[Roger Slater]

"Keep the 'Christ' in Christmas,"
you say. I say to you,
"Take the 'Christ' from Christmas,
and take the 'mas' out too."

Eliminate the carols.
Remove the ho ho ho's.
Spare the lovely evergreens.
Extinguish Rudolph's nose.

But leave behind the part I like,
the holiday's main payoff:
let each December twenty-fifth
remain a sacred day off.

[John Whitworth]

I was just about to remark that Christmas misanthropy seems a British thing, and up pops Roger to prove me wrong.

[Jayne Osborn]

Thanks for introducing me to 'blatherskite', John; I'd never heard of it.
What a truly wonderful word. I absolutely love it!

And I love your poem, though I think the first two stanzas are a bit redundant.

[John Whitworth]

You know you may be right, Jayne. I shall reconsider.

[Jayne Osborn]

Those last three stanzas only use 3/8ths of your line limit, John, so you could lose the biblical bit and continue with the funny 'now' stuff. There's tons more scope yet - crappy presents, crackers with plastic rubbish in, overcooked sprouts... and lots more - only at Christmastime.

[John Whitworth]

OK. How about this then?


Bah Humbug

At Christmas time we peddle junk
Wrapped up in old religious bunk
And everyone gets very drunk.

At Christmas time my children write
To some old bearded blatherskite
And stay up half the bloody night.

At Christmas time the in-laws come
To drink my whisky, gin and rum
And quarrel with my dad and mum.

At Christmas time my joints are stiff.
They crack and creak. I cough and sniff
And spit into my handkerchief.

At Christmas time my belly vastly
Swells, my temper frays and, lastly,
The weather’s uniformly ghastly.

[Jayne Osborn]

It's much funnier than the original, John, though I don't care for S4. It's not 'Christmas specific' enough IMO.
And I don't think 'peddle' is quite right either. And... OK, while I'm being so critical (sorry) I wonder whether S3 could be:

At Christmas time the in-laws come;
They quarrel with my dad and mum
And drink my whisky, gin and rum.

From someone who hasn't even got off the starting grid with this one yet... feel free to completely ignore all of the above.

[Marion Shore]

Kids, I can remember when every little tyke
was happy with a train set, a baby doll, a bike.
But these days it's an iPad, an X-Box, a PC.
My costs have risen off the charts. What do you want of me?
The elves are out on strike. Though I've done the best I can,
they're overworked and underpaid, and need a health care plan.
Besides, I'm no spring chicken. I'm nowhere near as spry
as I was at five hundred. So children, that is why
I'm planning to retire. I've had about enough.
“Hey!” I hear you crying out, “What about our stuff?”
Frankly, my dear kiddies, I just don't give a toss.
And so I'm off to Florida. Sincerely, Santa Claus.

[Marion Shore]

Take out the office parties,
the carols sung off key,
take out the spicy egg nog,
the reruns on TV,

take out the savoury pudding,
the turkeys, geese or chickens,
take out Zusu’s flower,
for God’s sake, take out Dickens,

take out the decorations,
take out the bloody tree;
but keep the “Gift” in “Giftmas”—
that's good enough for me.


I am so getting in touch with my inner Scrooge.

[Marion Shore]

Dad says “What’d you expect--
A tie or a sweater?”
Mom says "Cheer up,
They don't know any better.
After all, they’re just human.”
Well, duh! So am I.
And I feel more left out
with each year that goes by.
They give gifts to each other,
and forget about me.
Ah, well. Note to self:
“Happy birthday, JC!”