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TABLE OF CONTENTS
1)The Night Santa Lost Rudolf, by Howard E. Morseburg
2)'Twas the Night Before Christmas (in
Cuba), by Howard E. Morseburg
3) 'Twas the Night Before
Christmas (Politically Correct Version) by Harvey Erlich
(copyr.)
THE NIGHT SANTA LOST
RUDOLF
by Howard E.
Morseburg |
| It was late Christmas day and all around the
tree,
Sat the anxious and
concerned (your family name here)
family.
The dining room
table had already been set,
But reliable old
Santa had not arrived yet.
The children were
all crying, their eyes rimmed with
red,
They’d stayed awake
through the night and not gone to
bed.
There stood the
brightly lit tree, not one gift in
sight,
Where was merry ol'
Santa on this Christmas night?
No one was
laughing, no happiness in the room,
All the adults were
feeling the children’s deep gloom.
The anticipation
they’d felt just 'fore the dawn,
Had now turned to
worry as the long day dragged on.
Then came a loud
pounding at the front of the house,
“What’s all that
noise?” quoth mother, “It can’t be a
mouse.
Not gently rapping
and tapping at our front door.
Why who can it be?
Must it go on evermore?
Then father ran
quickly and flung open the door,
In burst an angry
Santa who stomped ‘cross our floor,
Underneath his red
hat ‘twas a face ghostly white,
It was obvious he’d
had a pretty rough night.
With a loud sigh he
sat down and in a sad tone,
He told us why he'd
arrived so late and alone.
“Rudolf has been
grabbed by that darned S.P.C.A.
The rascals stole
him last night when I parked the
Sleigh.”
Well, ol' Santa was
arrested that very day,
By nasty ol’ Miss
Shrew of the S.P.C.A.
Screaming “In one
night you’ve worked him almost to
death,
Good God, you old
man,” and here she drew a deep
breath,
“All night you’ve
had him racing all over the sky,
You know there’s no
oxygen when you’re up that high.
You carry those
gifts for each spoiled-rotten child,
Abusing those
animals, so loving and mild.
You've had those
eight tiny reindeer speeding about,
They do all the
hard work while you just sing and
shout!
Look at that heavy
old sled piled high with those gifts,
You should have
twice those eight reindeer working in
shifts.
When’s the last
time you gave these lovely dears a
drink?
They get thirsty
you know, or don’t you ever think?
And traveling the
world, with no feed through the night,
Just to hand out
all those gifts 'fore dawn’s early
light?”
Well, by now she
was completely red in the face,
“Well, ol' man,
you’re going to be put in your place.
That’s cruelty to
animals. You know it’s a fact.
Santa, you’ve just
committed a criminal act!
Merry Christmas? Ha
ha, Merry Christmas to you?
'Til now you've
just seen it from your own point of
view.
I’m telling you
right now, man, you will rue the day
You tangled with
Miss Shrew of the S.P.C.A.!
You’re very lucky
old man that one didn’t die,
You’d be kissing
forty years of your life goodbye.
With me, animals
come first, I want you to know,
They’re better than
most people,” screamed the old crow.
“You’ll get at
least thirty months,” she shouted with
glee,
“Then I’ll be the
happy one singing merrily.
Merry Christmas. Oh
yes, Merry Christmas to all,
Santa, right now
you’re about to take a big fall.”
Santa stood there
sadly, just taking it all in,
She pounded her
fist, shouting, “He’s guilty as sin.
Boys, take him
below, put him away in a cell.
Until the day
there’s a blinding snowstorm in hell.
Well, then Santa
was questioned by Government men,
They put him
through that same old ritual again.
"Are you fully
insured against a work injury?
Show us your
paid-up receipts and your policy!
Look, you’re flying
about without identity lights,
You're not trained
to use instruments on foggy nights.
You're required to
have coverage for all girls and boys,
Because you’re
handing out millions of dangerous
toys.
Do you have your
Sales Tax number on the gifts too,
Have you paid to
the State every cent that’s due?"
And that poor
little ol' man with such a big heart,
Was given extra
time for just playing his part.
In time Mrs. Santa
came to take the reindeer home,
And stayed at the
North Pole, sadly, waiting alone.
(As for Rudolf,
coralled, he grew listless and fat,
He sired four baby
reindeer, but each was a brat.)
Santa was breaking
rocks, then hauling them on skids,
There was no
Christmas that year for the world’s lil’
kids.
As the months went
by with kids more unhappy each day,
They had no new
scooters, no Nintendo to play.
Winter, spring and
fall went by, still Santa’s in jail,
There was no way to
free him, they’d not grant him bail.
Christmas was
coming, there’d be no Santa that
year,
No shouts of joy,
no presents, ‘twas everyone’s fear.
Forecasts were now
gloomy: business would be down,
There was not a
shopper in sight in any town.
The kids met
together, they wanted old Santa,
They had a big
Convention down in Atlanta.
They decided to
take things into their own hands
And e-Mailed the
children throughout all foreign
lands.
Saying, "Help us
save Santa Claus and Rudolf too,
So that we can have
Christmas as kids always do."
They sent a group
of little kids to Washington
And petitioned the
Senate to get something done.
The President sat
down and wrote out a Pardon,
Then invited the
kids to tea in the Rose Garden.
That night they
freed Santa and all of his reindeer,
By Executive
Order his name was now clear.
He returned to the
North Pole to finish the toys,
That he would soon
deliver to all girls and boys.
Well, ‘twas a cold
Christmas eve far up in the snow,
When Santa got
ready for his Annual Big Show.
With elves
scurrying around to load up the sleigh,
And eight tiny
reindeer anxious to be on their way.
A sled full of toys
in the air quickly rose,
There was Rudolf in
front…a red light on his nose.
In back sat Santa
Claus ready for his long flight,
Shouting, "Merry
Christmas to all, to all a Good
Night!"
Now the world’s
little children have nothing to fear
Santa has returned
and he’ll be back every year.
When Santa’s around
the future always looks bright,
"Merry Christmas to
all, and to all a Good Night!"
Copyright 2001 Howard E. Morseburg (begun Oct. 26,
1995)
All Copyrights
reserved. |
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If you'd like to reprint this poem, please feel free to do so, but
MAKE NO CHANGES and include my copyrights.
If you'd like to send
a little gift for my writing efforts, send to: S.A.M. P.O. Box 320,
Solvang, CA 93464.
And, thanks. Have fun; that's what life is
all about.
With all due respect to the author of 'TWAS THE NIGHT
BEFORE CHRISTMAS, by Major Henry Livingstone, Jr. (1748-1828).
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS (IN
CUBA)
(No
Christmas in Cuba)
by Howard E.
Morseburg
|
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through
the land,
No Christmas tree
could be seen, because they were banned.
No stockings could
be hung in the house anywhere,
(People were
thought lucky if they had any to
wear!).
No Roller Blades,
Nikes, or Nintendos could be found,
There wasn’t a toy
store in any town around.
Ol’ Santa had
skipped Cuba, ‘twas not he forgot,
But Castro gave
orders…if he’s seen…he’ll be shot.
There’s no joy at
Christmas, that's where Santa can’t
go,
There’s no joy at
Christmas, ol' Fidel’s made it so.
There’s no freedom
to worship, or just to critique,
In a Socialist
system that’s not so unique.
The children must
study the Communist dictum,
And all they can’t
do is just part of the system.
Castro claims he’s
their Santa, though his beard is black,
But he is the
reason their economy’s slack.
Now let’s think of the
children on this Christmas eve,
There’s no
Christmas for them, no Santa to
believe,
No toys under the
tree, no special holiday,
No freedom of
speech, no freedom to pray,
They study in
school, then there’s field work to
do,
The government
controls every minute or two.
No tiny reindeer go
there carrying them gifts,
There’s no joy at
Christmas to give their spirits a
lift.
There’s no joy at
Christmas in a land that’s not free,
They don’t learn
Christ’s story of the nativity.
There are no
sparkling lights, there old friends dare not
meet,
No carolers singing
as they stroll down the street.
There's no
celebration, it’s a day of hard work,
Their Santa’s just
a deranged black-bearded old jerk.
There’ll be no joy
in Cuba…for Santa can’t go,
There’ll be no joy at Christmas,
Fidel’s made it so.
ALL ABOVE POEMS: Copyright 1994 &
2001 by Howard E. Morseburg
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'Twas the Night Before
Christmas!
(Politically Correct Version!)
by
Harvey Erlich |
'Twas
the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck.
How to
live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no
longer would answer to Elves,
Vertically Challenged they
were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the north
pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four
reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to
the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had
made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just
reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were
replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked
stupid!
The runners had been removed
from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the
E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When
they heard sled noises on their roof-tops.
Second-hand
smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His
fur trimmed red suit was called Unenlightened.
And to show
you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was
suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on
Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in
over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone;
and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this
life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a
whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he'd
ne'er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much
commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which
meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that
might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to
shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of
noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the
boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender
specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
No
candy or sweets, they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that
seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet
forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off
hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those
psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one
ecological.
No baseball, no football; someone could get
hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to
dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be
passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So
Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just
could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry,
tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that
word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the
ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be
found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he
might
Give to all without angering the left or the
right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no
indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every
ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere, even you.
So
here is that gift, it's priced beyond worth.
May you and
your loved ones enjoy Peace on Earth.
Notice: This poem is copyright 1992
by Harvey Ehrlich.
FREE to distribute WITHOUT CHANGES
as long as this notice remains intact.
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POEMS FOR
ALL MOODS
POEMS I - Morbid Poems
for Morbid People
POEMS II -
Morbid Poems - Big Liz'
POEMS III - More Morbid
Poems III
POEMS IV - More
Morbid Poems IV
POEMS V -
The Night Santa Lost Rudolf
POEMS VI - Christmas in
Cuba
POEMS VII - One
Day at a Time
POEMS VIII-
Christmas Politically Correct
POEMS IX - One Kind Deed Each
Day
POEMS X - The
Gamblin' Man
POEMS XI - Ode to
Michael Dell
Poems XII - Morbid
Poems 4 Morbid People V
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