[John Whitworth]

No. 2827: Dear Santa

You are invited to submit a Christmas list, in verse, in the style of the poet of your choice (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 2 December. Please note the earlier-than-usual deadline, which is because of our seasonal production schedule.

[RCL]

Quick—
1st—Draft

#2013

My dear Prodigious Elf
That time of year is near
To hope You’ll gift my self
With what I’d like—this year:

A feeder for my birds
Especially the Hummers—
Wingéd little bards
Choirs of my Summers.

On Wizards of the Word
Bestow the Wit to Weave—
Worthy Webs from Word-Hoards
Measures of Mankind's beliefs.

And help Her realize
How Chill a Life can be
Without the—brilliant—Smiles
She rarely shines on me.

Emily Dickinson

[Rob Stuart]

I do not wish for aught because the Lord
Hath always my heart’s stocking fill’d with cheer.
His love is life’s foundation and reward.
This paragon of gifts He gives all year.

Get thee behind me Santa, do not tempt
Ungratefulnesse in those whom God hath bless’d-
By the Almighty’s grace am I exempt
From death. In Heav'n shall I ever rest.

He moulded me this Earth to live upon,
And though I share it there is room enow.
O’er beasts He granted me dominion-
The platypus, the ferret and the cow.

The lighthouse of His tendernesse doth keep
My sinneful boat from ploughing into rocks.
All else is by these bounties render’d cheap-
But then again I wouldn’t mind some socks.

[Jayne Osborn]

That's brilliant, Rob!

I just read it out to my husband (he's never heard of George Herbert) but that doesn't matter; we both cracked up when I got to "Get thee behind me Santa", and again at the punchline.

This one's going to take some beating!

Jayne

PS. I like the slight changes - it's even better now.

[Rob Stuart]

Bless you Jayne.

[John Whitworth]

Who was it told us Santa was an anagram of Satan? And now for something completely different.

Dear Santa

O Fatso in the scarlet suit,
Send me a Patagonian flute,
A conjurer's collapsing hat,
A crystal bowl of passion fruit,

Lord Byron's favourite cricket bat,
(Lord, how I've always wanted that!),
A wedge of gorgonzola cheese,
A black-and-white performing rat,

An old straw hive of honey bees,
Three clockwork snails, complete with keys,
A jar of aromatic nard,
Most sovereign against disease,

An Ethiop's camelopard,
The skull of Søren Kierkegaard,
Of learned Søren Kierkegaard,
Sincerely, Robert Frost the bard.

If anyone can do that Danish o with a line through it in Soren I'd be most grateful. Danish? Swedish?

[Rob Stuart]

Here you go John ø

[Chris O'Carroll]

John, does your word processing software have an "insert" function on that toolbar, or whatever it's called, along the top? If so, you can select "special character" from the "insert" menu, then find your way to a bunch of options that include the German "o" with two dots, the Danish "o" with the northeast-to-southwest diagonal, and all manner of other goodies.

Alternatively, you can look up Kierkegaard in Wikipedia or elsewhere online, and do a copy-and-paste of his first name.

[John Whitworth]

Thank you, gentlemen. It took me but half an hour and it looks lovely. I shall go in and win. Did I say George was a honey, Rob? He is.

[Brian Allgar]

(There's some good stuff out there. In particular, I expect to have to say "I wuz Robbed!")

You are fat, Father Christmas, your tummy is shocking!
The chimney may prove a tight fit
To deliver the things that I’d like in my stocking -
I urge you to diet a bit.

A cat with a grin that will gradually fade,
An egg with a shell that is broken,
Flamingoes for summer, when croquet is played,
And some hedgehogs, polite and well-spoken.

A teapot where dormice may peacefully snooze,
A potion that makes me grow smaller
To pass little doorways whenever I choose,
And a mushroom to render me taller.

Above all, a Snark who would tickle my head
While I teach him to count up to five.
But be careful you don’t bring a Boojum instead,
Or you’ll vanish before you arrive.