Poetry Corner with Ivy and Friends: December Santa Edition

Welcome! 

Seasons Greetings to everyone. I am so happy you could join us this month. It's the final poetry challenge of 2018 and I thought it would be fun if we all wrote some poetry letters to Santa.

Get your hot cocoa, sit in your favorite seat, cuddle in your blankets and get cozy. Let's read some poems to Santa. 

Enjoy! 

POETRY CHALLENGE

The poets were asked to write Santa Claus a poem letting him know if they were Naughty or Nice.

Happy Reading!

Santa Clause, don’t you think twice
I’ve been naughty, and not so nice
I’ve played kiss chasing, and kick the can
Worse of all I’m a grown man

I’ve kissed the girls and made them cry
I’m all alone I don’t know why
It’s hard you see that I be good
I try my best, I wish I could

So when you come to visit me
Put beneath my Christmas tree
A lump of coal, and cinders too
That’s all that I’ll expect from you

Don’t despair, I’m really fine
I’ll sit and mull my cheaply wine
I’ll just get pissed and sleep away
All Christmas Eve and Christmas Day

Baahhh Humbug

John Kavanagh (c) 03/12/2018
All Rights Reserved

A Visit From Santa by Jesse Batista

Sitting in the darkest corner of my house, awaiting the arrival of the infamous Claus Never believed in the righteous codger.  How in the hell is he still alive? Coffin dodger! Just sitting here quietly, hitting the bong wonder what the fuck is taking so long. Then, from rooftop there rose such a clatter; he’da broke the fuck through if he’d been any fatter. Pieces of dry wall fall like snow. I should make him fix that shit before I let him go. Back to the story as its told. The story of Santa, I am not sold. Waiting this whole time just to show, I’d been awake all night, he didn’t fucking know. Making a list and checking it; lies, Just a fat man in red, dressed in disguise. Tonight, there is gonna be a little throw down between me and this fat boy dressed like a clown. The fuck you come down my chimney for bro? I got a front door in case you didn’t know. Shit, I got back door too; in fact I got a garage door you’d prolly fit better through. Now tell me the definition of naughty and nice. Like, what? Whips and chains and sugar and spice? I mean, for years now you been carrying this big sack of toys, but only for those good little girls and boys. Who are you to judge you fat fucking bastard? Hypocrisy is a way of life you’ve definitely mastered. You’ve been picking on Rudolph since the day of his birth. Then there was a storm, and suddenly he has worth? Sneaking into houses while people sleep. Don’t you think that boarders just a little on creep? Oh k, whoa, we are done with the rhyme. You’re about to commit a felonious crime. Get your hands off my cookies Kringle! Those are my motherfucking cookies bitch! Your brains are about to jingle. Then he sat on my couch, took a hit, ripped such a fart I thought he’d shit. Ole St Nick stayed quiet and hush. Put his finger to his lips as if to say shush. You just tell me to shut up in my own home? The fuck wrong with you Santa, you missing a chromosome?  Now this fucker has blown my high. I’m feeling a little stabby, St Nick’s gonna die. Up the chimney went that fat fuck. I yelled up behind him, I HOPE YOU GET STUCK! You broke my ceiling and blasted a hole in my couch. You ate my fucking cookies! then he called me a grouch. Then he heard me exclaim as he flew out of sight You’re a fucking asshole! my ass you can bite!

Dear Saint Nick,
I'm writing you this letter,
To clear some things up,
My name is Rick,
And some people would say I've been bad,
I'm writing this in a padded six by six,
As according to the state,
I'm utterly mad.

You see, Saint Nick,
It all started last month,
My father came to my room,
And said 'It's time Rick,
You need to know the truth,
Every Christmas you hear those footsteps,
It's actually me on the roof.'

So, Saint Nick,
Naughty or nice?
I need you to pick,
You can tell that he lied,
He said you weren't real,
And that's what drove me to patricide.

Saint Nick,
Please show everyone,
That my dad was a lying dick,
That you're real,
And that his punishment was ideal.

Please Saint Nick,
It can't be true,
You have to be real,
Or do all perants lie too?

Saint Nick,
I'm pleading here,
Please ease my fear.

Saint Nick,
Are you just a trick?

Saint Nick?

BTW I want a unicorn.

R.L. Chambers 2018

Heard a rustle
BY Mike Anderson

Sleeping soundly
Dreaming profoundly
On Grampa’s homemade wine.
Heard a rustle in the kitchen
Heard someone bitchin
Jumped outta bed packing a 9

Went to have a look
Appeared to be a crook
Some fat dude dressed in red
Put the gun to his head
Said you’re about to be dead
Old man pleaded and pled

Then St Nick turned around
 His heart started to pound
Oh shit! I exclaimed
Went to Lower my aim
the bullet, well, it fired
and, god damn it!  Santa expired

You were a good lad he said
Before he fell over dead
With a thump he fell to the ground
I grabbed his sack of toys,
For the good girls and boys
To the sleigh I was bound

Santa’s corpse I’ma draggin
To the roof and the deer drawn waggon
Flopped his body across the back
What else am I supposed to do?
not having a fucking clue
I hit Prancer on that ass with a smack

Did you think I would take his place?
I can’t even leave a trace
Off they flew with a merry jingle
Back inside
Evidence to hide
Won’t be known as the guy who killed Kringle.

Dear Santa by Lozt Poet

Dear Santa I know that you're busy this time of year
But I'll be happy to help if you lend me your ear.

You're probably looking at the list and checking it twice trying to figure out if I was naughty or nice
If you ask me I'd say that honestly it's a roll of the dice.

I mean yes I did put gum in my sister's hair and we had to cut it,
But it grew back and honestly she looked better without it.

So what if I left the door open and we lost our twelve year old cat in the middle of a hurricane,
My mom never even liked her and didn't know her name.

Ok fine I "accidentally" drove the car into a ditch,
Nobody would've blamed me for it if my grandma in the hospital would've stuck to the story instead of being a snitch.

I admit to starting the small fire that one's my bad,
But it was just a few old "irreplaceable" pictures that got ruined I don't know why they got so mad.

And yeah I broke my baseball bat on the back of my brother's head,
But I was trying to get the fly, on second thought maybe I should've used the fly swatter instead.

I guess you're sitting there judging me by what you call a "standard",
Fine! Go ahead and add me to the naughty list you fat judgmental bastard.

Red Market by Donald Armfield

Oh Santa, of all my years
I've asked for things;
warmth, a loving family,
wealth and jokingly a belly.
May I ask for this, just this one thing...

The Red Market is booming and cadavers
need to be stripped of their flesh,
exposing the bones, separated into parts
and sold, for whatever means necessary.

All this name calling, sticks-n-stones;
Dr. Frankenstein, Mr. Hyde,
mortician butcher, body farmer,
but no Santa, I'm not the naughty one.
Call me the collector of a new life.

If a pint of blood, can make one blink again,
or a new kidney can be destroyed by a
“recovering” alcoholic.
Then let them come.
I've collected puzzle pieces, of the human body
that may complete or shape the entire picture.

My victims are coldhearted, death suppliers
to unwanted receivers, murderers for whatever reason.
I give it back to the murderers, with purpose of life
a half that will bring joy.
A signature part of their body, for that somebody,
on their death bed, confronting the grim reaper
and not by force of a blade.

Sorry Santa, I fell off topic, So I'm asking for;
A bag of blood, skin tissue, a human skull
and the connecting bones to go with it.

I'm building a new roof, over the Red Market,
replacing life and dropping the killers,
like the pest they are.

Santa, won't you guide my sleigh this year,
filled with body parts, to a body in need, this year?

A Baghdad Dream by Catfish McDaris

Dear Santa,

I’ll let you determine whether I’ve been naughty or nice. I stumbled around the desert after finishing my hitch in the army.

The war tore my guts apart, we followed orders blindly, supposedly protecting America from evil, until I met a lady

She told me of her country and the Swords of Qadisiyah, she danced like Mick Jagger in a swirl of turquoise and purple silk.

I booked passage on a tanker across the Atlantic and made my way to the Tigris River, Baghdad was a paradise, I was

Surrounded by hostile eyes, it was like they could sense I was a foreigner, soon I was arrested, I need your help Mr. Claus

I haven’t always been nice or naughty, if you help me escape, I’ll shovel reindeer

poop or anything you need at the North Pole.

Yours Truly,

Catfish McDaris

THE END!