No! Not Elf on a Shelf!

As my good friend, Ruth, knows after my reaction to her post about her resident porcelain dolls, I am not a fan of creepy toys. Who in their right mind thought one that moves around and spies on you isn’t terrifying?

I cannot find the original source for this wonderful idea anywhere.

After stumbling across this picture, I felt it was an excellent time to bring back -throwback- Snappy McSprinkles.

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 12/21/2021

Your family may need to add these new holiday favorites to their Christmas playlist, because it’s time to announce the winner of the Terrible Poetry Contest.

And that is:

Ye Hairy Gentlemen

by Greg Glazebrook

On the twelfth day of Christmas
She’ll drive a holly stake through your heart…

Cut, cut, I think we’d be safer taking this in a different direction?

doG blessed ye hairy gentlemen
You’ll be warm on this very day
Remember that the rest of us
Will be frozen until May
With razor blades we’ll come for you
And shave it all away
O shavings of back hair and Bengay

We’ll stuff the clipping into bags
And ship them on their way
To far-off Nike sweatshops
In Hong Kong and Bombay
Where they’ll stitch them all together
With labels that say “Made in U.S.A.”
O tidings from Tài Sǔn and Ganmay

And when those man-hair sweaters
Arrive upon our shores
We’ll click on over to Amazon
And buy them by the scores
We’ll wrap them up for Christmas gifts
And cold, we’ll be no more
O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Damn these things are scratchy,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night…

—–

Congratulations, Greg! You are the most terrible poet of this holiday season!

I sat and hummed through every terrible entry. As is usual, I had a difficult time choosing just one. In the end, Greg’s parody won me over with its creativity, its terribleness, and its cleverness. I can’t say I’ve ever heard a carol about man-hair sweaters.

Now, turn off that Mariah Carrey and tune in to what these other, excellent songwriters came up with:

Poopy Christmas

by Bruce Goodman

The news it came out in the first year of Biden
The cupboards were bare and the truckers were hiding
Jen Psaki declared, “Let them eat buns”
To which the President added a whole lot of ums.

Christmas hell oh Christmas hell
Sing a Christmas Gloria
Bringing crumbs to all the world
But peace to those with gender dysphoria.

—–

Deck the House

by trentpmcd

Deck the house with big bright lights
Falalalala, lalalala
People will drive miles to see these sights!
Falalalala, lalalala
Now turn on reactor three
Falala, lalala, la-la-la
A billion megawatts just for me!
falalalala-la-la, la-la-la
***
Visible from Betelgeuse
Falalalala, lalalala
A thousand years of electric use
Falalalala, lalalala
I show off just once a year
Falala, lalala, la-la-la
With a trillion lights of holiday cheer!
falalalala-la-la, la-la-la

—–

OH WHAT A HOLY NIGHT

by Matt Snyder

Oh Holy night
Late December back in 5 B.C.
Circular things in the sky are bright you see?
Oh Holy night
In the manger was born what’s his name?
Ya know the Spanish kid, no I don’t mean the goat…the kid
Hey-Suess yeah him, this Holy night
Why is it taking so long to see the light?
OH ho ho ho holy night
I’ve fallen and I can’t get up
I think I sprained my knee-eeees
Oh right, on time
What a sweet baby, oh what a holy night
Oh? I said his name wrong!
Oh hear……Everyone shouting
Yout idiot, you tool!
You need to go back to biblical school
Oy Vey! What a night!

—–

Untitled piece
To “Happy Christmas, war is over” by John Lennon and Yoko Ono

by Hobbo

And so, a Jolly Christmas for all shades of LGBTQIA
Which it will be all day long
(Covid is over if you wear a mask)
For the straights and the not-so-straights
(If you want sprouts, just ask.)

A super-duper Christmas
with mulled wine and warm, cloudy beer
If you see three wise men looking lost
The Star pub is over here.

—–

THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY AND HIS HELL HOUNDS

by Definitely Not Pam

Come they told him,
Have some rumma rum rum.

There’s no good to do,
Let’s have some funna fun fun.

Bring your hell hounds along
For a runa run run

We’ll set them on the king
It’s sure to stunna stun stun
Ruma stun stun
Funna stun stun

He’ll get diahorea
Stinky bumma bum bum
When we come

Rums rum rum,
Opps funna fun fun
Runna run run
Opps stunna stun stun
Bumma bum bum
Dunna dun dun
Rumma fun run stun opps dun

Oh what fun
Tiggles my tumma tum tum
I’m just poor Hades,
Oh humma hum hum

What gift for him?
Thruma thrum thrum thrum
It’s gotta be good for the King’s
Tumma tum tum

I know I’ll play for him
Strumma strum stum
Thruma thrum thrum
Numma numb numb

Oh you look scared
Opps gumma gumma gum
The hell hounds like the scent of fear
What a humma hum hum

I’ll play my drum for you
Don’t look so glumma glum glum
I’ll play thrash metal for you
Oh slumma slum slum
Glumma glum glum
Humma hum hum

Oh don’t freak out
It’s not a scruma scrum scrum
It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum

Come they told him
Have some more rumma rum rum
You’ll wish you were never born
You better learn to runna run run

It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum
It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum
It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum
Isn’t this so much fun

©NopeNot Pam

—–

Untitled Piece
Wham’s “Last Christmas”

by Geoff LePard

Last Christmas
You let go a fart
Full of rot and decay, I near passed away
This year
Your disgusting rear
Has been truly exceptional…

—–

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Mechula.*

by Obbverse

(OK, let the old chestnuts get a’roasted. Michael Bublé, you’re up.)

It’s beginning to look like I’m insolvent,
Where’d my cash flow go?
Down to my last 5 and 10, my credits maxed out again,
Oh, the painful amount of IOUs I owe.

I’m beginning to wish I’d not seen loan shark Carmine,
Now all hell will start,
And da brass knuckles he will bring will make my head fair ring,
Then he’ll rip out my heart.

A pair o’ brutes in ill-fitting suits with pistols that shoot,
It’s Carmine’s repo-hit men,
Dey say ‘Carmine wants to talk, let’s take a walk.’
But I daren’t say ‘willkommen,’
I’m not mad nor dumb or fool enough to open this door again.

It’s beginning to look like I won’t make Christmas,
My debts Carmine won’t ignore,
What an ugly sight it is to see some thug pounding heavily
On my barred and bolted door.

*Bankruptcy, Yiddish.

—–

Grandchild Was Invaded By an iPhone

by Ruth Klein

my grandchild was invaded by her iphone
walking home from school, would you believe?
you can say that iphones don’t possess one
and as for me and grandpa, we do grieve

she’d been watching too much youtube
and we’d begged her- please, stop, please
so addicted to the boob tube
that she began to bow down on her knees

everyone now sing…..

—–

Sale! The Yearly Christmas Call
Sung to the tune of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”

by D. Wallace Peach

Sale! The yearly Christmas call
Shoppers flocking to the mall
Carts careen through crowded aisles
Cash and credit reconciled

Frantic all ye lists are waving
Budgets set already caving
Wrap those presents for the tree
Run out of tape, oh woe is me
Wrap those presents for the tree
I need tape, oh woe is me

Feed the crew from out of town
Baking cookies past sundown
Table’s set and goose is done
Spilled the gravy, so much fun

Dinner’s gone in seconds flat
Cooked all day and barely sat
Washing dishes like a maid
Boy, I wish my job was paid
Scrubbing dishes like a maid
How I wish this job was paid

Football’s on, the offense crouched
Husband’s slouched upon the couch
Cat’s in the tree, and globes are smashed
Kids are bored, the house is trashed

Hail the end of Christmas Day
When the kindred drive away
Flip the cap and swig a beer
Pooped out from another year
Take a nap and get in gear
New Year’s Eve is almost here.

—–

Untitled Piece
to the tune of “I wish you a Merry Christmas”

by John W. Howell

I wish you a monster isthmus
I wish you a monster isthmus
I wish you a monster Isthmus
Until you lose weight.

Glad tidings will be not only for me
Glad tidings will be not only for me
Glad tidings will be not only for me
You may spot your feet

Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
And lose a whole chin

We are not leaving till we get some
We are not leaving till we get some
We are not leaving till we get some
Melba toast is a win

—–

Untitled piece
from Frankie, the fictional one-eyed post mistress of Carrot Ranch who delivers mail on horseback:

by D. Avery

Burt an’ me we travel so far
Deliverin’ mail with no van or car
He’s a sturdy strong horse
Keeps us mostly on course
In these parts we’re without par
*
Packages too many ta count
But I can trust Burt, my loyal mount
We sweat an’ shiver
But always deliver
With time ta Saddle Up unannounced
*
Oh bartender I wonder if you might
Reward me for my work tonight
I delivered a song
After a day so long
But at the Saloon I’m feelin’ alright.”

—–

O Holy Grail

by Writing to Freedom (musebrad)

O holy grail, thy will always prevail
our faithful attempts to pursue the American dream
race to the mall or find solace in an aie
married to a destructive consumer regime
on Macy’s, on Kohl’s, to the mall we go
for shopping is the holy grail we know
~
fall on your knees before the corporate pleas
o holy grail, o holy grail
for thee, we must never fail

—–

The Little Bummer Boy

by anxietyoholic

COVID they told me!
Ra bum bum bum bum

Contacts to trace, you see?
Ra bum bum bum bum

Say Hello to Quarantine
Ra bum bum bum bum

Disinfect and clean, clean, clean
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

So to mask or not
Ra bum bum bum bum

I wish a vac I got
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

I am a poor boy too
Ra bum bum bum bum

Just like that other dude
Ra bum bum bum bum

So I’ll get hydroxychloroquine
Ra bum bum bum bum

And be OK like him
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

It’s all fake news he said
Ra bum bum bum bum

800 thousand dead
Ra bum bum bum bum

I was as brave as he
Ra bum bum bum bum

Look where that’s gotten me
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

—–

Thank you all and Merry happy Christmas.

Greg: Here’s the honorary badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2021 The poets, and their respective poems.

Tradition #TankaTuesday

Still, still
Sweet, silent night
Whispered stable story
Glad tidings sung of hist’ry writ
Baby

Jesus
Night of silence
Stable story whispered
Written hist’ry sung, shared gladly
Still, still

Photo by Burkay Canatar on Pexels.com

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Colleen and Ruth challenged me and I’m very glad they did. You can join in, too, for Tanka Tuesday. This week, we are encouraged to write a cinquain; this is a reflecting mirror version.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Carols…

My very busy, important, famous-author friend, Stephen, wrote a blog post about popular Christmas songs. He admitted to his liking “Fairytale Of New York” by The Pogues and “Don’t Let The Bells End” by The Darkness (plus a nod to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is Yoooooooouuuuuu”).

This set me to thinking: what are my favorites? I’d mostly considered the ones I don’t like, since the radio’s inundated with any artist who’s produced anything with “Christmas” or “gifts” in the name in order to get some air time. (By the way, that includes “Christmas Shoes.” I liked it the first time; ONLY the first time.)

Favorites, though? Hmmm. I’m a traditionalist, so I really like The Nutcracker or Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” I’ll get jazzier with “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” (Brenda Lee) but prefer the instrumental version of “Sleigh Ride.”

And then there’s my complete deviation from those with Manheim Steamroller’s “Los Peces En El Rio” and Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s “Carol of the Bells.” What can I say? My Christmas playlist is about as varied as my everyday one.

Still (still still), I’ll return, anytime, for an excellent choral version of any Christian Christmas carol.

What about you? What are your favorite musical numbers at Christmastime?

©2020 Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 12/11/2020

Whew! One month ago, readers were challenged to write an a-musing Christmas newsletter poem. Humor and terrible poetry abounded, and one stood out as the winner:

Mabilene’s Christmas newsletter, by Doug Jacquier
Merry Christmas to all of you’s,
time for our annual catch up and news
We know you always look forward to this
so everyone here sends a big kiss. XXX

Hubby Dwayne knows it was really dumb-crazy
but since the lockdown he’s been a bit hazy.
Wore a mask to the bank and passed the teller a note;
six months in prison, that’s all he wrote.

Our eldest, Billie-Jean, she’s doing so well,
especially since she learned how to write and to spell.
She’s a Social Influencer now, raking in the money.
Praise the Lord, it’s the land of milk and honey.

Our boy, Nathaniel, is the world’s greatest nerd;
want a new app and you just say the word.
His latest is a thing of digital beauty;
Sort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty.

Young Charlene, well, she tries really hard
she’ll never be a whizz-kid or any sort of bard;
but I have to tell you she’s making considerable progress
on her ultimate goal: Member of Congress.

Old Mabel, our dog, she keeps pumping out litters
despite her bouts with the mange and the skitters.
Last winter we sold one to a damned fool yuppie;
it’s now in dog heaven, that poor slush puppie.

I’ll sign off now and wish ‘Season’s Greetings’
(I don’t want to miss one of my AA meetings).
Love to you all and always remember
I’ll be back in your mailbox this time next December.

Congratulations, Doug! You are the funniest poet for the week!

As usual, I had great difficulty selecting one poem to win. Doug’s was clever, like others; followed a funny theme, like others; and it rhymed, like others. I chose his because I snorted at “[s]ort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty” and the lines involving “yuppie” and “slush puppie.”

Truly, all the others are a hilarious read as well:

Untitled, by Dumbestblogger
The dog died
Our RV broke down
We spent two weeks in Vegas
Retirement is fun

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Hello
Friends and Foe
A few words
For you to know
It was a year of plenty
This 2020
It started slow,
But our fortunes continued to grow!
In March we sold TeePee
Each roll, ten and fifty!
In April a boom
Of selling lessons on Zoom
In May, for a price
We sent people to places quite nice
Each month we made more and more
Suckering both the rich and the poor
Cashing in on Covid fears
And rumors made in election years
Our fortunes soared
As people hid, quite bored
Trusting their luck
Sending us buck after buck
So you may moan
About being alone
About work being closed
And say the world is hosed
But I disagree
It was a great year, at least for me!
So in my holiday note
This year I’m gonna to gloat
For I am on the good list
For making money hand over fist
And sleep on bags of gold
From all of the garbage I sold
But don’t crawl to me
Looking for a present
Under your tree
I said I was smart
Not that I have a heart
There’ll be no money sent
Begged borrowed or lent
But don’t take it so hard
I did send you this card!
Merry Christmas (at least for me 😉 )!

The things that brought laughter this year, by Bruce
Aunt Mavis got covid and died.
The pot plant I got for my birthday died.
The cat died.
The canary died.
The kid’s interest in school died.
The eldest daughter’s marriage fell apart and died.
The car died.
We feel so out of place here where we live. I know that sounds dumb
But we’re thinking of moving to New York where we won’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Anus Horribilis – a bum year, by Geoff
Well 2020’s been one hell of a year
Though as you see it deserves one cheer.
In January our eldest lad
Decided to become a dad.
His wife however wasn’t happy
And strangled him with a unwashed nappy.
While we were dealing with that little trauma
Debbie our girl had her own drama.
She thought she’d do home repairs
But impaled herself on the stairs.
We entered March rather nervy
When we heard Aunt Joan had viral scurvy.
If that wasn’t bad enough,
Uncle Martin choked on snuff.
In April Grandpa called a meeting
To say ‘I’m gay’ though any joy was fleeting
As Grandma Susan showed her ire
By setting the old boy on fire.
May and June, they were grim
When cousin Mervin dissolved his twin
And my dear papa fared far worse
When too much beer caused his spleen to burst.
The months from July to September
Weren’t the sort you’d want to remember:
I broke a leg, Jane had conniptions
While Tiny Tom ate the kittens.
October promised to be better
We were given an Irish Setter
But sadly I must report
The bloody dog saw me in court:
Apparently I’m responsible
When he ripped out the postman’s tonsils.
I was bailed through November
Which brings us to December
Christmas looms;
We’re fighting the gloom.
I know many dear souls have passed away
And it will be quiet come Christmas Day.
But let’s try, shall we, to take the positives.
At least I’m not feeding my bloody relatives…

Christmas Catch All Ya’ll Up, by Obbverse
Hi guys, it’s time to keep ya’ll in the know,
With the festivities near we’ve horns to blow,
Folks keep sayin’ ‘times is hard, the ‘conomy’s shot’
But we’re happy as clams ’cause we got the lot.

My Jimbo’s gone up yet another pay grade-
He must’ve sold every pickup truck Jeep ever made,
The twins is gettin’ schooled and they’s top o’ the class,
We’re hopin,’ with luck, they’ll dredge up a C and pass!

Our Cody won the Jumbo Bear at the tri-county fair,
Took out them three ducks with two rounds to spare,
At the bake off my apple pie took out first prize as well;
The only blue ribbon you’ll see on this Southern belle.

Our Jolene’s playing Mother Mary in the nativity play,
Their damn Rodeo ain’t playing Joseph if I have my way,
No mistletoe kisses a’tween Jo Hatfield and Rodeo McCoy-
I sez ‘Jolene, you don’t have no truck with that bad boy.’

But then that dang new preacher had to up’n speak
‘Let’s try to forgive and forget, turn the other cheek,’
If I believed that liberal trash I’d be a’wineing at Mass-
This Southern Baptist knows Rodeo’s coveting Jolene’s ass.

Still, I must say they look good together, they act pretty tight,
They’ve practised at the Church Hall religiously every night,
Now Jo is a shining star as Mother Mary, positively glowing,
We’re praying, when Christmas comes Jo won’t be showing.

Christmas Newsletter, by Frank Hubeny
Larry’s Earth is on the Moon.
Greg’s might be on Mars.
Lulu’s livid with the news.
Sue shoots shooting stars.

I’m the final one who’s sane.
At least, I can pretend.
I have no time to rush away,
So Merry Christmas, friend!

The Christmas Email 🎄, by Willowdot
T’was the night before Christmas, I’m peeling the sprouts,
I’ll regret it tomorrow of that I’ve no doubts.
I’ve spent hours wrapping pressies for under the tree.
Everyones socially distancing so it’s up to me.
This year’s been a bummer so I thought let’s spread the joy
(cough) Here’s our news which is bound to annoy.
Let’s start with grandpa well he’s loosing the plot
he’s been stalking the estate quite a lot.
Since they said he can drive no more,
he been acting like a bear with a head that’s sore!
Hubby has been busy washing hands and making masks
when people get too close he takes them to task.
Jerome, Cathy and Hermione are fine,
in and out of school all the time.
Fighting over computer, laptop and tablet …all of them mine!
We’ve all had to isolate at different times ,
we’ve done as we’re told to avoid fines!
We’re all sick of watching the neighbours breaking the rules.
How will we ever be rid of this Covid surrounded by fools.
The chickens stopped laying last week,
the hamsters are missing we’ve not heard a squeak.
We’ve had our fair share of hospitals and Ambulances too.
But to fair in lockdown there’s not much to do!
My goodness is that the time,
I must get this sent then open the wine.
Merry Christmas to you and you bubble,
let’s hope 2021 is less trouble.
The Vaccine is coming we’ll all grow two heads..I don’t really care, in 100years we’ll all be dead!

The Christmas Newsletter, by Hobbo
So, if by chance you meet
And concern is in her voice
Our living on the street
Is environmental choice

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Ho, ho, ho, it’s Christmas yet again,
But in line with new protocols,
I’m implementing social distancing.

Split shifts on the Christmas line,
One and a half reindeers apart please,
Hey Elf one, was that a sneeze?

And ensure you use hand sanitizer,
Yes Dasher, on arrival and after breaks,
It’s vital, for heavens sakes.

And Elves no sharing tools, no sharing anything,
And if you’re feeling ill at all,
Please don’t come in and please toss tissues in the bin.

What?  Recompense for lost shifts?
Please, who do you think I am?
If you want to negotiate, Santa just ain’t in.

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Dearest ones!

Sublime greetings to you and yous
Our CASTLE is fab, how is your zoo?

Hasn’t 2020 been the best?
We are special and blessed!

We have accomplished so many wonderful things.

Our gloriously framed masterpieces
Adorn the walls of our arboretum

Our new website for virtual viewing
We are not bragging, it’s full of cooing
(httd://weWouldNeverBrag.kiss)

While our paintings were drying,
We each learned a language.
Now we have zoom pals,
What an advantage!

We are just awesome
Our talents just blossomed

I wrote my memoir. Jim started the podcast “we are the greatest.”

We have enjoyed our together time-
Isolation, is the best!

We learned to be perfectly positively toxic.

I, for one, will be sorry to see 2020 go!

Love,
from our castle to your shack,

Ruth and Jim

Untitled, by Brutus Richmond
Another Christmas coming
And thanks, I’m doing fine
No cards are in the mail
Santa’s gone online
There’ll be no ho, ho, hoing
They’ll be no reindeer tasks
I won’t hear Christmas carols
The choir are wearing masks
There’ll be no get togethers
Forget about your rights
A blessed social distancing
Preventing family fights
For me it’s bar and humbug
On just another day
A shocking year is finishing
Another on its way
So that’s my Christmas greeting
For whatever that is worth
But I pray for all your happiness
I pray for peace on earth

—–

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

If that doesn’t send you off in the right holiday mood, I don’t know what will! Return, tomorrow, for next month’s prompt.

Doug, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The Jones Family Newsletter, poetic edition

Ohhhhh, you better not doubt
You better not sigh
You better not pout
When you see all our truths –
The Jones Fam’ly is writing a poem!

We’ve written this list
We’re sure it’s concise
To make you all pissed that we’re writing these facts –
The Jones Fam’ly is sending a poem!

Steve sees no end to dividends;
Sue’s sponsors all love her;
The twins won State, the dog eats steak;
Oh, the upper class concurs:

The Joneses are out
Out, out of the sky
We’ve got some real clout
And we’ve got a few honest claims –
Our family just sent you a poem!

There’s still time to enter the A Mused Poetry Contest. The deadline is this Friday!

©2020 Chel Owens

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

Christmas Newsletter, poetic edition

‘Twas the night before Christmas so I wrote a poem, And what to my wondering eyes – no one’s home

To read all my prancing and pawing of hoofs, Or really all my kids’ accomplishments I’m proud of.

I in my MLM, Bob in his job, kids with their apps Have just settled down to show off our cat.

Away to the mailbox I fly like a flash Tear open my mail and then put down some cash

To pay for some photos, in new-fallen snow, To be used in this letter you’re reading, below.

So, you’ll hear me exclaim as this letter goes out of sight: Happy Christmas to All, until New Year’s Night!

Please, please, please enter the A Mused Poetry Contest. The deadline is this Friday!

©2020 Chel Owens

Photo by Any Lane on Pexels.com

Oh. Christmas Tree?

One December, our family room looked barren. Where a glorious, fresh, decorated Christmas tree usually stood, we had but empty carpet. This was strange, since my mother loved fresh pine trees and had insisted on one for years. She loved the smell, you see. That year, however, she couldn’t bring herself to do Christmas. I’d say it was Winter Blues or a Nervous Breakdown or whatever euphemism people preferred for describing Depression, but it was also that my brother and I fought like angry dogs while complaining about our difficult lives in wealthy suburbia while demanding expensive presents.

Facing the reality of a tree-less Christmas, we children called a cease fire. Enlisting the help of the only other licensed driver in the house (our father), my brother and sister and I set off to see what was available on a literal Christmas Eve.

Fortunately, we didn’t need to go far. At the point of commerce touching neighborhood, we saw that one of the businesses had donated their holiday decorations to the large dumpster out back. We drew closer. In the light of minivan headlights and father-held flashlight we saw them: a few skinny, short, still-alive Christmas trees.

“Let’s take them!” my sister said.

“They’re too small,” I claimed -or my brother; we share a similar optimism.

But we all knew we were short on options. We also knew we needed time to decorate, open our traditional pajamas, read Luke 2, and set out milk and cookies for Santa. Therefore, we took them.

And that is how, for our most memorable Christmas tree experience, we had three (rather dwarfish) pines in the place of honor. We looped the lights and tree skirt around them all, roping them like contestants in a three-legged race. We hung the ornaments where they’d fit.

And they smelled lovely.

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Thanks to CalmKate of Aroused for the prompt!

The A Mused Poetry Contest 11/14 – 12/11/2020

‘Tis the season for Christmas, and you know what that means: Christmas cards and newsletters. Although many opt for a family picture or online update these days, I still receive (and send) the occasional list of amazing things my family and I did all year long.

And it’s annoying. On that note:

  1. The Theme is the annoying Christmas newsletter.
  2. Although I wish these ballads were shorter, Length has to be 250 words (or, please, fewer) to reflect the true, proud writer’s desire to brag.
  3. Rhyming will happen if you choose the obligatory Night Before Christmas spinoff, but is completely optional this holiday season.
  4. These are family-friendly publications, so I’m reining in the Rating at PGish. You know what I mean.
  5. Please, make us laugh. As we pour over yet another photo posed amidst clouds in an autumn forest and read just how many accolades the family dog earned, bring us laughter before we open the holiday egg nog early…

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (December 11) to submit a poem.

Use the form, below, to remain anonymous until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Leave a comment if your link-back doesn’t show up by midnight of the day you create it.

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Merry? Christmas!

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

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©2020 Chel Owens

Deck the Halls with Boughs for Fighting

Deck your brother if he’s breathing.
Fa la la la la la la la la
Turn to him when you are sneezing.
Fa la la la la la la la la
Practice some jiu-jitsu holding.
Fa la la la la la la la la
Look confused when mom comes scolding.
Fa la la la la la la la la
Fa la la la la la laaaa laaa laaaaaaaaaa.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens