Christmas Crackers

Johnny was a greedy lad, the worst of little snackers,

And so it came as no surprise – he ate the Christmas crackers.

The silly boy, the little nutter, spread them thick with loads of butter

Then he opened wide his shutter, and, without a word of ‘please’

He grabbed a hunk of cheddar cheese,

Then down it went. John said ‘That’s nice!

These cracker things are full of spice!’

‘No!’ we all implored him, ‘Stop!

‘You can’t eat those – they’ll make you pop!

They must come out or you’ll be dead!’

I pulled his feet, Mum pulled his head.

Nothing. So we pulled some more,

Poor Johnny pinioned on the floor.

Then suddenly a clang! a clash!

There came a whizz, a bang, a flash!

And Johnny simply tore apart.

The doctor couldn’t find his heart.

She prodded him, she gave a poke,

But only found a dreadful joke,

A paper hat, a plastic toy,

But then, he was a silly boy.

So please don’t gulp and guzzle crackers – you might end up dead.

But stuff your face with Christmas cake and chocolate coins instead.

 

 

 

 

 

Letter from Santa

I don’t need a scooter, I don’t need a hooter,

I don’t need Nintendo, an X-Box or computer,

I don’t need a doll or a car or a train,

Or toys that are boring but good for my brain.

I don’t need a book or a jigsaw or pet –

Thought all of those things would be lovely to get.

All that want – and this isn’t hard

Is someone to give me a small Christmas card.

You always get my love; I’d love some of yours.

Signed, very hopefully,

Santa Claus

Misheard

Wear a giraffe, wear some warm kittens

A big woolly goat and a cat.

I’m ready to go for a stroll in the snow,

So why are you staring like that?

The Reindeer and the Christmas Tree Fairy

Sweet Christmas Fairy, so lofty and so airy,

why do you look so wary, so solemn and so glum?

 

Oh Mr Reindeer, it really is a strain, dear,

an awful nasty pain, dear, with trees rammed up one’s bum.

 

 

No Birds Were Harmed in the Making of this Poem

Scissors and sticky tape, paper and robins

Tied in big bows, so pretty and strong.

But oh! Oopsie doopsie! I should have used ribbons!

This present I’ve wrapped looks so terribly wrong.

Arty-Farty Parties

 

At arty-farty parties they serve arty-farty snacks.

Such darling little canapés! They look like moulded wax.

And nasty grown-up fizzy drink that’s drunk in little sips.

Oh please will someone rescue me?

I just want curly chips!

 

At arty-farty parties all the guests are most polite.

It’s always ‘oh how interesting!’ and blah-blah-blah all night.

They use their napkins all the time and never lick their lips.

Oh please will someone rescue me?

I just want curly chips!

 

At arty-farty parties all the people seem the same.

They say ‘Why, how you’ve grown, my dear!’ and then forget your name.

These flirty-skirty ladies who do wiggles with their hips.

Oh please will someone rescue me?

I just want curly chips!

 

At arty-farty parties there’s not even one balloon.

No games – just boring chat chat chat. Oh can’t we go home soon?

But no, the snacks are here again, some blinis cut in strips.

Oh please will someone rescue me,

Yes please will someone rescue me

JUST COME AND FLIPPIN’ RESCUE ME!

I just want curly chips!

 

 

 

 

Sneeky Sneezles

If your hanky is manky,

You’ve issues with tissues

And everything’s covered with snot,

Just wipe your nose

On your sister’s best clothes

(It will look like a kiss

So that nobody knows)

And say that you love her a lot.

Don’t Forget the Insects

Insects get cold in the winter.

I do feel concerned for the ants.

And so I have made, to come to their aid,

Plenty of six-legged pants.

Dessert Island

A desert island’s the place to be

Whenever you’re peckish and want your tea.

The mountains are made of soft meringues,

The beaches are sugary sprinkles.

The stars in the sky are hot apple pie,

And each of them sings as it twinkles.

Streams are made from cool ice cream,

The trees are chocolate éclairs.

Lakes are runny with oozings of honey,

Just right for the picnicking bears.

You can drink from the lemonade geysers

Which occasionally give off a squirt.

But what do you mean, I’ve made a mistake?

The sun’s so hot that I’m bound to bake?

There’s only sand? But what about cake!

I thought that you meant dessert!

 

 

 

 

 

Mislaid

Could you get up? If you don’t mind.

I’ve left my behind behind.

I think it was there, yes, on your chair,

Where I last saw my backside, my poor derriere.

I’ve whistled and shouted and called to it ‘Bum!

Get over here!’ but it still hasn’t come.

It’s really quite awkward, it’s really most rotten

To find that you’ve somehow forgotten your bottom.

My trousers feel empty, my pants feel each draught

(Did someone just snigger? Who was it who laughed?)

So could you get up? If you don’t mind.

I’ve left my behind behind.