Here are some funny Christmas poems. Enjoy the laugh!
Twas The Month After Christmas
Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibbled, the eggnog I’d taste.
All the holiday parties had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I’d remember the marvelous meals I’d prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”
As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt —
I said to myself, as I only can
“You can’t spend a winter disguised as a man!”
So–away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruitcake, every cracker and chip
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won’t have a cookie–not even a lick.
I’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore —
But isn’t that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
Tonight’s my first night as a watchdog,
And here it is Christmas Eve.
The children are sleeping all cozy upstairs,
While I’m guardin’ the stockin’s and tree.
What’s that now—footsteps on the rooftop?
Could it be a cat or a mouse?
Who’s this down the chimney?
A thief with a beard—
And a big sack for robbin’ the house?
I’m barkin’, I’m growlin’, I’m bitin’ his butt.
He howls and jumps back in his sleigh.
I scare his strange horses, they leap in the air.
I’ve frightened the whole bunch away.
Now the house is all peaceful and quiet again.
The stockin’s are safe as can be.
Won’t the kiddies be glad when they wake up tomorrow
And see how I’ve guarded the tree.
(Written by Shel Silverstein)
Christmas is for Kids?
There once was a little boy so small
he liked to make a lot of noise
And drove his parents up the wall
With all those kinds of toys
So they wouldn’t let him have a drum
A whistle or a flute
They would only give him rubber toys
The kind you couldn’t toot.
But Grand-paw had a sneaky side
A desire to get back at his son
for all the noise he had made
while still living under the gun
The day finally came when he got his chance
To even up the score
He wore a red suit and a long white beard
And knew the quiet would be no more
For it was Christmas morn and all were still asleep
except for Grand-paw and one little boy
who sneaked down the stairs and into the room
where the tree had a very special toy
It was wrapped in red paper and a big white bow
The anticipation was getting great
For everyone else would be up soon
And then it would be too late
So Grand-paw enticed the little boy
To open the present quick
for there inside was a big red drum
and one really big stick!
(Written by Jack Mann)
All I Need To Know About Life Learned From A Snowman
It’s okay if you’re a little bottom heavy.
Hold your ground, even when the heat is on.
Wearing white is always appropriate.
Winter is the best of the four seasons.
It takes a few extra rolls to make a good midsection.
There’s nothing better than a foul weather friend.
The key to life is to be a jolly, happy soul.
It’s not the size of the carrot, but the placement that counts.
We’re all made up of mostly water.
You know you’ve made it when they write a song about you.
Accessorize! Accessorize! Accessorize!
Avoid yellow snow. Don’t get too much sun.
It’s embarrassing when you can’t look down and see your feet.
It’s fun to hang out in your front yard.
Always put your best foot forward.
There’s no stopping you once you’re on a roll.
Twas The Night Before Christmas – Hippie Version
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the pad,
Not a hep cat was swinging – and that’s nowhere, dad,
The stove was hung up in that stocking routine,
Like, maybe the fat man would soon make the scene.
The kids that fell by had just made the street;
I was ready for Snoresville, and man, was I beat;
When there started a rumble that came on real frantic,
So I opened the window to figure the panic.
I saw a slick rod that was making fat tracks,
Souped up by eight ponies, all wearing hat racks;
And a funny old geezer was flipping his lid.
He told them to make it, and man, like they did!
They were out of the chute, making time like a bat,
Turning the quarter in eight seconds flat.
They parked by the smokestack in bunches and clusters,
And Chubby slid down, coming on like gangbusters,
His threads were from Cubesville and I had to chuckle,
In front, not in back, was his Ivy league buckle!
And the mop on his chin had a button-down collar,
And with that red nose he looked like a baller.
Like he was the squarest, the most absolute,
But let’s face it, who cares when he left all that loot?
He laid the jazz on me and peeled from the gig,
Wailing, “Have a cool Yule, Man!” and clutched off in his rig.
Can Santa Be Black?
It happened in the kindergarten class,
Right at the table where they were having snack.
Joanie asked the question and they all sat back:
“Mr. Slater? Can Santa Claus be black?”
Poor Mr. Slater didn’t know what to say,
Christmas vacation was twenty days away.
There were snowflakes to cut and
Window wreaths to be hung,
Christmas cards to be painted,
And Christmas songs to be sung.
He hadn’t time to think
What Christmas was about,
In twenty more days,
School would be out!
Why couldn’t they wait
And ask their questions then,
When mommies and daddies
Were home to answer them?
“Mr. Slater? Can Santa be thin?”
“Is Santa Clause always a him?”
Mr. Slater looked at twenty pairs of eyes,
Twenty children of every shape and size.
He ate a bit of cracker and finished his drink.
“Children,” he said,
“I’ll need some time to think.”
As soon as class was over,
He ran down the hall,
Skidded ’round a corner,
Crashed into a wall.
Ran up the steps to the second floor,
Rapped on the window of the principal’s door.
“Ms. Frazer, Ms. Frazer, what can I do?
The children asked these questions
That now I ask of you:
‘Can Santa Claus be black?’
‘Can Santa Claus be thin?’
‘Does Santa always have to be a him?'”
“Mr. Slater, it’s a difficult task
To find answers to the questions you ask.
I think with these I’ll need some assistance,
But I’ll get you the answers with a little persistence.”
Ms. Frazer turned in her swivel chair,
Picked up the phone and dialed Mr. Dare.
Mr. Dare was the head of the P.T.A.,
He called for a meeting the very next day.
“Thank you for coming,”
He began with a greeting.
“I’d like to get right to the point of this meeting.
Mr. Slater, in charge of the kindergarten class,
Needs the answers to some questions
And he needs them fast.”
“Can Santa be black?’
“Can Santa be thin?’
“Does Santa always have to be a him?'”
The parents didn’t know what to say,
Christmas vacation was nineteen days away.
There were cookies to bake and lights to string,
Gifts to wrap and carols to sing.
They hadn’t time to think
What Christmas was about,
In nineteen more days
School would be out!
Why did children have to ask questions when
Parents had no time to sit and answer them?
Are there any suggestions?
Do we have any answers
To these difficult questions?”
“Who knows best
What Christmas is about?
Let’s ask Santa!”
Someone called out in a shout.
The secretary of the P.T.A.
Sent a letter to Santa the very next day.
The reply came back very, very fast,
Addressed to Mr. Slater
And the kindergarten class.
Dear Mr. Slater, Dear Girls, Dear Boys,
Once a storywriter caught me bringing you toys.
The year he spied me opening my sack,
My skin was white, my boots were black.
You probably know how that story goes . . .
I laid a finger aside my nose?
All these years, needlessly,
That story worries children who don’t have a chimney.
All year long I listen to the news,
Read people’s thoughts, see people’s views.
At the end of the year, when I see what’s needed most,
I take that shape, like a Christmas ghost.
I can pass through keyholes, windows and locks,
Apartment buildings, hospitals, tents, and trailer lots.
One year I used a wheelchair in place of my sleigh,
Once I was blind and had to feel my way.
It’s hard to understand when I don’t leave a toy:
You can’t unwrap a gift like hope or health or joy.
My skin has been black, white, yellow, red, brown;
My eyes have been slanted, crossed, and round.
Sometimes I have been a she:
All these things are a part of me.
You may not believe all this is true,
But that’s okay, boys and girls, because . . .
I believe in you.
(Written by B. J. Wrights)
Christmas Is Coming – A Turkey’s Tale
When I was a young turkey, new to the coop,
My big brother Mike took me out on the stoop,
Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow,
And he told me there was something that I had to know;
His look and his tone I will always remember,
When he told me of the horrors of….. Black November;
“Come about August, now listen to me,
Each day you’ll get six meals instead of just three,
“And soon you’ll be thick, where once you were thin,
And you’ll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin;
“And then one morning, when you’re warm in your bed,
In’ll burst the farmer’s wife, and hack off your head;
“Then she’ll pluck out all your feathers so you’re bald ‘n pink,
And scoop out all your insides and leave ya lyin’ in the sink;
“And then comes the worst part” he said not bluffing,
“She’ll spread your cheeks and pack your rear with stuffing”.
Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat,
I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat,
And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked,
I’d have to lay low and remain overlooked;
I began a new diet of nuts and granola,
High roughage salads, juice and diet cola;
And as they ate pastries, chocolates and crepes,
I stayed in my room doing Jane Fonda tapes;
I maintained my weight of two pounds and a half,
And tried not to notice when the bigger birds laughed;
But ’twas I who was laughing, under my breath,
As they chomped and they chewed, ever closer to death;
And sure enough when Black November rolled around,
I was the last turkey left in the entire compound;
So now I’m a pet in the farmer’s wife’s lap;
I haven’t a worry, so I eat and I nap;
She held me today, while sewing and humming,
And smiled at me and said “Christmas is coming…”
It was right around midnight and I heard a clatter
I wasn’t concerened what was the matter.
I fluffed my pillow and reassured Ma –
“Go back to sleep. It’s Santa Claus.”
Down the chimney, to the living room,
He took care of business like a sonic boom;
And then I heard a “ho, Ho, Ho “,
and I knew off he’d go.
But all of a sudden I heard a thump, thump, thump
Perhaps Santa’s sleigh on my house did bump.
So I decided I better take a look
I put up the ladder and climbed to the roof.
Now, I knew Santa had looked in his book
and he’d found that I’ve been good,
but up on the roof what did appear –
a ‘special’ gift from a reindeer.
I’ve seen ‘droppings’ before, but never this size
fall out of the clouds or down from the sky;
Here was something earthly made –
a miniature sewer on my roof did lay –
the size of a bowling ball
the smell of chocolate chip,
And over the side of my roof –
an awful drip !
Then Ma awoke to look outside
There she saw the terrible sight:
Tho not too smart; she DID know
that brown is not the color of snow !
I took a double strength garbage bag to the roof
and admidst the prints of reindeer hoof;
I took my shovel and held my nose
Put the ‘gift’ in the bag,and got the hose.
As I watered the mess to the ground
I looked up for a passing sound;
It was Santa’s sleigh, reindeer collars going jingle
Santa waved; I gave the reindeer ‘the’ finger.
“Goodnight to All”, I heard him say
“Hey Santa – next year come without the sleigh”.
Have no doubt that Santa is real
He does come each and every year.
The evidence left behind is surely proof
cause I was blessed with Rudolph’s poop !!
(Written by Roy Harper)
Merry Christmas To My Female Friends
If I were ol’ Santa, you know what I’d do
I’d dump silly gifts that are given to you
And deliver some things just inside your front door
Things you have lost, but treasured before.
I’d give you back all your maidenly vigor,
And to go along with it, a neat tiny figure.
Then restore the old color that once graced your hair
Before rinses and bleaches took residence there.
I’d bring back the shape with which you were gifted
So things now suspended need not be uplifted.
I’d draw in your tummy and smooth down your back
Till you’d be a dream in those tight fitting slacks.
I’d remove all your wrinkles and leave only one chin
So you wouldn’t spend hours rubbing grease on your skin
You’d never have flashes or queer dizzy spells
And you wouldn’t hear noises like ringing of bells.
No sore aching feet and no corns on your toes
No searching for spectacles when they’re right on your nose.
Not a shot would you take in your arm, hip or fanny
From a doctor who thinks you’re a nervous old granny.
You’d never have a headache, so no pills would you take.
And no heating pad needed since your muscles won’t ache.
Yes, if I were Santa, you’d never look stupid
You’d be a cute little chick with the romance of a cupid.
I’d give a lift to your heart when those wolves start to whistle
And the joys of your heart would be light as a thistle.
But alas! I’m not Santa. I’m simply just me
The matronest of matrons you ever did see.
I wish I could tell you all the symptoms I’ve got
But I’m due at my doctor’s for an estrogen shot.
Even though we’ve grown older this wish is sincere
Merry Christmas to you and a Happy New Year.
A Politically Correct Christmas Story
T’was the night before Christmas and Santa’s a wreck…
How to live in a world that’s politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to “Elves”.
“Vertically Challenged” they were calling themselves.
And labour conditions at the North Pole
were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their rooftops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called “Unenlightened.”
And to show you the strangeness of life’s ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorised use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she’d enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he’d never had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamoured or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls, or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that’s warlike or non-pacifistic.
No candy or sweets…they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseball, no football…someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, dishevelled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you’ve got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere…even you.
So here is that gift, it’s price beyond worth…
May you and your loved ones, enjoy peace on Earth.
Goodwill To Men – Give Us Your Money
It was Christmas Eve on a Friday
The shops was full of cheer,
With tinsel in the windows,
And presents twice as dear.
A thousand Father Christmases,
Sat in their little huts,
And folk was buying crackers
And folk was buying nuts.
All up and down the country,
Before the light was snuffed,
Turkeys they get murdered,
And cockerels they got stuffed,
Christmas cakes got marzipanned,
And puddin’s they got steamed
Mothers they got desperate
And tired kiddies screamed.
Hundredweight’s of Christmas cards,
Went flying through the post,
With first class postage stamps on those,
You had to flatter most.
Within a million kitchens,
Mince pies was being made,
On everyone’s radio,
“White Christmas”, it was played.
Out in the frozen countryside
Men crept round on their own,
Hacking off the holly,
What other folks had grown,
Mistletoe on willow trees,
Was by a man wrenched clear,
So he could kiss his neighbour’s wife,
He’d fancied all the year.
And out upon the hillside,
Where the Christmas trees had stood,
All was completely barren,
But for little stumps of wood,
The little trees that flourished
All the year were there no more,
But in a million houses,
Dropped their needles on the floor.
And out of every cranny, cupboard,
Hiding place and nook,
Little bikes and kiddies’ trikes,
Were secretively took,
Yards of wrapping paper,
Was rustled round about,
And bikes were wheeled to bedrooms,
With the pedals sticking out.
Rolled up in Christmas paper
The Action Men were tensed,
All ready for the morning,
When their fighting life commenced,
With tommy guns and daggers,
All clustered round about,
“Peace on Earth – Goodwill to Men”
The figures seemed to shout.
The church was standing empty,
The pub was standing packed,
There came a yell, “Noel, Noel!”
And glasses they got cracked.
From up above the fireplace,
Christmas cards began to fall,
And trodden on the floor, said:
“Merry Christmas, to you all.”
(Written by Pam Ayres)
T’was the Internet Night Before Christmas
T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the Net,
There were hacker’s a surfing. Nerds? Yeah, you bet.
The e-mails were stacked by the modem with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The newbies were nestled all snug by their screens,
While visions of Java danced in their dreams.
My wife on the sofa and me with a snack,
We just settled down at my rig (it’s a Mac).
When out in the Web there arose such a clatter,
I jumped to the site to see what was the matter.
To a new page my Mac flew like a flash,
Then made a slight gurgle. It started to crash!!
I gasped at the thought and started to grouse,
Then turned my head sideways and clicked on my mouse.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear?
My Mac jumped to a page that wasn’t quite clear.
When the image resolved, so bright and so quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!
More rapid than mainframes, more graphics they came,
Then Nick glanced toward my screen, my Mac called them by name;
“Now Compaq! Now Acer!”, my speaker did reel;
“On Apple! On Gateway!” Santa started to squeal!
“Jump onto the circuits! And into the chip!
Now speed it up! Speed it up! Make this thing hip!”
The screen gave a flicker, he was into my “Ram”,
Then into my room rose a full hologram!
He was dressed in all red, from his head to his shoes,
Which were black (the white socks he really should lose).
He pulled out some discs he had stored in his backpack.
Santa looked like a dude who was rarin’ to hack!
His eyes, how they twinkled! His glasses, how techno!
This ain’t the same Santa that I used to know!
With a wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Santa soon let me know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, gave my Mac a quick poke,
And accessed my C drive with only a stroke.
He defragged my hard drive, and added a “Dimm”,
Then threw in some cool games, just on a whim!
He worked without noise, his fingers they flew!
He distorted some pictures with Kai’s Power Goo!
He updated Office, Excel and Quicken,
Then added a screensaver with a red clucking chicken!
My eyes widened a bit, my mouth stood agape,
As he added the latest version of Netscape.
The drive gave a whirl, as if it were pleased,
St. Nick coyly smiled, the computer appeased.
Then placing his finger on the bridge of his nose,
Santa turned into nothing but ones and zeros!
He flew back into my screen and through my uplink,
Back into the net with barely a blink.
But I heard his sweet voice as he flew from my sight,
“Happy surfing to all, and to all a good byte!”
Italian Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas,
Da whole house was mella,
Not a creature was stirrin’,
Cuz I had a gun unda da pilla.
When up on da roof
I heard somethin’ pound,
I sprung to da window,
To scream, “YO! Keep it down!”
When what to my
Wanderin’ eyes should appear,
But da Don of all elfs,
And eight friggin’ reindeer!
Wit’ slicked back black hair,
And a silk red suit,
don Christopher wuz here,
And he brought da loot!
Wit’ a slap to dare snouts,
And a yank on dare manes,
He cursed and he shouted,
And he called dem by name.
“Yo Tony, Yo Frankie,
Yo Vinny, Yo Vito,
Ay Joey, Ay Paulie,
Ay Pepe, Ay Guido!”
As I drew out my gun
And hid by da bed,
He flew troo da winda
And slapped me ‘side da head.
“What da heck you doin’
Pullin’ a gun on da Don?
Now all you’re gettin’ is coal,
You friggin’ moron!”
Den pointin’ a fat finga
Right unda my nose,
He twisted his pinky ring,
And up da chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh,
Away dey all flew,
Before he troo dem a beatin’.
Den I heard him yell out,
What I did least expect,
“Merry Friggin’ Christmas to all,
And yous better show some respect!”
Twas The Night Before Christmas – Dieter’s Version
Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips.
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
In hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.
While Mama in her my girdle and I in chin straps
Had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
Tore open the icebox then threw up the sash.
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
Sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear:
A marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I’d wind up sick.
The sweet-coated santa, those sugared reindeer
I closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear;
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS
A Weight Watcher dropout from sugar detox.
From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
Now dash away pounds now dash away all.
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
My clothes were all bulging from too much excess.
My droll little mouth and my round little belly
They shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
Ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger beside my heartburn
I gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned.
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry
If temptation’s removed I’ll get thin by and by.
And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
In the morning I’ll starve… ’til I take that first bite!
No one’s hangin’ stockings up,
No one’s bakin’ pies;
No one’s lookin’ up to see
A new star in the sky.
No one’s talkin’ brotherhood,
No one’s givin’ gifts;
And no one loves a Christmas tree
On March the 25th.
There once was an elf named Fred
Whose house was of gingerbread.
Though tasty, these walls
dissolved in snowfalls
And also made crumbs in Fred’s bed.
I made myself a snowball,
As perfect as could be,
I thought I’d keep it as a pet,
And let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas,
And a pillow for its head,
Then last night it ran away,
But first – it wet the bed!
(Written by Shel Silverstein)
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