A little different from the usual Share Your Short Story format. Just for December I thought I’d ask for Christmas poetry submissions instead. There’s no word count – just put a link in the comments to your published poem and I’ll share my favourite on December 20th. The deadline is December 18th.
Through every house he’d crept to find
A glass of sherry left behind,
And oftentimes mince pies divine,
To fill the gap ‘till dinner time.
Santa Claus loved all things tasty,
But knew he mustn’t eat that pastry.
It played havoc with a resolution
To take good care of his constitution.
It made him bloat up full of air,
But Santa couldn’t resist such fare.
Reaching out to seal his fate,
He took a mince pie from a plate.
On the plate was a present list,
From a little boy by the name of Chris.
On the list read Santa Claus
The name of Skylanders Imaginators.
Santa burped and had some doubt
As to what little Chris was on about.
He’d never heard of such a game;
What happened to puzzles and Ludo,
And Scrabble and Cluedo?
Santa ate another pie
And shook his head and gave a sigh.
In his stomach he heard a sound,
But ignored the noise and skipped on down.
Next on the list was a Pokemon figure
Santa shrugged and started to snigger.
He was really, really none the wiser,
But he fancied another appetiser.
Down the little red lane into his belly,
Went three more pies and two glasses of sherry.
Santa squinted at the text
To see which toy that Chris wanted next.
When he read a Hatchimal
He let loose a laugh that resembled a howl.
His rumbling stomach did usurp
The laugh, and turned it into a burp.
The burp resounded around the place,
And all of a sudden he saw Chris’s face.
The little boy had heard a noise
And came downstairs to see what toys
Santa had left for a good mother’s son,
He soon found out that there were none.
Santa explained that he had some doubts
As to just what Chris was going on about.
He asked the boy if he would like,
A puzzle, a toy car, or even a bike.
Chris shook his head and looked down at the flooring,
And said all three were really boring.
Santa decided such an ungrateful wretch,
Could make do with just an Etch-a-Sketch.
Chris took one look at the toy,
And suddenly was a happy boy.
He said he’d always wanted one of those.
He twiddled the knobs as Santa fell into a doze.
All that pastry had knocked him out,
While the glasses of sherry had made him stagger about.
When he woke up Chris was gone,
His head ached a lot with the advent of dawn.
He saw a note that the boy had left,
When he read it, he felt somewhat blessed.
‘Thank you Santa’, Chris had scrawled,
My Etch-a-Sketch is the best present of all!’