When the Old Year Got Fired

End of the Year.

Annual Report.

‘Twenty fourteen

Didn’t do as it ought’.

Wars? Disasters?

You’re getting the sack!

Now shove off at midnight

And never come back.

When the Ogre Met Santa (warning: not for younger readers)

The ogre arrived at the grotto,

Dripping with slobber and snot.

‘Give me my presents!’ it bellowed.

‘All of the gifts that you’ve got!’

It gnashed and thrashed, it bished and bashed,

Then lowered its voice and said darkly,

‘I’ll eat you for tea (just wait and you’ll see)

Unless all my presents are sparkly’.

 

The ogre looked sternly at Santa,

Its eyes were both narrow and mean.

Its teeth were thorns, its ears were horns,

Its skin was all scaly and green.

It let out a growl and a horrible howl,

Its bum made a staggering stink.

‘Santa’, it said. ‘I’ll see that you’re dead,

Unless all my presents are pink’.

 

The ogre went out of the grotto,

It held a white beard in its claws.

Its tongue gave a lick and a quick flicker flick,

A hat dangled down from its jaws.

‘I did try to warn him’, it sniffled.

‘And maybe he’d think that I’m bitter.

But it’s really not right on a Christmassy night

If none of my presents have glitter’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Un)happy Christmas

The tree has been forgotten,

The oven’s on the blink,

The sprouts have all gone rotten,

An uncle’s turned to drink,

The dog ate loads of glitter,

And now it’s just thrown up,

The room is filled with litter,

Someone broke a cup,

My aunts have started squabbling,

The gifts are in the post,

The jelly isn’t wobbling,

The turkey will not roast,

The baby downed the sherry,

My grandfather’s in tears,

But hey, let’s all be merry!

It’s Christmas day, so CHEERS!

 

 

 

 

Revenge

On Christmas night, when the snow lies white,

And the air is dark and murky,

You’d better watch out as there’s something about;

Beware the lurking turkey.

 

Beware the foul that’s out on the prowl,

Determined to even the score,

The bird who wants lunch with some thigh bones to crunch

And maybe an elbow or more,

The beast who would feast on ten humans at least,

With stuffing that’s made from their blood,

And fresh cranberry sauce, and gravy, of course,

With maybe a small roasted spud.

 

The turkey would gobble, its belly would wobble,

And then it would burp in delight.

It would drink some fine booze, watch telly then snooze,

And say ‘Well, it serves them all right’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Evil Lurgies

We are the lurgies who lurk up your throat.

We are the lurgies who gleefully gloat.

We are the lurgies who think that it’s funny

To make both your nostrils go gunky and runny.

We are the lurgies who keep you in bed.

We are the lurgies who stuff up your head.

We are the lurgies who sit there and laugh

As you wrap up your poor painful ears in a scarf.

We are the lurgies all slimy with snot,

Who make you feel chilly then shivery hot.

We are the lurgies and that’s what we do.

It’s so nice to see you and hear you a…a…a…

CHOO!

Catmass

It’s not a surprise that cat’s like mince pies;

They gobble them up, now and then.

Cats say that they’re nice mixed with sugar and spice

(Though they generally leave out the ‘n’).

Winter Whiskers

Mice hate

To ice skate;

They also

Hate bicycles,

Because,

When it’s frosty,

They turn into

Micicles.

 

There Are Worse Things Than Baths

Just imagine that you were a cat,

And you had to wash all your body like that.

You know what I mean. Lick, lick, lick.

Cleaning the flecks and the flakes with a flick,

And the germs and the worms

And the grot and the grime

And the dust and the dirt

And the snot and the slime

And the pen-marks and paint

And the grease from your chips

And the yuckiest mucky stuff

ALL passed your lips.

Just imagine the taste and the texture. How foul!

You’d probably hate it and sit there and howl!

Would you still wish to wash with your tongue, like a cat?

A bath’s not too bad, when you put it like that.