Time to relax now.
Happy Christmas to you and
a peaceful New Year.
Have a great festive season folks, thank you for checking out my poems throughout the year I’ll be back with more after Christmas.
As the winter snow falls gently down,
There’s a unholy sound carried on the breeze.
Something wicked this way comes,
You tremble with the feeling of impending unease.
Coming closer is the sound of metal clinking
Accompanied by an ominous heavy tread.
There, did you catch that brutish laughter?
Did you glimpse those eyes of fiery red?
Meet Krampus the malevolent bastard of Christmas,
He doesn’t bring presents he brings terror tonight.
Children scream as by their window Krampus stalks past,
As the monster is truly a hideous sight.
The beast’s matted hair is brown and black,
He walks quickly on twisted hooves.
On his misshapen head grow deformed goat horns,
While between cracked teeth his lecherous tongue drools.
Krampus’ huge warty hands carry,
Chains to thrash all the misbehaving children well.
On his back he bears an old rusty bath tub,
In which he drowns the naughty then washes them down to hell.
Now hold that thought of Krampus being evil,
Hold your thought that he’s a truly nasty soul.
Did you know some folks adore Krampus,
If the strange truth be told.
These folks have made Krampus a celebrity,
He’s the figurehead of a vast empire
Of Krampus related merchandise,
That children and adults at Christmas all desire.
You can now buy Krampus action figures,
Or purchase Krampus t-shirts and masks.
You can dress your partner up as Krampus,
But let’s move quickly on from that.
It seems to me that Krampus has gone from being nasty,
To being a multi-media celebrity icon.
He now truly represents the dark side of Christmas,
But I can see what is really going on.
There’s a new streak to Krampus’ evil,
It’s that what makes me really afraid.
As now rather than drown me and then send me to hell,
He’ll keep me alive because there’s money to be made.
Last Christmas I gave you my heart.
Then the very next day….
A mob of angry villagers
under the misapprehension I was some sort of grave robber
appeared at my castle
armed with pitchforks and torches.
They then proceeded to burn down my ancestral home
destroy my science project
and threaten me with legal action.
So this year to save me from tears
i think I’ll just give you… Next vouchers.
Festive tradition says that it’s bad luck
to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe.
I mean what harm can it bring to
lock lips under bright green foliage
and berries as rich and white
as the soft touch of snow.
Could you resist a seasonal dare
and the accompanying giggles that
But don’t forget in your excitement that
mistletoe and its plump white berries also
bring extra Christmas gifts.
They love to give you blurred vision,
soaring blood pressure but best of all
they will kill you.
Mind you they do say a kiss will do
exactly the same thing.
This week I have been told,
“Have a cool yule,
Winterval is coming
Happy holidays and more.”
But I nearly spat out my mince pie
When I was told
The low hanging Christmas decorations
That threaten to garrote me
Were there because
“They’re the reason for the season.”
What does that mean?
You see everyone around me
Of all faiths and persuasions
From atheists to the zealous
Talk of nothing but…
Christmas cards and more.
All while scoffing chocolate santas.
The reason for the season indeed.
Your Christmas telly viewing cannot be planned,
If you do not have to hand.
That festive TV listing magazine most sublime,
The almighty Christmas Radio Times.
As soon as this marvelous seasonal tome,
Lands on the doormat of your home.
Any Christmas jobs are left for later,
As you scramble quickly for pen and paper.
Then you sit reverently with the Radio Times,
While from cover to cover its contents you scrutinise.
Ever keen to get your seasonal TV schedule ready,
So you can program it all into your telly.
Later when you have given the Radio Times its last look,
Then like a treasured religious book.
You place it with pride beside your TV,
Displayed majestically for all to see.
Sadly because of my love for the Christmas Radio Times,
Advertising watchdogs don’t like this poem’s lines.
Their lawyers have told me it would be advisable,
If I reminded you other festive listing magazines are available.
Merry Christmas to all and thanks to supporting the site.
It was a peaceful Christmas night,
I was nibbling a mince pie.
When suddenly my blood turned cold,
As I heard a crashing noise from the sky.
“They’re bloody here again wife, ” I yell,
“It’s a repeat of last year.
Those reindeer are wrecking my roof again,
Load my shotgun please dear.”
Yes those reindeer are on top of my house,
Smashing my guttering and tiles up.
I’m going to give them a special greeting,
With ten rounds of buckshot.
As I climb up I see Rudolph,
With his ruddy nose so bright.
Well he’ll wish he’d switched it off,
As it makes a great target tonight.
Why are the reindeer here anyway?
Making a racket while loitering around.
Just so a fat man can jump down my chimney,
Bringing soot and dirt into my lounge.
And when this obese oaf appears,
He forgets to drop off my presents.
As he’s too busy scoffing my mince pies,
And necking all my sherry.
Well tonight Santa and your reindeer,
I’ll get my revenge for my roof bills.
I’m aiming my shotgun at you,
And I’m looking for a kill.
They can hear me coming it seems,
But they’ve left it too late to get away.
“Put the turkey back in the freezer,” I shout,
“It’s roasted reindeer for Christmas Day.”
I flick my tail at your Christmas Decorations,
I raise my hackles at your novelty Santa hat.
I curl my lip at your Christmas cards,
There’s only one thing that interests this cat.
And that is in my role as feline predator,
I’m going to stealthily stalk your Christmas tree.
My mission is simply to kill it you know,
Oh the joy it’s going to bring me.
I raise a paw and unsheathe my claws,
As I prepare the killing blow.
Then I strike as quick as lightning,
And down the Christmas tree goes.
Oh bugger I’m trapped beneath it now,
With a tree light illuminating my arse.
I hiss, spit and caterwaul,
But my plight gets worse because.
In runs my owner, all red in the face,
“You wretched animal, “ he shouts out loud.
Trying his best to find me,
As under the tree’s remains I cower.
“I’ll skin you cat you tree wrecker you,”
My owner says as he brandishes a knife.
He’s over reacting a little I think,
I’m sure he won’t take one of my nine lives.
As my owner lifts what’s left of the tree,
I spot an open door and leg it outside.
Leaving him to tidy up the mess,
With lots of swearing and sighs.
Later I peer through the lounge window,
Looking like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.
I’ll be back for that tree tomorrow,
And the turkey better look out as well.