No Wonder He’s Fat

What kind of cookies,
Did you leave Santa this year?
And was there milk,
So they could be,
Washed down properly?

**********

Were you the one,
Who cut out all those angels?
And iced the sugar dough,
With the pearly white?
Then sprinkled on,
The iridescent sprinkles?
Just wondering,
Because he sure devoured those.

Were you the one,
Who mixed up a world-class batter?
And added in,
Every flavor of Christmas chip,
Ever known to man?
Then rolled them in powdered sugar,
To look as though,
They were covered in snow?
Just wondering,
Because he sure raved on those.

Were you the one,
Who made men of gingerbread?
Then baked them to,
A golden brown,
And took time to dress each one,
With piped icing and candies?
Just wondering,
Because he sure fancied those.

Were you the one,
Who made them so light and fluffy?
Then colored them minty green,
And even made them taste,
Like peppermint sweets,
Before mixing in,
Some chocolate treats?
Then dusted them all,
In powdered sugar,
Giving them,
That happy holidays look?
Just wondering,
Because he sure took to those.

Were you the one,
Who twisted red and white ropes?
Then carefully shaped each one,
Into a candy cane?
Before shaking on the red sugar,
That made them extra festive?
And to finish them off,
Made red and white frosting for dipping?
Just wondering,
Because he sure went crazy over those.

Were you the one,
Who made such beautiful butter cookies?
Perfectly round,
Looking like cheery tree ornaments?
With the extra-large indentations,
Baked in every center?
That housed all different flavors,
Of jam mounds?
Just wondering,
Because he sure ate major amounts of those.

**********

He lives for this night,
And any you make,
Will help energize his flight,
All will be eaten,
Without a fight,
But some give him more,
Of a delight.

Christmas Delights

One reindeer,
That we all know,
Has a magic nose,
Not this one though,
This one here’s,
Got magic toes.

Toes polished green,
With sparkles like,
You’ve never seen,
And a mouth that’s both,
Sweet and obscene.

Sweet and obscene,
Is an odd, odd mix,
That makes him not a favorite,
Of Santa Claus,
But Mrs. Claus,
On the other hand,
Thinks he’s the fairest,
In all their land.

That far north land,
We call North Pole,
Where the main phrase,
Is ho-ho-ho,
Doesn’t have much room,
For a naughty deer,
But Santa’s wife,
Doesn’t mind a wee bit of strife,
She says he’s a dear,
And her perfect pet,
Throughout the year.

Each and every day,
He comes to her kitchen,
When he smells the cookies cooking,
And she gives him some,
Then they eat them together,
While she sips her rum.

Her peppermint rum,
And chocolate milk,
Is a favorite there,
For it’s smooth as silk.

Silky though,
It may be,
Her pet doesn’t much like it,
So she humors him,
And let’s him have a drink,
From the kitchen sink.

Drinks from sinks,
Aren’t the only way,
She spoils him rotten,
In front of her fire,
He has a big bed,
Lots of fluffy blankets,
On top of soft rugs,
Made of braided cotton.

A thick cotton comforter,
Covers him up,
When he hits the hay,
And he snores away,
For quite a bit of the day.

When day breaks,
He’s awake,
At the crack of dawn,
Delivering the cookies,
With candy canes,
And that minty-spiked milk,
Up and down every lane.

Such stunning lanes,
They have in that land,
From the packed and popular,
Modern lane called Main,
To the ones on the outskirts,
Where the roads are dirt.

The dirt outskirts,
Are lit up like tiny towns,
Decorations and lights innumerable,
Each enormous property,
Seems to set new heights,
And the lanes downtown,
Dazzle the eyes,
Because they are so bright.

Bright and pretty,
It’s Christmas all year here,
At times for Mrs. Claus,
The rest of the world,
Is pretty much forgotten,
For she paints each day,
Painting landscapes and portraits,
Is her hobby,
But you don’t know that,
It’s supposed to be secret.

Secrets here are many,
And we aren’t supposed to know any,
It would take away from its appeal,
If it became too real,
And then Christmas wouldn’t have,
Its special feel.

That feeling of quaintness,
Requires special maintenance,
Even Twinkle-Toes knows,
So he likes to help,
By putting on shows.

Shows that feature all the reindeer,
And trees and stockings,
As well as all the other Christmas things,
That get taken for granted,
But here in North Pole,
Are kind of enchanted.

And enchanted they must stay,
Which isn’t easily understood,
But if you ever get by that way,
On a Christmas Eve,
When Santa is away,
His missus,
Will show you ’round their ‘hood,
Her and the one,
With magic green toes,
Will dance their way down the roads,
Leading the way,
Pointing out all that’s charming,
But be aware,
As some shit’s alarming.

Old Fashioned Winter Wonderland

The iridescent sparkles,
Shining off an icicle,
Light the path,
Of snow white,
And it makes a feeling,
Like all is right.

The path is deepening,
As the sleigh glides over it,
Here and there a street light,
Illuminates the falling snow,
As the horses go,
Down every road.

Bells ringing,
And properties lit up,
Like Santa’s North Pole,
There’s a soft wind now too,
As a left turn takes us,
Over a large knoll,
Where at the top,
We stop to admire,
The heart of town.

We can see,
For miles around,
All throughout,
Our marvelous little town,
Enough snow now coming down,
That maybe it will soon drown.

Everywhere is decorated,
For the coming of Christmas,
Light poles wrapped with garland,
To remind us of the tidings,
Of that old day long awaited.

Delightful lights,
Hang in every window,
For they’re all in competition,
Of who can be most glamorous,
From where we are up here,
It looks as though the beautician,
And the store promoting nutrition,
Are the ones worth voting on this year.

Be that as it may,
Every single building together,
Forms quite the picture,
The white light display to the north,
Has intertwined so many,
Sparkling red stockings,
And the reindeer springing forth,
From the center of the skating rink,
That’s surrounded by big sleigh bells,
Has the whole town talking.

As we descend,
From the hill,
We round a bend,
Headed to the town’s center,
To a celebration going on,
Looking forward to steaming cups with cocoa,
Each topped with lots of marshmallow.

There will be cookies covered with icing,
In the shape of Santa Claus,
And giant snowmen built by families,
Vying for a present and applause.

An organist is there,
Leading some in singing carols,
And while they’re doing that,
Others lie down to make angels.

Such an unforgettable gathering,
At the prettiest time of year,
And as the clock strikes midnight,
All gather ’round,
The town’s tallest tree,
It’s been bedecked with bows,
And little lights that twinkle,
Garland, balls, and bells,
Complete the evergreen,
And we all go home with gifts,
Fit for kings and queens.

Christmas Season Secret

Such essential accessories,
Take a picture with one,
For memories,
Hang it to be seen,
Season after season,
For no reason.

Do you suppose they feel froze,
When the wind blows?
Or do they enjoy being on a door,
As part of your holiday decor?

Vibrant evergreen,
Round and full,
Embellished with bells and bows,
That ring and blow,
When the weather brings,
Wind and snow.

Did you know,
At the far eastern edge of town,
There’s something supernatural,
At Christmas time,
Where any wreath hung,
Can communicate,
As though they’ve sprouted a tongue?

And they can see,
As though they’ve got eyes,
And they probably do,
They’re just not seen by you.

It’s mystical,
It’s unbelievable,
Remarkable,
And wonderful,
The way they tell the elves,
Who’s been naughty and nice,
While just hanging there,
Sparkling amongst,
The lights and ice.

What?
How did you think,
Santa finds out,
What you’re about?
Did you assume,
He’s all-knowing like God,
Or maybe finds out,
By committing fraud?

**********

I guess this is a shock,
Learning a piece of tree,
Can see and talk,
But please,
Don’t mock!
Things aren’t always,
As they seem,
Look beyond a surface,
And you may discover,
Dreams, screams, or schemes.

**********

A Welcome Change From October

The introduction,
To a season of relaxation,
One to eat,
Pumpkins and turkey meat,
Rather than present them,
As a sinister treat.

Serving the turkey up,
On a silver platter,
Not sacrificing him in vain,
As Satan’s price to supposedly solve,
Your idiotic matters.

Smashing the pumpkin up,
As an appetizing pie,
Not needing to scoop it out,
And light it from within,
In order for the demons to pass by,
Without tormenting anyone inside.

It’s almost winter,
The month of November,
Some might have snow,
Others white-sand beaches,
But no matter where,
They’ve probably got turkey,
And pumpkin within reach.

In company,
Or by their lonesome,
Going out and about,
Or tucked away at home,
Hour after hour,
Time ticks so slowly,
Until the year’s best meal,
Is ready to devour.

**********

The pumpkin and the turkey,
Redeemed from their help representing,
Halloween,
An October massacre,
Now assist in celebrating,
Thankfulness and giving.

**********

Made Possible By Snowmen

A Christmas wreath,
Flying through the air like a frisbee,
Grabbed by an unseen hand,
Settled on top of,
A pudgy snowman.

The snowman shook her head,
She was confused,
Feeling something around her head,
She reached up to unseat it,
But it had become fused.

Her head began to tingle,
Where the wreath sat,
And then the bells attached,
The wind made them start to jingle.

Every year,
The very same wreath,
Floats down from the air,
And picks out a snowman,
To help with Mrs. Santa’s Plan.

Someone at the North Pole needs a snowman,
One that isn’t made,
Of their magic snow,
So Mrs. Clause sends out this wreath,
To gather one that she can’t reach.

During Mr. Clause’s,
Christmas Eve run,
Mrs. Santa has things,
She needs to get done,
For something in particular,
She’ll need the help of this one.

You see snow from the outside,
Is the only thing,
That can make things go unseen,
And she wants to hide.

No!
It’s not like that!
She’s not doing anything shady,
But those elves are nosy,
And she wants time to herself,
For a cozy evening,
Like a regular old lady.

So up and away,
Flew the snowman,
And when she landed,
In that Far North Land,
She was greeted by the twin,
Of Santa’s famous deer Vixen.

“My Lord”!
She exclaimed,
Upon looking around,
“I’ve never seen,
So many like myself before”!

“Ah, but they’re not like you”,
Said the twin of Vixen,
“Ours are made with stuff magical,
And cannot do the job,
We’ve collected you to do”.

And so in the short time it took,
To deliver her,
To the Clause’s door,
He provided swiftly,
A brief North Pole history.

Mrs. Clause heard them coming,
And threw open the door,
Calling out a merry greeting,
Around the mouthful of Christmas cookie,
She was eating.

Now Vixen’s twin plodded off,
And the non-magical snowman,
Was left with just Mrs. Clause,
Who explained she needed a night to relax,
A total break,
From the whole Christmas act.

“The elves would take this as a sign,
Of great disrespect,
And my husband would worry,
I wasn’t taking our job seriously,
So year after year,
I bring one of you here,
For the snow you’re made of,
Gives off a poison shine,
And if elves look upon it,
Their eyes go temporarily blind”.

So the non-magical snowman,
Was asked by Mrs. Clause to guard,
Posted right at the property’s edge,
So the elves’ views of the place,
For the next twenty-four hours,
Would be barred.

All throughout the coming day,
That woman had a ball,
She had,
After all,
Waited a whole year,
For this day to fall.

Half was spent lazing about,
Watching un-Christmassy things on her telly,
Then she cooked and ate unhealthy cuisine,
Like sausages with sour kraut,
Before taking time out,
To read a book,
Instead of being,
The elves’ cook.

Peeking out her front window,
She saw the non-magical snowman,
Was still there keeping watch,
But the time was up,
On this trick,
She must get ready,
For the arrival of St. Nick.

It would be another year,
Before she would again be clear,
Of dear Mr. Clause,
And before he showed his face,
The evidence of what happens in his wake,
She must be sure to erase.

For of course Santa Himself,
Would be able to see through,
The non-magical snowman,
As he’s much more powerful than an elf.

Let me tell you gladly,
It does not end badly,
For those flown in to assist,
Mrs. Santa makes damn sure,
They are compensated for helping her,
She turns them magical,
Rather than returning them,
To where the first sign of warmth,
Would have them die a death most tragical.

How To Make Santa Angry

A polar bear,

Without a care,

Was skating mindlessly across the ice,

Thinking about a steaming bowl of something nice,

When down swooped a pigeon,

Who tried to get him to join up,

With some cultish religion.

He turned quickly around,

To get away,

From that awful sound,

And that’s when he heard,

The most welcome noise,

As it ran past him,

So swiftly it was blurred.

It was his good friend,

Elvis Elf,

The one he cared most for,

Besides himself,

And he was singing a version,

Of Jingle Bells,

That would have had Mr. Pigeon,

Saying he was doomed to the Hells.

“Peter White”,

Said Elvis,

When he was close enough to be heard,

“I dare you to help me make Old Santy mad,

Let’s make this song of mine,

A new North Pole Christmas fad”!

And there Elvis began to sing:

“Jingle Bells,

Mr. Santa’s balls smell,

And I wish he’d go away”……….

Laughing,

But at the same time horrified,

He agreed,

To cooperate,

I’ll make it known here,

That this polar bear,

Had a personality snare,

That prevented him,

From turning down a dare.

So the two put their heads together,

To plan what might be best,

As the elf had a vendetta,

With Mr. Santa,

To get off his chest,

And of course the bear,

Was excited to prove,

He was not too pussy,

To perform such a measly dare.

It took some doing,

But their brains finally did figure out,

A way to easily go about,

Making the wild tune,

Something all the North Pole’s peoples,

Would willingly shout.

Old Rudy was taken,

To a cabin long forsaken,

Peter stood watch,

To be sure he got,

The best possible care,

And to make sure,

If any others came by,

His roar would give them,

A gigantic scare.

Elvis distributed a bulletin,

With the lyrics of his shocking song,

And advising,

If they wanted their lead deer back,

They would have it learned,

By the time dawn cracks,

A fortnight from now,

And at the end was written a post script,

Warning if they breathed a word to the Head Man,

They risked being whipped.

It was a different sort of missive,

That got delivered,

To Old Santy and his wife,

It started out “Dear Sir and Ma’am”,

And ended with,

“If you’re not there,

It will cut through our hearts like a knife,

Love and kisses,

Signed,

Your Faithful Elves”.

All day every day rehearsals were held,

Meeting in little groups,

To keep the Boss from finding out,

Yes it would be a most unwelcome time,

For him to start nosing about.

With a foreboding feeling,

All learned each and every line,

And before they knew,

It was time to assemble,

In front of the grove of pines.

The morning of the singing,

Turned out bright and sunny,

And not knowing the truth,

Both Clause’s put on cheery finery,

So they would look their best,

When they went to see,

What pleasures were planned for them,

By these little darlings,

Who barely came up to their knees.

When they pulled up to the pine grove,

Things were very quiet,

So much so,

That against all the brightness and snow,

It seemed almost eerie.

There before them sat,

Rows and rows of elves,

Still and silent as the ones,

Who sit upon your shelves.

In just a moment,

Elvis stepped up to the sleigh,

“Now out you get you two,

And follow me this way”,

He said sans a greeting,

Then walked off towards the special seating.

Soon the Jolly Man and his woman,

Were settled in to watch,

“How blessed we are”,

Whispered He to Her,

But how fast this changed,

To “Let’s get ourselves the fuck out of here”!

When at Elvis’s urging,

All those threatened elves began to sing.

“Jingle Bells,

Mr. Santa’s balls smell,

And I wish he’d go away”……….

And then from around the corner,

Darted the red-nosed reindeer,

For whom during the past two weeks,

The Clause’s had lived in fear,

Of never seeing again,

And he proceeded to tell them all,

About the how’s and why’s,

Of his sudden kidnapping.

Meanwhile the song was coming to an end:

“Jingle all the way,

Oh it’s fun to take and hide,

The one who leads the Sleigh”……….

In Elvis’s eyes,

Things were at long last even,

Between him and the Big Man,

Tit for tat,

After last Christmas’s embarrassment,

He had finally taken a stand.

Oh though,

What an oops this was on his part!

To assume all would resume,

Business as usual,

After that knife he just purposely thrust,

Straight through Santa’s heart.

He thought himself high and mighty,

But Santa was just waiting,

For him to go night-nighty,

Then with a little Christmas Land Magic,

Elvis was modified,

Into a figure most tragic.

When he awoke,

A monster stared back from his mirror,

And as the day wore on,

The fact it was no joke,

Became increasingly clearer.

He was then banished,

To guard the North Pole’s secret entrance,

Their own abominable snowman,

Who walks with a limp,

And a candy cane club,

Being deemed unpardonable,

By both the Clause’s,

For certain there’s nothing,

That can cure this curse.

Reality

Here in the real world,

It’s too busy for Christmas,

Too busy for the Claus’s,

Mister and Missus.

Out here in the real world,

There’s money to make,

The world for us revolves around work,

And there’s no time to take,

Holiday breaks.

Here it is,

February now,

And I know it’s way past time,

But here in the real world,

I’m just now finding a minute,

To put pen to paper,

For a Christmassy rhyme.

Sugar cookies never did,

Go into the oven,

No stockings were hung,

Or carols sung,

Here in the real world,

It’s not important to build traditions,

For we are all on a mission,

That holidays don’t seem to fit in.

Seasonal frippery,

And packages full of mystery,

Under a flashy tree,

Aren’t part of the real world,

Here we barely notice,

That these things have come to be regarded,

As a great importance.

Here in the real world,

We’re generally busy,

With no spare time to prepare,

A monstrous feast,

So we gladly give a miss,

To the customary gathering,

Where anyway there is always,

Too much blabbering.

Out there in your world,

Christmas is a big priority,

And you view those over here,

As some kind of freak minority,

With kiddies to raise,

And memories to be made,

Presents must be present,

From wall to wall,

So you buy out the whole mall,

But here in the real world,

We have other things that please us,

And it’s not feasible,

To deal with such fuss.

That Is Not The Reason For The Season

It’s not about eating candy canes,

Those were created to signify,

He who died.

It’s not about whose tree is prettiest,

They’re all wonderful,

Without a doubt,

But that’s not what,

The day is all about.

It’s not about a fancy feast,

You should be thinking rather of those,

Walking through your door,

For whom you cooked it for.

It’s not about the presents,

Yes the Wise Men gave,

To show their appreciation,

But this Santa thing has been blown,

Tremendously out of proportion.

It’s not about the lights,

Those too signify Christ,

And it really would not be a plight,

If you forgot to plug them in one night.

It’s not about the carols,

The day really will go on,

If you choose not to hear those songs.

It’s not about expensive ornaments,

They are simply,

Unnecessary adornments.

It’s not about the stockings,

They solely arose from a legend,

At that First Christmas,

They were never even mentioned.

It’s not about the Elves,

They came about,

Just to fill,

Your entertainment center’s shelves.

Would not our ancestors,

At that First Christmas be surprised,

With the way the day,

Has been commercialized?

People need to think on,

How and why the Season came about,

Before they go ahead,

And pull their wallets out.

An Improbable Holiday Happening

In case you happen,

To give a damn,

A thousand miles,

From wherever you are,

In a place quite inaccessible,

By a car,

Lives a Candy Cane,

Who is alive.

A Winter Wonderland,

We would call it,

It’s all white and barren,

And populated

By surly Snow Men.

Here in this Christmassy place,

Where there are many living Things,

One day there came,

A great storm cloud,

There were gusty winds,

That were terrible loud,

It soon burst forth,

With a sugary rain,

As down poured Candy Canes.

Most were devoured,

By all the Snow Men,

But one was spared,

And as he grew up,

It was declared,

That he was sent,

To make the Snow Men repent.

You see these surly Snow Men,

Did many crimes,

During their lifetimes,

Because in this lawless land,

One could do whatever,

Without reprimand.

Due to his sweet nature,

The Candy Cane became known,

As Mr. Sugar Cane,

And at the age of ten,

Learned his magical powers,

Permitted him to,

Think of a spot,

And be transported there,

On the dot.

Through books he learned,

About far-off places,

Where he went,

To meet new faces.

Most places he visited,

Just once but maybe twice,

‘Til he happened upon,

A jolly couple,

Old and fat,

And always happily chuckling,

The Mr. made toy trains for fun,

And the Mrs. had a barn,

She kept full of pet fawns.

Mr. Sugar Cane,

Visited this place often,

He loved the winter weather,

And the way everyone there,

Got on well together.

One day while conversing,

With old Nick and Mary,

Talk turned to the Snow Men,

He started cursing,

And told of their crimes,

Then expressed a wish for his home,

To experience more peaceful times.

It was proposed by Nick,

That he could employ,

These naughty boys,

To make tons of toys.

A great spell could be cast,

For them to forget their past,

He would call them Elves,

And curse them to always,

Keep toys on his workshop’s shelves.

Once a year,

Old Nick would deliver,

These toys to bring cheer,

To small boys and girls,

All over the world.

Even the deer volunteered,

To help with formulating,

This Master Plan,

And soon another spell was developed,

Fitting them to fly,

Now they could take,

Old Nick on the deliveries,

As with his old van,

He’d never make them on time.

That night when the Candy Cane returned home,

He had some magic stuff,

All sparkly and blue,

He went from place to place,

Where each Snow Man dwelled,

And this dust was felled,

It would take effect,

When next they crossed,

Over their doorstep.

They would be conveyed very quickly,

To the world of Nick and Mary,

Now called North Pole,

Where they were unknowingly slaves for life,

Toymaking forever,

With no time to cause strife.

Mr. Sugar Cane is still there,

In his Winter Wonderland,

Along with many other living Things,

Who think the place grand.

His best friend is a Christmas stocking,

Now in our world,

That would surely set people to talking,

But here,

It’s really not too shocking.

Whether or not you believe it,

This story should not be scorned,

As this really was how,

The North Pole got born.