I belonged to a writing group who always had a humorous Christmas poem competition. These are examples of mine. Some won, some didn’t.

Obesity, the solution

Christmas is coming and the British are too fat.

Obesity is spreading and none of us like that.

Kebabs and Macdonalds with an overdose of curry

are what we stuff inside us and gobble in a hurry.

The government is frantic to find a good solution,

and our planet is groaning with packaging pollution.

The problem is a real one but the answer is quite simple.

We need to be more open and show each bulge and dimple.

A law that made us strip and show our bulging bellies

insisting it was mandatory to bounce around like jellies

would shame our portly citizens to lose a bit of weight

convert them to eat lettuces before it gets too late.

Enforce a Law of Nudity to keep us all in order

ensure it takes effect on crossing Britain’s border

The freezing, rainy climate won’t encourage quick compliance

so a further Act of Parliament must punish all defiance.

The sight of bloated Brits would discourage immigration

and that’s another problem sorted

for our much benighted nation.

 

The Monster

A lonely scientist, one deep dark night

Completed an experiment that filled him with fright.

Explosions and sparkles erupted all round

And a strange, green dust appeared on the ground.

For many years later, the house rested in peace,

Silently awaiting a creature’s release.

Behind the skirting board, it’s biding its time,

Brooding and planning, deeds of dire crime.

A malevolent presence lurked waiting below.

Not one of the household had the wisdom to know

That needle sharp teeth were grinding with glee

Just waiting and waiting for a chance to be free.

One hundred years passed until the time came.

It was cold outside and pouring with rain.

The clock struck twelve and the signal was given,

With loud shrieks and howls, the air was riven.

The monster surged forward, to tear and destroy

And found itself facing a very small boy

Who lifted his foot and pressed his slipper down firmly.

The monster was flattened, all squishy and squirmly.

No Entry

“An Englishman’s home is his castle,”

Or so all the pundits say.

But a fat man carrying a parcel

Seems to have right of way

This year, I had just fitted carpets

Pure white, like new settled snow

So I locked all the doors and the windows

And put up a sign so he’d know.

I put cowls on top of the chimneys

And used rubble to block all the flues

I latched all the doors and hid the keys

As well as the mince-pies and booze.

But the stupid man must be dyslexic

Or uncaring and totally thick

‘Cos come morning I felt quite dyspeptic

And then I was horribly sick.

Not only did Bad Santa force entry,

But the reindeers had visited too

For in the midst of the soot and the presents

Was an enormous and round pile of poo.

.

Chilled – a Christmas date

I meet him dancing salsa,

he is svelte and he is sweet.

His eyes are dark and sensuous

and we merge to meet the beat.

We share a jug of fierce dark wine

and smooch across the table.

Too overwhelmed by love to dine,

he willing. I most able.

The flashing lights and pounding sounds

disguise our heavy breathing.

Our need for passion knows no bounds,

we waste no time in leaving.

He takes me to his penthouse flat

all shiny floors and leather.

There is no need for idle chat

our bodies cling together.

I see my future, Porsche and kids,

a life of love and laughter.

He screams, ‘Cold Feet’ – love’s on the skids.

I never saw him after.

A Family Christmas.

The family is gathered, all lounging around.

Their presents are opened. Wrapping litters the ground.

Television drones on, as grandparents sip sherries,

I collect up the rubbish as nephews flick berries.

It’s Christmas again, how festive and jolly.

The baby starts wailing, she’s broken her dolly.

The fire alarm shrieks. The turkey is burning.

No panic really, just the potatoes need turning.

I gasp as I remember the gluten free specials.

All carefully placed in separate vessels.

I’ve forgotten to put them to bake with the rest.

I’m beginning to feel a little bit stressed.

It’s hot in the kitchen and I’ve got quite a thirst.

I’ll sort out the potatoes but have a drink first.

A nice glass of gin might just do the trick.

I’ll have time to down one, if only I’m quick.

I feel better already so I’ll just tweak my hair

And repair my make up.

But then I just stare.

I look in the mirror and my Christmassy glitz,

Has all disappeared.

I’m a disheveled old witch.

An Internet Romance

I met him on the Internet

his eyes were bright and blue,

His user-name was Jonny K,

he wanted friendship too.

We emailed every evening and soon it was quite clear,

He was my lifetime’s soul mate, so far and yet so near.

I must admit I fibbed a bit

I’d missed off a year or so

The photo that I emailed him

was snapped some years ago.

It didn’t really matter,

‘coz he said he loved my mind.

Our love was on a higher plain

our souls just seemed to bind.

I promised I would meet him

just for a little drink.

I knew I shouldn’t do it

what would my husband think?

I wore my smartest trouser suit,

the one that makes me thin

and wore a special corset to hold my tummy in.

I wondered if he’d notice

that I’d put on a bit of weight

In the photo that I’d sent him

I’d only been size 8.

He was so very handsome

so tall and blond and smart,

his glamorous demeanor

had stolen my whole heart.

He wasn’t really Jonny K.

His actual name was Fred,

His clothes were rough and rumpled

like he’d fallen out of bed.

His eyes were blue but very small.

His legs were short and stubby.

His sandy hair was almost gone

and he was quite frankly, tubby.

My heart was full of horror,

The cheater had led me astray.

As a lady, I couldn’t holler,

But I told him to go away.

Then to finish my miserable evening

The faker turned round and said

That he’d expected a slender vision

But got a fat old woman instead!