THE CHRISTMAS POET



He got a Christmas card that wasn’t signed;

It seemed to be from someone whom he knew.

The writing was untidy like a child’s;

It had a dreadful verse that made him spew:



The horses strain to pull my coach in snow,

But snug inside, I dream of Christmas Day:

Of Santa Claus, the children gathered round,

And baby Jesus sleeping on the hay.



I spot a robin, such a cheerful chap,

And snowmen stand in gardens as we pass;

Some holly, ivy, mistletoe and fruits

Are on a tree with balls of coloured glass.



Some people skate on ponds of frozen ice,

And others ride on horse drawn sleighs or ski,

But I’m not really in the coach, I’m home,

Just reading cards that people sent to me!



‘Who could have sent this crap?’ he asked himself.

He faced the mirror, voiced his fears again;

And as he spoke, his hand was scribbling verse:

The Christmas poet, frankly, was insane.



His stanzas didn’t stop at Christmas cards -

He wrote his rhymes on trains and toilet walls.

The jottings can be found all over Earth.

He says the cheesy words are Christmas balls!



So now the world is overrun with kitsch.

Our Christmas poet hates the lines he writes

(And thinks that someone else is penning trash).

Oh, if you spot him don’t go near he bites…



This [story/artwork/poem] is a part of the Spec the Halls contest for speculative winter holiday-themed fiction, artwork, and poetry. You may find guidelines and links to other entries at <a href="http://www.aswiebe.com/specthehalls.html">http://www.aswiebe.com/specthehalls.html</a>

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Hi everyone..I am Audrey ..new here but not new to Susans groups. Every thing look great.. Will take me awhiel to learn what Iam doing... Hope to post and all..Hope I am posting in the right place
thank you Susan for allowing me to join
hugs
Audrey

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