even my wireless mouse;

The laptop glowed blank
With all creativity kaput,
My Muse took a holiday
From inspiring my book;

The NaNo craze had ended
I’m in edits neck-deep,
While visions of “the end”
Dance out of reach;

Exhausted from writer’s block,
And with my satin sleep mask,
I had just curled into bed
For a short catnap;

When out on the street
There arose such a thunder,
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the rumble.

Away to the window
In fuzzy slippers I sprang,
I stumbled and tripped
And drew back the drape.

The vapor lamps casting pools
Of pale light on the street
Gave the luster of mystery
To objects beneath,

When, what to my wondering eyes
Caught my sight,
But a red ragtop muscle car,
And eight Harley bikes,

With a super hot driver
And smirk sinfully salty
I knew in a moment
It must be Tom Hardy.

More handsome in person
His buds they came,
And I whistled and squealed
As he called them by name.

“Now Johnny! Now Reynolds!
Now Downy Jr. and Tatum!
On Hunnam! On Hemsworth!
On Franco and Heughan!

To the edge of the curb!
To the end of the way!
Now pull over! Pull over!
Pull over here, I say!”

As the growl of engines
Revved and roared,
Testosterone oozed
From their very cores;

So up to my house
The hotties they drove,
With Tom Hardy in the lead
Of this tasty treasure trove.

And then in an instant,
I heard them out front,
The back-slapping and laughing
Of each manly hunk.

As I wiped the drool
And raced to the den,
In sauntered Tom
A true perfect Ten.

He was dressed all in leather
From his head to his boots
Just like in my dreams
He was lip-smacking good.

A bundle of goodies
He’d flung on his shoulder,
With his smooth swagger
He simmered and smoldered.

His eyes—how they seared!
His lips, how inviting!
His jaw line so strong,
His smirk too enticing!

His russet goatee
Was trimmed just right
And his dark tousled hair
Gilded in the firelight;

The end of a toothpick
He held tight in his teeth,
And he took off his jacket
And rolled up his sleeves;

Leather wristbands and tattoos,
And flawless firm rear,
Completing the package
All but brought me to tears.

He was lean and fit,

 
A right sexy heartbreaker,
And I fanned my face,
As ideas struck my story-maker.

A wink of his eye
And I nearly swooned,
Naughty or nice?
My thoughts lampooned;

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work,
And left festive presents
As I giggled and lurked,

And smiling to me
My Muse had more than awaken,
And giving a nod,
Tom left me a-quaking.

He hopped in his convertible,
Gave a whistle to his team,
And away they all drove,
Leaving me to scheme.

But I heard him exclaim
Ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas Writing to all.
And to all a good night.”

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas – 2015

 

‘Twas the night before Christmas,

When all through the house

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even my wireless mouse;

 

The laptop glowed blank

With all creativity ka-put,

My Muse took a holiday

From inspiring my book;

 

The NaNo craze had ended

I’m in edits neck-deep,

While visions of “the end”

Dance out of reach;

 

Exhausted from writer’s block,

And with my satin sleep mask,

I had just curled into bed

For a short cat nap;

 

When out on the street

There arose such a thunder,

I sprang from my bed

To see what was the rumble.

 

Away to the window

In fuzzy slippers I sprang,

I stumbled and tripped

And drew back the drape.

 

The vapor lamps casting pools

Of pale light on the street

Gave the luster of mystery

To objects beneath,

 

When, what to my wondering eyes

Caught my sight,

But a red ragtop muscle car,

And eight Harley bikes,

 

With a super hot driver

His disheveled hair swept

I knew in a moment

It must be Johnny Depp.

 

More handsome in person

His buds they came,

And I whistled and squealed

As he called them by name.

 

“Now Bradley! Now Gosling!

Now Downy Jr. and Tatum!

On Rock! On Hemsworth!

On Franco and Beckham!

 

To the edge of the curb!

To the end of the way!

Now pull over! Pull over!

Pull over here, I say!”

 

As the growl of engines

Revved and roared,

Testosterone oozed

From their very cores;

 

So up to my house

The hotties they drove,

With Johnny in the lead

Of this tasty treasure trove.

 

And then in an instant,

I heard them out front,

The back-slapping and laughing

Of each manly hunk.

 

As I wiped the drool

And raced to the den,

In sauntered Johnny

A true perfect Ten.

 

He was dressed all in leather

From his head to his boots

Just like in my dreams

He was lip-smacking good.

 

A bundle of goodies

He’d flung on his shoulder,

With his smooth swagger

He simmered and smoldered.

 

His eyes—how they seared!

His lips, how inviting!

His jaw line so strong,

His smirk too enticing!

 

His russet goatee

Was trimmed just right

And his dark tousled hair

Gilded in the firelight;

 

The butt of a cigarette

He held tight in his teeth,

And he took off his jacket

And rolled up his sleeves;

 

Leather wristbands and tattoos,

And flawless firm rear,

Completing the package

All but brought me to tears.

 

He was lean and fit,

A right sexy heartbreaker,

And I fanned my face,

As ideas struck my story-maker.

 

A wink of his eye

And I nearly swooned,

Naughty or nice?

My thoughts lampooned;

 

He spoke not a word

But went straight to his work,

And left festive presents

As I giggled and lurked,

 

And smiling to me

My Muse had more than awaken,

And giving a nod,

Johnny left me a-quaking.

 

He hopped in his convertible,

Gave a whistle to his team,

And away they all drove,

Leaving me to scheme.

 

But I heard him exclaim

Ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas Writing to all.

And to all a good night.”

 

 

 

 

Twas The Night Before Christmas – 2013 Edition

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even my computer mouse;

The pc screen glowed blank
With all creativity ka-put,
My Muse took a holiday
From inspiring my book;

The NaNo craze had ended
I’m in edits knee deep,
While visions of ‘the end’
Dance out of reach;

Exhausted from writer’s block,
And with my sleep mask,
I had just curled in bed
For a short cat nap;

When out on the street
There arose such a thunder,
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the rumble.

Away to the window
In bunny slippers I sprang,
I stumbled and tripped
And drew back the drape.

The vapor lamps casting pools
Of pale light on the street
Gave the luster of mystery
To objects beneath,

When, what to my wondering eyes
Caught my sight,
But a red ragtop muscle car,
And eight Harley bikes,

With a super hot driver
With a smooth grin of mirth
I knew in a moment
It must be Chris Hemsworth.

More handsome in person
His buds they came,
And I whistled and squealed
As he called them by name.

“Now Channing! Now Gerard!
Now, Adam and Bradley!
On Ryan! On Beckham!
On Robert Jr. and (of course) Johnny!

To the edge of the curb!
To the end of the way!
Now pull over! Pull over!
Pull over here, I say!”

As the growl of engines
Revved and roared,
Testosterone oozed
From their very cores;

So up to my house
The hotties they drove,
With Chris in the lead
Of this dreamy treasure trove.

And then in an instant,
I heard them out front,
The back-slapping and laughing
Of each manly hunk.

As I wiped the drool
And raced to the den,
In sauntered Chris
A perfect Ten.

He was dressed all in leather
From his head to his boots
Just like superhero Thor
He was lip-smacking good.

A bundle of goodies
He had flung on his back,
And his t-shirt strained
Against a nice six-pack.

His eyes – how they seared!
His lips, how inviting!
His jaw line so strong,
His smirk too enticing!

His dark flaxen goatee
Was trimmed just right
And his blond tousled hair
Gilded in the firelight;

The sky blue of his gaze
full of smoldering heat,
And he took off his jacket
And rolled up his sleeves;

Wide, cut shoulders
And flawless firm rear,
Completing the package
All but brought me to tears.

He was lean and fit,
A right sexy heartbreaker,
And I fanned my face,
As ideas struck this story maker.

A wink of his eye
And I nearly swooned,
Naughty or nice?
My thoughts lampooned;

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work,
And left festive presents
As I giggled and lurked,

And smiling to me
My Muse had more than awaken,
And giving a nod,
Chris left me a-quaking.

He hopped in his convertible,
Gave a whistle to his team,
And away they all drove,
Leaving me to scheme.

But I heard him exclaim
Ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas Writing to all.
And to all a good night.”

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – 2012

Song of the Day: Christmas / Sarajevo 12/24 by Trans-Siberian Orchestra

Back by popular demand. I give you my rendition of the holiday classic ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. Enjoy.

‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even my computer mouse;

The pc screen glowed blank
With all creativity ka-put,
My Muse took a holiday
From inspiring my book;

The NaNo craze had ended
I’m in edits neck deep,
While visions of ‘the end’
Dance out of reach;

Jingle my bells

Exhausted from writer’s block,
And with my fuzzy sleep mask,
I had just curled in bed
For a short cat nap;

When out on the street
There arose such a thunder,
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the rumble.

Away to the window
In bunny slippers I sprang,
I stumbled and tripped
And drew back the drape.

The vapor lamps casting pools
Of pale light on the street
Gave the luster of mystery
To objects beneath,

When, what to my wondering eyes
Caught my sight,
But a red ragtop muscle car,
And eight Harley bikes,

With a super hot driver
His disheveled hair swept
I knew in a moment
It must be Johnny Depp.

More handsome in person
His buds they came,
And I whistled and squealed
As he called them by name.

A gift? For me? Oh, you mean the little box. Um…okay. That will work, too.

“Now Tatum! Now Gerard!
Now Colin and Bradley!
On Hemsworth! On Daniel!
On Beckham and Robert Downy!

To the edge of the curb!
To the end of the way!
Now pull over! Pull over!
Pull over here, I say!”

As the growl of engines
Revved and roared,
Testosterone oozed
From their very cores;

So up to my house
The hotties they drove,
With Johnny in the lead
Of this dreamy treasure trove.

And then in an instant,
I heard them out front,
The back-slapping and laughing
Of each manly hunk.

As I wiped the drool
And raced to the den,
In sauntered Johnny
A true perfect Ten.

He was dressed all in leather
From his head to his boots
Just like Jack Sparrow
He was lip-smacking good.

A bundle of goodies
He had flung on his back,
And his t-shirt strained
Against a nice six-pack.

His eyes – how they seared!
His lips, how inviting!
His jaw line so strong,
His smirk too enticing!

Next year, I’m waiting up.

His russet goatee
Was trimmed just right
And his dark tousled hair
Gilded in the firelight;

The butt of a cigarette
He held tight in his teeth,
And he took off his jacket
And rolled up his sleeves;

Leather wristbands and tattoos,
And flawless firm rear,
Completing the package
All but brought me to tears.

He was lean and fit,
A right sexy heartbreaker,
And I fanned my face,
As ideas struck my story maker.

A wink of his eye
And I nearly swooned,
Naughty or nice?
My thoughts lampooned;

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work,
And left festive presents
As I giggled and lurked,

Happy holidays, Sexy.

And smiling to me
My Muse had more than awaken,
And giving a nod,
Johnny left me a-quaking.

He hopped in his convertible,
Gave a whistle to his team,
And away they all drove,
Leaving me to scheme.

But I heard him exclaim
Ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas Writing to all.
And to all a good night.”