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.

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”……….


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,


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.


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.

Be Careful, That’s Dandy, Not Frosty

Snowflakes have fallen,

And from this white dust has arisen,

A snowman from Hell,

He’s nothing like Frosty,

But still there is,

A story to tell.


It’s said that after the first snowfall,

There is a white cloud that whirls and twirls,

From this he is unfurled,

Then out he steps from that drift alive,

And at the Season’s end,

He bleeds red blood,

When he dies.


Winter after winter,

He always shows up,

But spreading joy for the Season,

Is not his reason.


He looks like any standard snowman,

Attired in a plaid scarf and evergreen wreaths,

With a wide candy smile,

To mask his intentions,

You’d never guess,

That your stockings and yule cakes,

He wants to thieve.


But on closer inspection you’ll realize,

He radiates a chilly vibe,

Like from an Arctic blizzard,

And if you are in tune with your intuition,

Just being near him,

Will cause you to fear him.


He’ll make you wish for sun,

He’ll make you wish for sand,

He’ll make you wish to be,

Anywhere but within reach of his hands.


He can drink hot chocolate,

And stir it with an icicle,

Neither one will drip a drop,

But this is no miracle,


It’s a creepy kind of magic spell.


At a late night sleighing party,

He may seem to fit in very well,

Conversing so cheerily and laughing so heartily,

You’d never guess,

He’s sent here from Hell.


Sauntering down streets,

While us people sleep,

You won’t hear a peep,

As he ruins all the children’s snowmen,

Yes he bashes them all in,

For he feels they’re Frosty’s kin.


He waves about an enchanted wand,

Disguised as a candy cane,

Your Christmas trees he robs bare,

Nothing did get spared,

And if you’re pissed,

He really doesn’t care.


Yeah not at all like Frosty,

This snowman is very naughty,

But since he was not built,

He cannot be destroyed,

Even if for this an army was deployed,

Looks like we’re stuck with him,

Until it warms,

And he can melt,

So keep your fingers crossed,

And hope you are ignored,

Until he melts on the Earth’s floor,

Into a pile of snow and gore.

Where’s Your Sock?

Stockings are not always hung,

‘By the chimney with care’,

As there are some that just don’t care,

If even they are there.


There are Hard-Hearted Hannahs,

These bitches are mean as the Grinch,

And hurting you or I without reason,

Won’t even make them flinch.


Though their stockings may be hung,

The care is definitely not there,

From when they were very young,

Other’s holiday cheer,

Always would perish,

When they would draw near.


Then also we have Scrooges,

These fuckers are privileged but blind,

All they want they’ve got,

But for others,

Not a thing will get bought.


Their stockings will never be hung,

And more thoughtless words,

Could not be flung,

Though they are transparent,

They think we do not know,

That inside their heads,

Only praises to themselves are sung.


Remember too the god damned Indifferent,

They should not be forgotten,

These mediocre people,

Most are so unenthusiastic,

And a lot tend to be sarcastic.


Still some have stockings hung,

And it makes them feel fantastic,

The ones who don’t may be mistaken,

By a stranger for a Scrooge,

But those they’re close to know,

That stranger is a stooge.


Yet the ones who most don’t care,

If even they are there,

Are our four-legged furry friends,

The Most Exquisite Creatures,

To walk upon this Earth.


For sure their stockings would be hung,

If they knew they should be there,

Unfortunately they look to be ones who just don’t care,

If even they are there,

But they would care the most,

If they knew they should be there.











Santa Claus’s Cookie Paws

You all know of Santa,

You know of his Deer and his Elves,

But there’s something I doubt you’ve yet heard,

He’s added another to North Pole’s herd.


She is long and she is low,

Her fur is red,

With a little white,

And she loves Mr. Santa,

With all her might.


From the beginning of time,

‘Til a few hundred years ago,

Santa needed just Reindeer and Elves,

To keep toys piled high,

On the Royal Toy Factory’s shelves.


Then came a day,

When Santa got bored,

He thought to himself,

“I deserve a reward.”


“I need someone to share the cookies,

I need someone who’ll always be available,

When the Deer and the Elves,

Are completely unbearable.”


So there is the reason,

For this lovely Christmas town,

To have welcomed a dog,

Appearing to be a dachshund.


Named Cookie Paws,

By Santa himself,

For peanut-butter caramel cookies,

The yummiest treats,

To pass through his jaws.


Miz Cookie has become,

An everlasting fixture here,

Reindeer, Elves, and Santa,

All are happier with her near.


This little beast is loved,

She fits in very well,

No one she meets,

Is immune to her spell.


Cookie  Paws proves very useful,

As Santa’s Main Companion,

She keeps him feeling youthful.


Always for them,

A grand time is had,

And sometimes their activities,

Are just this side of bad.


Taste-testing all the cookies,

With Santa at her side,

Is a daily entertainment,

And luckily for Cookie Paws,

North Pole is a Fairy Town,

So this will not affect her size.


Twice-weekly practice,

For the famous Christmas Eve Run,

Is quite a lot of fun,

Mr. Santa hitches up his sleigh,

To help keep boredom in the barn at bay.


Across the sky they shoot,

Invisible when airborne,

Where they will go,

Only the Deer know.


When the chosen rooftop has been reached,

And Santa Claus has parked,

The Reindeer get fed hay,

So Santa Claus and Cookie Paws,

Can be on their way.


“Because” reasons Santa,

“Damned if I’ll waste this trip!

It’s not often I get to explore,

When I’m parked in this zip.”


Cookie Paws at his side,

Both rested from the ride,

So much for them to see and do,

When they’re amongst me and you.


Mr. Santa’s pretty clever,

Once they’re on the ground,

His famous Red Suit,

Disappears without a sound,

So now he’s just like us,

And there will be no fuss.


Around the city they go,

To the beaches and shops and malls,

They tour until Cookie Paws is about to fall.


Then some evenings there are Cocoa Dances,

In the massive Field Of Nuts And Chocolates,

At the center of this Field,

There is a tremendous run-in,

With open sides to let the sun in.


Located between Santa’s Palace and the Royal Toy Factory,

All of North Pole gathers in harmony,

With its barbeque pit,

And marble floors,

For one and all,

The Cocoa Dances are a hit.


Mr. Santa grills dinner for everyone,

And the Elves load up on spiked hot chocolate,

Then they dance the night away,

With Miz Cookie as deejay.


After all of these activities,

It’s time for home and bed,

They need cookies and they need rest,

Ten hours is best,

So they’ll have energy to be around,

Long after we are dead.








Family Gathering

Thanksgiving is here,

For some a time of cheer,

For others a time of fear,

Because family is near.


They come from all over,

From their little sections of Earth,

To spend time by your hearth.


This can be fun,

Or a reason to run,

I guess it depends,

On if you are friends.


There is food and there is drink,

Tempers are on the brink,

The things some will say,

May make you throw up in the sink.


Just try to endure,

And with any luck,

There will be alcohol,

To help it go by in a blur.


Perchance you are of a family,

Who actually has fun,

How strange this is,

For us who’d rather run.


You’ll have turkey,

You’ll have pie,

No one will tell a lie,

Everyone just eats their fill,

And then sits back with a sigh.


But for the majority,

That’s just wishful thinking,

Day’s end will have them feeling,

Like a minority,

The day will be long,

And so many things will go wrong.


Dad will be rude,

He’ll eat way too much food,

Brother will mean well,

But still he’ll make you feel like Hell,

Mom and sister will do their best,

But won’t be able to prevent,

The inevitable unrest.


Voices will be raised,

And feelings will be hurt,

With all that goes awry,

It’s fortunate that fists don’t fly.


So this is Thanksgiving,

It’s what it has come to,

Imagine the Pilgrims of long ago,

What would they think,

Of our little zoo?


Flash back to that 17th Century Feast,

Year 1621,

This shit just wasn’t done,

Their meal was scant,

Just their own harvest and fowl,

Still they were joyous,

Not one wore a scowl,

If they were to come back,

Surely we’d give them a heart attack.



Morbid Life Of A Snowflake

One small flake,

In the first fallen snow,

How will my life go?

Will I stay where I landed?

Or get blown by a blizzard,

Into the city,

Where fumes can make me unpretty?


The life of a snowflake,

Can be horrid or blessed,

From that first fallen snow,

Are any flakes left,

At the end of the season?

Or did they all disappear,

Seemingly without reason?


Some of us die off in a week,

The weather warms,

Making us weak,

And then it’s off,

To that final sleep.


Others land on a car,

After falling so far,

Our lives end in a flash,

Crushed by tires or wipers,

How fast it is over,

As if eaten by vipers.


It’s scary to think,

We could land on a hidden stair,

And get crushed by the boot,

Of whoever resides in that lair.


I hope I get lucky,

I hope when I fall,

I fall  in a yard,

Untouched by things sucky.


Maybe then someone will shape me,

Into a ball,

And after I’m smashed,

I can peacefully rest,

Where I may fall.


Perhaps a child will form me,

Into a fort,

And until Springtime I’ll be,

His secret resort.


A little girl may get the notion,

To make a snowman,

Part of him I will be,

And avoid the trash can.


Anything to escape the plow truck,

And get pushed into a bank,

Then turn into muck,

From snow white to slate grey,

On the side of a highway.


And when temperatures rise,

But before flowers bloom,

My life is over,

It’s time for our doom.