That's MISTER Scrooge, to you

A couple of my (not so) jolly Christmas poems.

He doesn't care
If you're naughty or nice
If you go your own way
Or take good advice.
He doesn't care
What you have done
Worked hard all year
Or spent it in fun

He doesn't care
What's in your letter
A brand new Ferrari
Or a hand-knitted sweater
He doesn't care
What it is that you do
He's a psychopath Santa
And he's coming for you.

Santa Claus is coming to getcha!

And

We've gotta kill Santa

There’s a Santa on the Chimney
There’s a snowman on the lawn
There’s a polar bear astride the garden shed
There’s a reindeer in the garden
And a Christmas tree adorned
With flashing lights in white and green and red
A Merry Christmas in the window
Corners painted with fake snow
More red lights than Amersterdam at night
There’s a three foot plastic robin
Sitting there on show
It’s time we put an end to all this blight

We’ve got to Kill Santa, Santa’s got to go
It’s bad enough putting up with frost and ice and snow
Without this tackiness that descends each year to plague us
And turn suburban streets into copies of Las Vegas

There’s a turkey on the table
There are twenty pounds of sprouts
And mince pies enough to sink a battleship
There’s a drunkard in the armchair
Say’s he’s something to let out
Before loosening his belt and letting rip
There’s Christmas Cake and trifle
A Yule Log with paper holly
There are crackers, cheese and onions in a jar
There’s a feast to feed a hundred
With everyone still jolly
This conspicuous consumption’s gone too far

We’ve got to kill Santa, Santa Claus must die
He’s fattening us like turkeys, but no-one’s quite sure why
With so much food inside us we can’t move to get away
Whatever Santa’s up to he’s got to go today


There is tinsel in shop windows
There are jingles in the air
And the radio plays only Christmas songs
Christmas cards fill the mantlepiece
Though God knows why they’re there
You can’t remember half the folks they’re from
Carol singers at your front door
But they only know the words
To half a chorus of God Rest Ye Gentlemen
You give them ten p for their trouble
But it’s really quite absurd
In half an hour they’ll be back there again.

We’ve got to kill Santa, we need to do it now
We’ve got end this misery and there’s only one way how
We’ve got to kill Santa, that much must be clear
I’m not sure that we can tolerate another year

You may call me “misery guts”
Or Scrooge behind my back
“Hail, fellow and well met” if to my face
Say it’s clear the Christmas spirit
Is something that I lack
And avoid the briefest visit to my place
You don’t realise the true extent
Of how I hate this season
Or understand the things we might achieve
If I could just convince you
That we really have a reason
If I could persuade you to believe

That we’ve got to kill Santa, there really is no choice
We must be of one accord, we must have a single voice
This cruel despotic tyrant has been here for too long
Overthrowing such a monster surely can’t be wrong.

And one more, very short, one.

In Ecuador I’ve eaten ants straight from a log
In China I was served with a fricassee of dog
In Japan they give you blowfish but without the poison in
But Finnish supermarketes sell Rudolph, in a tin.


And a very thingy whatsit to both my readers.