Competition Entry

So let me tell you what Santa
Does before Christmas Eve,
(Pure imagination )
It’s just a guess
(Rather, a complete guess)
But I just think that the humor is less.

So, Santa was checking all the gifts that had been packed,
And they were packed,
So, he left for the Toy Factory,
(For a surprise inspection)
It didn’t take long for him to find out that the bookshelves were broken
So he told the elves,
(Who gave each other a sly smile)
To mend the bookshelves.

Soon Santa Claus knew that it was time to get ready,
But he just got to know that his beard needed a trim,
(Honestly, it was Mrs Claus who reminded him)
So, the elves started trimming his beard,
(They were too clumsy for words)
In the meantime Mrs Claus prepared a mug of steaming hot cocoa,
Filled up to the brim.

Finally it was Christmas Eve,
Vixen, Blitzen and all the other reindeer were ready,
(Prancer was stamping his feet out of excitemen )
The weather was merry and bright,
Because Santa was going to come tonight,
(Now, he was in India)
He heard a father tell his son,
That Santa came at night as it was his style,
Santa’s eyes twinkled and he gave a wide smile.

The tree is up,
The countdown finished,
No worries at all.

The stockings hung,
The mince pie and milk for Santa
A carrot for his tireless steed.

Is it real?
Can it really be?
Will I wake up tomorrow with a present under the tree?

The tree is up,
The countdown finished,
No worries, no worries.

I stand at the border of two streets.
One, a bleak reminder of dearth,
the other an interval of comfort.
A young girl warms her knuckles,
the brief kindling of a premature flame,
illuminating a comet in her eyes,
as apartment block carollers permeate,
the low hum of privileged rejoicing.

The street reigns quietly.
As if to lull, the stinging disparity
of pennies and breadcrumbs,
as a stray cat roams past, carefree
its tail pointing to neither end
of the street, but up to the sky,
where extinct streets
and forsaken hamlets commune
in the stairways of equity.

Tomorrow is Christmas Day.

The cat is very fat, fat, fat
The cat is wearing a hat, hat, hat
The cat chats so much
Meow, meow, meow.

Drifting through the sky.
Little snowflakess don’t you cry.
Drift down.
On to the ground.
Where Santa will cross through the silver path… on to the sleigh of truth.
Jumping, flying spreading the joy.
Leaping, soaring through the sky.
Santa in here tonight.
Spreading the Christmas feeling.
Giving the gifts to children all around.
Giving everyone the time to feel the special

Christmas is glimmering fun.
Horrible hairy reindeer ate Father Christmas’s cookies!
Rudolf races across the shiny sky.
Icicles are freezing.
Sparkly diamond lights.
Trees are beautiful and twinkly.
Music playing.
A shiny star on top of a snowy white tree.
Snowman glowing.

As the silver bells jangled and danced
All the elves decked out in emerald threads
Made way for the festivities
Wrapping gifts and ticking lists.

Trails of wrapping paper waltzed across the floor
Past the cards adorned with joyful greetings
Preaching their messages of love and peace
To all the gifts awaiting a lift on Santa’s sleigh.

Now the gifts stood eager and tail,sparkly and small
All clutching a bow, tag or ribbon
Colours of silver, gold, red and green
All so delightfully keen
Sealed with love from Santa’s team.

Winning Poem

Houses and buildings,
Sprinkled with snow.
Sitting in church,
Row by row.

Outside trees whistle,
In the bitter cold breeze.
Moisture-plenty plants,
Beginning to freeze.

On the door,
The holly wreath.
Smoke from the chimney,
The fire beneath.

Stars in the sky,
The moon shining bright.
Grey clouds,
Swirl throughout the night.

Children skate,
On the river near.
The ice holds,
The children have no fear.

A bridge to cross the river,
And a sledge to ride.
Now it’s dark,
Come along inside.

Children in bed,
To get to sleep they try.
As Santa makes his journey,
Milk and a mince pie.

Santa Claus is coming to town
standing behind a willow tree,
my face was covered with joy and glee
the magic-man in crimson attire
had emerged from the flames of the festive fire

He is getting a clown
a clown, what clown – is this the clown that I had desired
to become a joker, is what I had aspired
a clown with flushed cheeks, and a red nose
a clown is always happy, or I suppose

Santa comes when there is no one around
he tip-toes, and talks to the mice
in the kitchen, he sings to the salt and spice
in my stocking, he fills a sky and a star
oh, he comes from a world so far!

But he comes without a sound
I want to meet him, and ask him about his world
my heart is palpitating, my fingers are curled
but, he is as silent as a creeping fox
as he fills the insides of my Christmas box

He has bound by a duty which he will never forget
and, all I can say, in a voice full of light, is –
Dear Santa, I wish we could have met!

When the wind starts howling
And the Christmas tree grows,
Icicles are forming
As the North wind blows.

The children are waiting
Their fires are lit,
The chimney’s needs dusting
The decorations should fit.

As the cold wind blows
The air is bitter and white,
The trees are laughing
As the moon shines bright.

The tinsel is ready
The lights are hanged up,
The ball balls are settled
With some wine in a cup.

Santa is coming
The presents are packed,
The elves have been working
Houses have been tracked.

Its Christmas Eve,
Time for cheer,
I hope Santa will visit here!