Christmas Musings

I am the fifth to admit that I overdo things. That’s better than last, mind you, though not as good as third might be.

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I delude myself that I am simple, efficient, and practical. I only own a Pinterest account because I had a writing job that involved saving pictures for crafting articles. I eschew the latest fashion or home-decorating trend. My children receive rules and guidelines but no sort of life-planned-out Supermom schedule. And, despite being in this Stay At Home Mom profession for over a decade, I do a terrible job at housekeeping in general.

I’ve decided I’m trying to get fired -but that’s a side topic for another post.

Back to fifth place: I’ve had a busy two weeks. In fact, we need to go back at least three months because events then affected the crunch of now.

Not that I voluntarily hurt my tailbone in a really really really bad way. I did, however, schedule a surgery on November 6. I also neglected to remember that Thanksgiving was on the fourth Thursday and would therefore arrive not-too-long-after that surgery. Then, I forgot that we all usually attend The Festival of Trees… which precedes a holiday most of the world celebrates… and that led to a service project for the boys’ principal, an annual Christmas newsletter to be sent with cards, decorating for Christmas, a son’s birthday party (with a theme and guests), and cookie-making and distribution.

Congratulations on getting through that last paragraph. You can rest, here, with me.

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Even though I do not re-label juice boxes for birthday themes, I tend to take on a lot at one time. I also have a high standard of perfection. Maybe I think things are more exciting that way?

I mean, I not only did everything in that too long; didn’t read paragraph, I also have been trying to uncover the house from the molding lump it degenerated into whilst I was recovering/ignoring it. Add shopping for presents and food, plus wrapping all the gifts for everyone, and my cup runneth over six feet below the surface of the well.

I mean… I spray-painted Costco milk boxes to look like Minecraft blocks. My Christmas newsletter was a paragraph for each of seven well-known poems, incorporating bits of A Visit from St. Nicholas AND news about each family member. My cookies were all from scratch.

Maybe I really am one of those Supermoms, just one who sometimes wears pajamas in public ’cause I love my comfort.

Maybe everyone overdoes his life, and it’s not just me.

…Tell me it’s not just me?

 

This week in review, because I’m taking tomorrow and the next day off. So, there!
Wednesday, December 19: Down-Home Marital AdviceWhat’s your take?
Thursday, December 20: The day my kids got out for Christmas Break. So… I got the days mixed up and posted The WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Molly and Gerard!
I also apologized for messing up, in The Most Sleep-Deprived Time of the Year.
Friday, December 21: Skinwalkers, XLVI.
Saturday, December 22: Christmas Cookie Limericksterrible rhymes about my baking exploits.
Sunday, December 23: This post.

I also almost thought about planning on the possibility of catching up on my Reader’s Feed. If you see that I left a comment way back on December 12, then I finally have. My apologies if you’ve felt slighted in the meantime.

Christmas Cookie Limericks

There once was a mom in the ‘burbs
Who thought, for her neighbors, to serve
A plate full of treats;
She filled cookie sheets
With stars, bars, and fudge squares superb.

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Once baked, cooled; then frosted and stored,
The mom looked with pride at her hoard.
“Don’t eat them!” she warned;
Then, her advice, scorned –
Her snack-taking not aboveboard.

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Thus laden with cookies in hand,
She followed her gifting program.
Though many, afraid
Of free calories, stayed
Inside while they spied from their door-cam.

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The Most Sleep-Deprived Time of the Year

My apologies. I just realized that I announced the ending and the winners of The Terrible Weekly Poetry Contest a day early.

The reason is that I thought today was Friday. I’m not sure which Friday because I am so exhausted lately it ought to be illegal for me to even run a washing machine.

…I tried.

Anyway; again, my apologies. No one pointed the mistake out, though, so maybe I’m not the only writer needing a long winter’s nap.

This all ties into something I meant to mention at my weekly wrap-up on Wednesday, which is that I will not be writing a Wilhelmina Winters nor Skinwalkers story next week. I will post the next Skinwalkers tomorrow, and keep the other days for whatever strikes my fancy.

I hope you all have a merry Christmas, especially if you do not read another message from me till after it’s all unwrapped and done.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard since last week’s contest. No -I’m certain I laughed even more this morning. My four-year-old kept looking up from whatever-he’s-getting-into-so-I-can-write and asked if I was all right. Repeatedly.

I’m in favor of calling everyone a winner. Buuuuut… two poems had the same level of my definition of terrible poetry; so, in a first-ever gesture, I am assigning two winners:

Awake in a Manger

by Molly Stevens

Awake in a manger
His bed lined with straw
The little Lord Jesus
Looked up at his maw.

With a moo moo here and a moo moo there
Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo moo.

The mother and father
Looked down where he lay

With a neigh neigh here and and a neigh neigh there
Here a neigh, there a neigh, everywhere a neigh neigh.

The little Lord Jesus
Let out a great bray.

Hush little baby don’t say a word
Mama’s given birth in an animal herd.
If that animal herd don’t sleep
Mama’s gonna fall apart and weep.

I love thee Lord Jesus, but I beg thee and pray,
Give me relief, some sign of your presence.
Hark! The herald angels looked down on the fray,
And sent down a helper – an angel named Clarence.

Now every time there’s a crying King
An angel gets at least one wing.
E-I-E-I-O.

—–AND—–

Christmas Cheers

by Gerard LaDamus

Christmas time is here,
Christmas time is near,
Let’s have a Christmas beer,
For the New Year

Good times we will have,
With Santa and the elfes,
A true Christmas blessing,
Having Zen on our shelves

Let the bubbly flow,
Soon we’ll be kissing under the mistletoe,
Toss the figgy pudding,
Nobody likes that crap, who are we kidding

Christmas presents wrapped with care,
Let’s hope jolly ol’ Saint Nick soon appears,
Maybe I’ll get a rabbit or a hare,
It’s better than a box of Bartlett pears

Baby it’s cold outside,
Get close by my side,
Let’s make an Christmas elf,
We can name him Relph

Christmas time is here,
Christmas time is near,
Let’s have a Christmas beer
For the New Year

—–

Congratulations, Molly and Gerard! You are the Most Terrible Poets of the week. Share the crown, I suppose. Sing to all of your terrible prose!

Molly had me cringing as I chuckled, at her insertions of mismatched chorus in her traditional carol. I started laughing aloud at the baby braying and could only feel admiration as my poetic sensibilities were twisted uncomfortably for the remainder of the poem.

Gerard, a first-time contestant (welcome!), dashed away with those same sensibilities at his terrible meter, timing, spelling, and subject matter. I mean –what is this song about? Admittedly, the element that bumped him to first was ‘elfes’ and ‘Relph.’ Argh.

Do yourself a solid, and read (sing?) the rest of these. If I could find music for all of them, I’d offer to release a Christmas album for you all:

Yuletide balls

by Bruce Goodman

We’re hanging our balls on the tree
pa rum pum pum pum
We got them at various shopping malls
pa rum pum pum pum
They come in all shapes and colors
pa rum pum pum pum
And some of the balls are our mother’s
pa rum pum pum pum

Chorus:
Balls! Balls! Wonderful yuletide balls!
We’re hanging them on the tree
There’s nothing to match them
I warn you – don’t scratch them
Everyone who sees them is filled with admiration
If the tree and balls catch on fire there’ll be a conflagration.

Everyone who sees them shine bright
pa rum pum pum pum
Says see how they catch the light all through the silent night
pa rum pum pum pum
After we’ve finished hanging our balls
pa rum pum pum pum
We’re going to start making the hors (hors should rhyme with balls if you’re reading it our aloud)
d’oeuvre
pa rum pum pum pum
For Christmas dinner
pa rum pum pum pum

Chorus:
Balls! Balls! Wonderful yuletide balls!
We’re hanging them on the tree.
There’s nothing to match them.
Be careful not to scratch them.
Everyone who sees them is filled with admiration
If the tree and balls catch on fire there’ll be a conflagration.
Alleluia!

—–

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas, by Death Metal Grunge

by Death Metal Grunge (AKA Bladud Fleas)

ChrissmaaassChrissmaaasChrissmaaas
CHRISSSSMAAAAAASSSS
ChrissmaaassChrissmaaasChrissmaaas
CHRISSSSMAAAAAASSSS
EEEUGHHHHCHRISSMAAAAAAS

Gotta dead tree an painted all the chrissmas lights blaaack
Got yooza present, here’s the receipt, so you can take it baaaaack
To Waaaal-maaaart. Yeah, shame they don’t do death head tattooooos
Cos that is what I wooda bought for yooz. Yeah.

ChrissmaaassChrissmaaasChrissmaaas
CHRISSSSMAAAAAASSSS
ChrissmaaassChrissmaaasChrissmaaas
CHRISSSSMAAAAAASSSS
EEEUGHHHHCHRISSMAAAAAAS

Decorated the room and nailed my sock above the FIRE
If I said it didn’t hurt a bit I’d be a LIAR
It’d learn me to take my foot outta it BEFORE
But the blood splatter goes with the gizzards and the GORE

YEEAAH Santa’s gonna puke.
ChrissmaaassChrissmaaasChrissmaaas
CHRISSSSMAAAAAASSSS
ChrissmaaassChrissmaaasChrissmaaas
CHRISSSSMAAAAAASSSS
EEEUGHHHHCHRISSMAAAAAAS

(ad lib & fade)

—–

Reindeer’s Fly at Night

by Anneberly

Sung to the tune of “Christmas Don’t be Late”

Reindeer’s, reindeer’s in the sun
Sleep for hours and have no fun
They can’t cook, nor can they bake
Lazy reindeer’s, need to wake
Santa’s sleigh is packed with toys
For all the lil’ girls and boys
Sun has set, the moon is bright
These reindeer’s fly at night

Santa’s sleigh is packed with toys
For all the lil’ girls and boys
Sun has set, the moon is bright
These reindeer’s fly at night

Sun has set, the moon is bright
These reindeer’s fly at night

—–

Untitled piece

by D. Wallace Peach

Sung to the tune of We Three Kings

We three drunks of the neighborhood bar
Pounding shots we daren’t drive the car
Bloody Mary, beer and brandy
Oh my gosh, I’m seeing stars

Bourbon, I love you, high as a kite
Bar with a mirror lit up so bright
To the gutter leading, hope I’m not bleeding
Guide us to thy Michelob Light

Chicken wings, my mouth is on fire
Give me a pint to douse the hot pyre
Drunks forever, barfing never
Karaoke carols join the choir

Oh-ohhhh, bar of wonder, bar of blight
Bar of cocktails, blurry-eyed sight
Olives and cherries, I’m feeling merry
Cheers to a tipsy Christmas night!

—–

Candy Canes

by Ruth Scribbles

Sung to the tune of “Deck the Halls”

Line the streets with sugary treats

La fa la fa la, fa la fa la

‘Tis, time to sleep and not make merry

La fa la fa la, fa la fa la

Merry is as merry does

La fa la fa la, fa la fa la

Does the candy go buzz buzz?

La fa la fa la, fa la fa la

*

Merry Jane is insane

La fa la fa la, fa la fa la

She puffs a pipe and always gripes

La fa la fa la, fa la fa la

If you give her some advice

La fa la fa la fa la fa la

She will turn you into ice

La fa la fa la fa la fa la

—–

Mingle Smells

by Peregrine Arc

Sung to the tune of “Jingle Bells”

Mingle smells, mingle smells
I have tooth decay
Oh what fun, it is to say
You smell like puke today.

Dashing through the roads
In a stolen minivan
Past the cops we go
Laughing all the way
Ha ha hah!

Cops on phones do ring
Making handcuffs tight
Oh what fun it is to run
From committing crimes tonight!

Oh! Mingle smells, mingle smells
I have tooth decay
Oh what fun, it is to say
You smell like puke today.

Oh! Mingle smells, mingle smells
I have tooth decay
Oh what fun, it is to say
You smell like puke today…

—–

All I Want for Christmas

by Natalie K.

All I Want for Christmas

All I want for a Christmas is a kid who eats,
A kid who eats,
A kid who eats.

Oh, all I want for Christmas is a kid who eats,
Then I could have a Merry Christmas.

It seems so long since I’ve not said,
“You didn’t eat your dinner, so no snacks in bed”.
It seems so long since I was glad,
Not sitting at the table and getting mad.

All I want for Christmas is a kid who eats,
A kid who eats,
Oh, a kid who eats.

Gee, if I could only have a kid who eats,
Then I could have a merry Christmas!

—–

Christmas Chaos

by Brad (Writing to Freedom)

Technically this was written for last week’s theme, but we’ll go with it!

Twas the night before Christmas and chaos filled the house

Elves were chasing Santa’s mouse

Mrs. Claus was posing with a potted Dancer

Vixen was determined to ride Prancer

cups were flowing with spiked nog

creating a bit of a toy backlog

yuletide traditions were put aside

preparing for a naughty sleigh ride

with visions of mischief and merriment

Santa long past the age of retirement

this tale has gone awry

on Comet, on Cupid, it’s time to fly

You were all wonderfully awful! Come back the Saturday after Christmas to enter again!

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The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

WELCOME to another Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! This is #6, but I’m just asking for work to keep numbering them.

I recommend reading about how to write terrible poetry. Read these rules, then enter:

  1. The topic is Horrible Christmas Song Lyrics. Yep -we’re going there.
    I intend to not do a contest after this, because of Christmas, so this is the last time you’ll have to hear 🎵 “Sir, I want buy these shoes…” 🎶
  2. Keep the song short enough that you can write it and still spend time with family; also so that we don’t all want to wring your neck.
  3. It’s gotta rhyme. Dude, it’s a song.
  4. Remember: make it terrible. My seven-year-old will want to sing it over and over and over and over and -you get the idea. -Not that I want it to feature underpants. Please.
  5. Keep it PG-Rated. Like I said: my kid will be singing it.

Think you can do it? You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (December 21, 2018) to submit.

Post your poem or the specific link to it in the comments.

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WINNER of the Fifth Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

If I thought past contests were difficult to judge, I didn’t know what terribleness was looming on the near horizon!

I had a solid four truly awful, terrible, teeth-gnashing poems that I just could not choose a winner from. So, after carefully spending at least five extra seconds on each and then going with my initial instinct, the winner is:

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

‘Twas the night before Christmas

When all thru the city

The Santa’s were out

Delivering things, what a pity

A pity it is, because

No one is sure

If Santa is Santa

Or a cur in a fur

A fur made from cats

Why cats?

Cats are fat

But they bite the tails

The tales of curs

And history reveals

That this data is concealed

To keep folks from squealing

And then there was a noise

A noise – no, a growl?

a growl and a howl

A howl and a poke

and then he awoke

Congratulations, Ruth! You are the Most Terrible Poet of the week. Ruth has entered for weeks, and has been too clever a writer to sink low enough to win this contest -before today.

The final-round poems all had the following in common: rhyming, allusions to the original poem, humor (though that is certainly not a necessary requirement), off-topic rambling, and originality. Besides my closed-eyes-random-finger-pointing and highly subjective judging; Ruth’s final oomph was that her verse rambled off somewhere odd yet still worked cohesively.

Again, almost-first-placers, amazing terrible job! I had to confer with my seven-year-old for his opinion. (If he ever ‘helps’ again, know that he’s a Captain Underpants fan.)

Everyone else, keep trying. I know, somewhere deep in the recesses of your talented minds, you can get worse.

Thank you all for entering! PLEASE enter again next week. The prompt will post tomorrow morning, promptly at 10ish MST.

Here are ALL the other entries, in order of submission:

Twas the Night Before Christmas

by Bladud Fleas

Twas the night before Christmas, the twenty fourth of December
No, wait, actually it was the twenty third, I seem to remember
Hold on, let me do the math; it was the twenty tooth actually
Hmm, come to think of it, I’m not sure of that exactly factually
Let’s just say, for now, it was sometime before Christmas Day
The harvest was ready and the people were making hay
No, that don’t sound right, does it? How am I so wrong?
De-dah-de-dah…subtract one, carry forward..Right! on with my song!
Twas a (possibly) a night in December, or November, or June
To be honest, the sun was shining, so let’s just say noon
Twas in the middle of Summer, approx. around about midday
O, look what you’ve done, I’ve forgotten what it was I was going to say.

—–

‘Twas the nightcap before Christmas

by Bruce Goodman

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a drop of alcohol could be found in the house.
Grandma had hung her stockings by the chimney with care (to dry if you may)
And I says this place is drier than a cowboy’s armpit on a cold day.

The grandkids were nestled all snug in their beds,
And grandma said she’d hidden a wee drop or two under the bed.
And I said, well go ‘n get it and we’ll have a wee nightcap,
Before settling down to a long winter’s nap,

So we had a wee dwink or two
And I said I knew
The names of the reindeer off by heart
And grandma said she reckoned I didn’t because I was a silly old fart.

There’s DASHER! and DANCER! and PRANCER! and CLATTER!
And grandma said that CLATTER wasn’t one of the reindeer
And I said what would she know? And anyway to boot
I was going up on the roof to clean the chimney so St Nick didn’t get soot on his suit.

So we had another tipple and then I went up on the roof and granny held the ladder
And I called down that one of the reindeer up here was called CLADDER!
I said it’s as slippery up here as ice cubes in a dwink, and grandma said that was impossible,
But it explains why I spent Christmas in hospital.

When she visited me on Christmas day
I said to granny where’s my Christmas present
Cos it’s drier in here than a cowboy with a hat on his head
And as she left granny said she left the stuff underneath the bed.

MAREWEE CHRITHMITH!

—–

Fin

by Stephen Robert Black

Twas The Night Before Christmas
Which made it Christmas Eve
I think
My poetry
It stinks
That rhymes
I need a drink
That also rhymes
Does rhyming the word rhyme with the word rhyme count as a rhyme
Pourquoi?
That’s French for why
I think
Oh Lord….
Fin

—–

Untitled piece

by D. Wallace Peach

Tis the afternoon that comes just before Christmas Eve
And I’m rushing around like you wouldn’t believe
The dog’s barfed up tinsel, my tree lights are dead
I couldn’t find any clear ones, but the minimart had red
Just like Trump’s hall of fiendish stalactites
Or with the points up, does that make them stalagmites?
I burned a batch of cookies for jolly old Saint Nick
Defrosted some corn dogs from July that even then tasted ick
No carrots for the reindeer. No veggies! I’m out.
January better hurry up, cause I’m all tuckered out.
Fa la fella fa, dee da dee da
Fifi folly duh, ta da, ta da!

—–

Christmas Crimestoppers

by Babbitman

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And on a roof broad and flat…
Santa was calling to rat on a rat!

He’d delivered some gifts a few seconds ago
And had spotted some lads in the alley below.

“I recognise that bunch of naughty young chaps,”
He said as he watched them swap money and wraps.

“That’s crystal meth!”, said Santa with shock
And he reached for his mobile, which he kept in his sock.

“I’m breaking bad!”, thought our Mr Claus.
But there was a small problem that caused him to pause:

“I can’t call the police, they’ll want my name –
They’re bound to think that I’m playing a game”.

“I need to do something, but can’t ring the coppers…
I’ve got it! I know! I’ll call Crimestoppers!”

So he dialled oh-eight hundred, triple five, triple one
But noticed that all of his credit had gone.

“It’s a good job that this call is free, eh Prancer?”
Said Santa as he calmly awaited an answer.

The operator picked up the crime-stopping call
And noted the details while Santa told all.

“You might get a reward”, the operator said,
And there came a chuckle from our hero in red.

“Thank you but really I prefer giving tonight,
But only to those on my list – Goodnight!”

—–

Untitled piece

by Trent P. McDonald

Twas the night before Solstice
And all through the land
It was dark before the hourglass
Was empty of sand
Except down below
The planets belt
Where hotter weather
Was sure to be felt
For the tilt of the Earth
Made night long
So we celebrate
By singing a silly song
About the night before Solstice
And all through the land
Oops, I’m stuck in a loop
So I’ll just disband….

—–

Untitled piece

by The Wise Greek

Twas… Honestly I don’t remember,

Wait it’s not even day?

Wait Charlie stay!

I know its a holiday so don’t go to room,

Cause I know if you do your mom is going to beat me with a broom.

I know you’re sister is staring at my wallet,

Daring me to say she can’t have any money,

I know your mom’s glaring at me.

Fluffly I swear if you don’t stop bearing you’re teeth at me!

Wait its December?

I honestly thought it was November.

—–

Christmas Eve Thing

by Michael B. Fishman

Twas the night before Christmas and I’m all by myself
got my camera to photograph that goofy red elf.

2018’s the year where I’ll get him recorded
and for my effort the Pulitzer committee will see me rewarded.

But I’m hungry so first I’ll make me some nice, hearty bisque.
And maybe I’ll make it with some gooey lutefisk.

Can I ask you a question, my Christmasy chum?
Did you ever try writing some poetry, hmmm?

Don’t answer ‘cuz honestly I really don’t care
anymore than I care ‘bout your smelly footwear.

So maybe, dear reader, I’ll deck the halls because:
I really want my two front teeth,
or maybe I just want
you,
or blue,
or white,
or…
Sorry, my thoughts became a little abstracted, but when I saw who mommy was kissing I got a bit distracted.

Now I’ve lost my count in this Christmas extravaganza
and I know Chelsea said only eight or nine when it comes to the stanza.

(I just counted and that’s seven. Please, dear reader, pretend you didn’t just read this parenthetical non-stanza. It’ll just be our little secret; alongside that one time when Dasher and Comet got some . . . oops, never mind that and forget I even mentioned it)

I have one final thought for you before it’s too late
(and no, it’s not to tickle my manly breastplate)

It’s whether you’re at sea or straddling an isthmus,
Please have yourself a merry, happy, jolly, healthy little Christmas.

—–

Untitled piece

by Sheri J. Kennedy

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the office
The peeps were all fluey and all full of coughses

Their eyes hung in bags with bulging lids droopy
Their answers to emails were all nincompoopy

They swallowed more syrup and dreamed of their beds
While blurred visions of monitors multiplied in their heads

The holiday was coming, they leaned upon that
While doing their darndest not to barf in their hats

A bottle of OJ, another pain pill
They pushed around paper, just an hour to kill

Away to the door they stumbled in stupors
A stop at the party and boy were they poopers

At last up their driveways they wove their way home.
And fell in their beddi-byes to spend Christmas alone.

—–

‘Twas the Morning before Monday

by Anneberly Andrews

‘Twas the morning before Monday, when all of the outdoors
Were weeping, not sleeping, as people rode their snowboards

Down the mountainside time and time again
Mother Nature complained about a serious migraine

Pleading for the sun to fade behind a thick, dark cloud
And the humans to quit being so loud

Enough was enough, she ended the noise quite quick
When the weather turned icy cold, and instantly made them all sick

—–

‘Twas the Night Before Brutality

by Peregrine Arc

‘Twas the night before brutality
When all through the house
An axe murderer came stirring
And boy, was he a louse.

Stocking footed and booted,
he tracked mud and then he looted.
The silverware, the tea, the candles and dough
for Christmas cookies were his favorite stow.

The children were on their Xbox, headphones in place;
their mother, upstairs with a giant toothache.
And then the burglar, oaf that he was,
made his first glamorous and stupid faux pas.

“I’m getting a cookie,” a young tot said.
“Or maybe I’ll eat some dough instead!”
Off the children went, all in a gang,
When they came upon the burglar and broke off in a bang.

“He’s stealing our silverware!” started the one.
“That’s my gummy bear candy cane from my mum!”
“He’s stealing everything–let’s get them, boys!
I’ll go for his knees–you hit him with Tolstoy!”

And on they tussled, right onto the floor;
the axe murderer was caught, a thief no more!
When suddenly they heard the mightiest roar;
their mother was awake and, boy, was she was a boar.

“What in heaven’s name is that noise!”
“I told you to pipe down. I’ll take back your toys!
Harold, I need you. Harold, wake up!
The boys have destroyed the house and I need some back-up.”

Click-click-click
down from the bedroom came ol’ Susie and Harold Pick.
In an instant they saw what was the matter
and Susie doused the intruder with a heaping bowl of batter.

“I’m calling the police, you axe murder you;
Harold has got you hogtied–it’s true!
Nobody steals Christmas from our kids
All you’ll get is a knuckle sandwich!”

—–

Holiday Confusion

by Molly Stevens

‘Twas five months before Christmas when all through the stores
Christmas decorations replaced ingredients for s’mores.
It’s summer, you say? What a waste of my dime!
There’s no commercial benefit to having downtime.
You can’t have too much shopping and wrapping and joy
And singing repeatedly Little Drummer Boy.
Par rum pum pum pum,
Rum tee dee dum,
Dum dee dee dumb.
I’m perfectly fine and my thoughts are as clear
as the midnight when angels let out a loud jeer,
“Give Santa the boot and tell him goodbye,
Send up a rocket, it’s the Fourth of July!”

—–

Untitled piece

by Sheri Saretsky

Twas the night before Christmas
After being laid off
Feeling scroogish and angry
And full of bitter scoff
And the reindeer were noisy
As I yelled from the hall
That this Christmas was cancelled
I had just hit a wall
But the morning was coming
As I opened the door
To see packages falling
From outside to the floor
I remembered the shopping
From my computer at night
Back when I had money
And it wasn’t so tight
I thanked God that I finally
Saw my OCD as a gift
And I made up with the reindeer
So they could give me a lift
My anger subsided
As I loaded the sleigh
I passed out all the presents
And knew it would all be ok.

—–

Untitled piece

by Jordy

Twas the night before Christmas
and feeling alone
not a creature was stirring
not even their bones

Went into dreaming
to get a fresh streaming
feigned a get away
accidentally landing in the UK

Stuck in a snow storm
wearing flip flops and t shirt torn
darned if I didn’t miss Bali
astral body took the wrong trolly

Phone booth in the distance
it would take ten pence
Mrs Santa answered
saying the one went onward

Saw Santa and his reindeer
racing in the sky so clear
bridging the distance
I climbed onto Blitzen

While the snow is glistening
I am freezing yet
cheerful to be part of this team
only to pull out the Jim Beam

Thankfully to wake
in a warm bed I did make
but be damned to want
to go back and not faint

To be bold
and not fold
under pressure
from cold weather

Mistakes can be made
next time be sure
to arm the astral with fur

I’m not pointing fingers (Diana), but there was a sudden, suspicious influx of entries this week. I hope you all return to give me ulcers next time.

In the meantime, keep practicing!

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The Little Shepherd’s Lullaby

The others are gone and the choir too;
The new star’s in the sky.
Joseph’s watching and Mary is holding you;
Now, it’s just you and I.

So dream, dear baby Jesus;
Sleep this night with me.
We, lowly shepherds, came to you;
A silent prince of peace.

The world closed its eyes as the sky went to sleep;
Our sheep were gent’ly laid.
An angel’s light stopped the darkness’ creep;
She said, “Don’t be afraid.

“He sleeps, the tiny Jesus
A tiny, lonely King.”
Glory to God in the highest
She and her friends did sing.

And so, as we heard, of a newborn child,
We talked, and chose to go
To the manger wherein you slept and smiled
Beneath the heav’nly glow.

Keep sleeping, little Jesus
Friendless and cold no more.
I came to stand beside you,
To comfort and adore.

In slumber, so perfect, I watched you rest,
Though I was called to leave.
You needed a friend; I will do my best
To stay and watch this eve.

So lay there, little Jesus,
Asleep just like my lamb.
Smile, knowing you’ve company:
I’m here for you, I am.

Mary holds your hands, sweet and small, like mine;
The fingers gently curled.
Yours will grow to heal hearts and bless all mankind:
The Savior of the world.

So sleep, my baby Jesus
Savior, meek and mild.
Many men will find you yet;
Tonight, though, just a child.

 

Submitted in the nick of time for Susanna Leonard Hill’s Christmas Story Contest.

The Fifth Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

WELCOME young, old, and in-between to The Fifth Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

If you’re new, doubly welcome! I recommend reading about how to write terrible poetry. If you’re not new, read it again, then read these rules, then enter:

  1. The topic is ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. This is my LEAST FAVORITE poem in the entire world -whenever it’s parodied. Therefore; I normally feel that every idiot who goes about with “‘Twas the night before Christmas” on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart; but this week you’re getting a pass.
    Strangely enough, I love the original. I have at least three favorite stanzas in there.
  2. What’s the limit? For the love of my own sanity and yours, please keep it to eight or nine stanzas, maximum. That’s about the point of the original where we read I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
  3. It’s gotta rhyme. At the end of the line. Make it fine.
  4. Remember, remember: the poem needs to be terrible. Clement C. Moore (or, Henry Livingston, Jr.) will want to visit you each hour the night of Christmas Eve to warn you of an angry mob of poets waiting for your death, should you ever write that way again.
  5. Keep it PG-Rated. Kids might climb up on your knee and ask you to read it to them.

Think you can do it? You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (December 14, 2018) to submit.

Post your poem or the specific link to it in the comments.

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The Festival of Trees, with Children

I had a brief announcement up yesterday explaining the delay in announcing the poetry contest winner. Despite some residual tiredness and inability to lift heavy objects, I honored our family’s annual tradition of attending the local children’s hospital’s fundraising event, Festival of Trees.

Donor companies, families, or entities decorate a Christmas tree, small Christmas tree, door, gingerbread house, quilt, or other item and completely donate it. Wednesday evening before the event begins, companies and extremely wealthy entities bid for purchase of the items they wish to own and display in their lobbies or front rooms.

Some trees still had their price tags. An elaborate one we saw was labeled as $3,500. All of the money goes to the hospital, to use for patients who cannot pay for hospital services.

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This first tree pictured is one donated by 1-800 Contacts and decorated by them. It was purchased anonymously; always noted as Friends of Festival. The next image is a mantel 1-800 Contacts decorated as part of the display as well.

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Sometimes, tree-creators are creative. One year we saw two made from ascending wood planks. Other designs have included marble works, an upside-down tree, and a few formed from recycled glass bottles.

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I was impressed with the idea of a tree dress, and with the execution of the idea. It made for an elegant result.

On the less-elegant side, many donations are character-themed. I liked the fun, colorful elements of this Muppets arrangement.

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And, I’m always up for literary references. Besides two ‘trees’ of stacked books, we found this Where the Wild Things Are model. It has a furry tail coming down off the side of the tree, plus a tent and sailboat.

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I’m not a personal fan of My Little Pony, but was impressed with how very, very pony this piece of …work was.

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Many, if not most, Christmas trees are donated in memory of someone. Often that someone is a family member who passed away from disease (prematurely) or old age, though some groups donate in the name of one who miraculously healed.

When I was a young Girl Scout, I volunteered for Festival of Trees. I learned that, occasionally, the story of the tree is printed and put on the back of the identifying card nearby. Gabi was a sweet, happy child who never seemed to mind the nurses coming in every day. She always loved horses and we just had to build her a galloping tree... or Dale led a life full of friends, family, and a love of skiing… or Despite a hopeful outlook, Mia lost her battle with leukemia. We will miss our little angel…

I tear up as I walk around with my children, remembering those stories and seeing the pictures and references for this year.

The following pictures are from the gingerbread houses area of the festival. I love the talent, creativity, and feeling of the whole event.

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This amazing ‘gingerbread’ tower is a bit tangled up.

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Last but not least, my children appreciated this decorated door after watching The Muppet Christmas Carol Thursday evening.

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“We’re Marley and Marley!”

I neglected to note that ticket sales also go to the hospital. In addition, there are the following for purchase: a gift shop of homemade items, fudge shoppe, chocolates counter, desserts cottage, a Santa with purchaseable picture ops, children’s area of crafts, concessions, and cinnamon rolls or scones.

 

I also realize this is a rather mind-numbing description of the whole event. Perhaps I’ll have the likes of Geoff narrate the next one.