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‘Twas Christmas Eve in the Prison

by JIM SIMPSON
ATLANTA, GA
24 December 2009

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For years my grandfather, Irwin Alton Simpson, recited this poem every Christmas Eve, usually after a few shots of whisky. I'm not sure of its origin or when and where he first heard it, but he was an advertising man in Manhattan and, later, the Ad Director for the St. Petersburg (FL) Times, so he knew a ton of bawdy jokes and dirty limericks. (This poem is pretty tame compared to some he knew.)

After he died, the torch was passed to my father, Richard Irwin Simpson, who did an equally fine job, as he was also an ad man. He still recites the poem, even if it's sometimes over the phone. James Irwin Simpson, that's me, will be the next torch bearer.

With much love on this Christmas Eve, I share with you all this poem.

 

'Twas Christmas Eve in the prison and the warden was walking the halls

Shouting 'Merry Christmas, prisoners!' and the prisoners replied, 'Balls!'

This made the warden quite angry and he swore by all the gods,

'You shall have no Christmas pudding, you dirty lowdown dogs!'

Then up spoke one old prisoner with face as hard as brass,

'Warden, you can take your Christmas pudding and shove it up your ass!'

TAGS: , , , , , ,

Jim Simpson JIM SIMPSON is an award-winning fiction writer and freelance music critic. A native of the wilds of Florida's Gulf Coast, he now resides on the scruffy fringes of Atlanta, Georgia.

He frequently writes about music, with his taste spanning all genres: Bluegrass, Americana, Classic Country, Alternative Country, Western Swing, Blues, Classical, Rock 'n' Roll, Punk, Reggae, Klezmer, and British Isles Folk (to name but a few).

He once sang Happy Birthday (with about 10,000 other people) to Joni Mitchell, and has seen such legends as Miles Davis, The Incredible Jimmy Smith, Rockpile, Blue Rodeo, King Sunny Ade, Elvis Costello and Bob Dylan live in concert. He most recently interviewed the members of the bands Elliott Brood and Those Darlins.

Jim has been at work on his first novel for longer than he originally planned. If all goes well it should be in bookstores sometime before his death.

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16 Comments»

Comment by Rich Ferguson
2009-12-24 13:47:42

I liked this poem, Jim. Also, not to rewrite it or anything, but if you took out the word “Warden” and replaced it with “Rudolph” I think it would work just as well, too.

Just a thought…

 
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore's Mom)
2009-12-24 15:46:53

That is a great poem, Jim!

I also just read your bio and laughed out loud!
My husband thinks I’m crazy, cause I’m all by myself in here.
(But there may be other contributing factors at play here.)

 
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-12-24 16:56:58

Keep on carrying that torch, Jim. You’re doing a fine job.

Heh.

Balls.

 
Comment by Greg Olear
2009-12-24 22:24:08

Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring — not a creature but me.

[OK, someone else write the next line...]

Comment by David S. Wills
2009-12-25 00:11:00

We all hid our contraband inside of our hair,
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there.

I wrote on my Korean blog a version of ‘Twas the night before Christmas’ that was all relating to pop culture. A few K-bloggers have done the same, with some very funny results -
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through Korea,
The spicy Christmas dinner gave foreigners diarrhea’.

We also did versions of ‘I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus’ and my one started -
‘I saw my wife kissing G-Dragon, (a popular Korean singer)
in between the kimchi pots last night’

Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-12-25 00:25:41

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring - not a creature but me

We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there

Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet

(Comments wont nest below this level)
Comment by David S. Wills
2009-12-25 00:31:29

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring - not a creature but me

We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there

Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet

When out on the landing there arose such a din
The gates were thrown open and Santa flew in

 
Comment by Zara Potts
2009-12-25 00:39:52

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring - not a creature but me

We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there

Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet

When out on the landing there arose such a din
The gates were thrown open and Santa flew in

The reindeer were drinking and Santa was spewing
It was clear to see that trouble was brewing

 
 
 
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore's Mom)
2009-12-25 05:58:44

When all of a sudden there arose such noise
The inmates were restless, but boys will be boys

[Tag! someone else is IT.]

 
 
Comment by David S. Wills
2009-12-25 00:04:48

Brilliant! I love this poem.

Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore's Mom)
2009-12-25 06:01:15

Good job, Zara!

We need someone to do the next two lines of Greg’s and then mine!
(This one is a community effort.)

(Merry Christmas to all, from my home to yours, everyone.)

Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore's Mom)
2009-12-25 06:02:55

Good job, you too, David!
You folks on the other side of the globe keep writing when it looks like there’s nothing up.
It’s confusing!

(Comments wont nest below this level)
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore's Mom)
2009-12-25 06:04:37

See? Now Simon just appeared above me too.
Good job, Simon!

 
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-12-26 18:00:31

Thanks Irene!

 
 
 
 
Comment by Greg Olear
2009-12-25 10:03:42

We’re now up to this:

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring — not a creature, but me

We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there

Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet

When out on the landing there arose such a din
The gates were thrown open and Santa flew in

The reindeer were drinking and Santa was spewing
It was clear to see that trouble was brewing

And all of a sudden there arose such noise
The inmates were restless, but boys will be boys

We all of us tugged on his red velvet cape,
And cried, “Santa Claus! Santa Claus! Help us escape!”

 
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore's Mom)
2009-12-25 15:11:05

Perfect!

 
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