Scroll down the page to read all of the poems or click on a name to go to that poem. The Christmas Present By Billy M. Smallwood The Christmas Gift By David R. Caudell The Nutcracker General By A. Nan Emyss Christmas Ain't What It Used to Be Remona W. Winston Nails in the chimney, Ex-lax in the cookies.  “This,” she thought, “will give Santa Claus the poopies.”   In this delightfully funny Christmas poem by David R. Caudell, Sid plans quite a gift for Santa! Try reading this to the young ones in your family and see if they don’t laugh hysterically.     The Christmas Gift   Close your eyes; imagine a faraway land, with snow so thick, there’s no seeing the space between your face and hand.   Look in your imagination, do you see a castle in the snow? For that is where Santa Claus lives, with his elves, don’t you know?   He gives presents to good girls and boys, spreading Christmas love and handing out toys.   But what some people don’t know at all, is that he gives gifts to bad kids, too. But they don’t come from the mall.   This is one tale of such a bad kid— a mean little girl, who goes by the name of Sid.   Now Sid was a bad apple, that was surely right. She always got her way and often got into fights.   “Give me the ball!” she yelled at the other girls, punching them in the face and stealing their necklaces made of pearls.   When it was time for Christmas break and school let out for the year, she cleaned out her locker and brewed a scheme to steal Santa’s reindeer.   “I’m going to rob Santa, that fat bag of poo!” she bragged to Bobby Stevens and his best friend Josh, too.   “You can’t rob Santa!” Josh chimed in and said, “IF he comes to your house, you’ll probably be in bed!”   “What do you mean IF?” She shook her head full of curls, “I’ll slug you hard, if you tell Santa I’m not a good girl!”   Then before she left to get on the bus, she kicked Josh between the legs and then grabbed her stuff.   She wrote to Santa Claus, earlier in October. She told him she wanted tons of gifts: teddy bears, candy and a toy dog named Rover.   But then she stewed, and then she thought. She came to the conclusion, that she will take the entire lot.   When she got home, to her imaginable surprise, stood her younger brothers, little Carl and the baby, Guy.   “We heard at school, what you plan to do. We want to know, dear sister, is it true? Is it true?”   Well Sid knew now that she had been caught, when she saw Guy’s tears holding back, as his eyelids fought.   She said, “I don’t know what you are talking about. And Guy there is no reason for you to sit there and pout.”   “You act like Santa actually cares about you. On Christmas Eve, you will get nothing, you two!”   Sid turned and sneered and then walked away. “Christmas Eve,” she snarled, “those goody goodies will pay!”   So when Christmas Eve oh so finally came, she was ready to start her heartless game.   She set up traps, throughout her whole house. Sid even tested her little devices on her brother’s pet mouse.   She froze water on the roof, to make Santa fall and slip. She imagined him tumbling, falling off and doing flips.   Earlier she went to the farmer and bought a hive of bees! She placed it gently and carefully inside the family Christmas tree.   Nails in the chimney, Ex-lax in the cookies. “This,” she thought, “will give Santa Claus the poopies.”   Being mean to her brothers, those two angelic boys, she went under the tree, unwrapped and broke their Christmas toys.   When it was all done, she wrapped them back up again. “This,” she said, “will show them that Santa’s not their friend!”   And at the end of the day, she hung her sock. Then she scooted off to bed; to twelve in the morning, she set her clock.   Fast asleep, she heard a ring. The clock went off and she hit it with a loud ding!   Her plan was in effect, no turning back. She was going to steal Santa’s big sack.   She crept downstairs, in fear of waking her folks, when she saw something in the living room and it gave her a jolt!   Sitting in her father’s easy chair, was a man with red coat and lots of white hair.   She knew in a minute, as she stood there and paused, this guy staring back at her was Santa Claus.   With his bag full of toys sitting by his side, she about fainted, as he looked directly into her eyes.   “Dear little Sidney, do not fear. I will not cause you any harm, my dear.”   Then Santa stood up and Sid jumped back, as he dusted himself off and picked up his sack.   “Your little traps did not succeed. And these gifts you wanted, you will not need.”   “But there is one gift, I want to give and leave, a little reminder that will make you believe.”   Then he reached in his sack and handed her a box which was small. She unwrapped the gift and looking inside, this is what she saw:   Children and folks, starving down the street. They had no shelter, warmth, or an ounce to eat.   Men and women, in foxholes across the seas, dying and suffering to make this country free.   The mightiest vision, came next to her eyes— the Christ child babe, who was born to die.   Not a cry or a whimper did the babe make, as wise men and shepherds paid homage for Heaven’s sake.   Then she felt something that she hadn’t felt in years— down Sid’s cheek, fell a stream of tiny tears.   Santa smiled and to the chimney he darted, but not before he bent down and into Sid’s direction he farted.   “That’s for those Ex-Lax cookies, you greedy, little brat. I have to admit, that I, Santa Claus, fell for that!”   Then he disappeared; up the chimney he flew, as Sidney stood there, smelling Santa’s poo.   That Christmas was the best she ever had, with no presents at all, but she wasn’t sad.   She discovered that Christmas doesn’t come from the North Pole, that Christmas comes all year, from your heart and soul.   And ever since that oh so fateful night, Sidney worked hard, and turned all her wrongdoings to right.   © Copyright 2005, David R. Caudell   Click here to read David Caudell's Bio.   The Christmas Present By Billy M. Smallwood     Billy Smallwood’s Story of “The Christmas Present”:   I believe it to contain a lot in such a few words, my son, who I lost 2 years ago in a tragic accident, was 28. Brent called it a tingle story the first time he heard it, ‘cause it made his back tingle at the end of the story. I miss him so, two years ago this Sunday. The story is now 12 years old this Christmas Eve 2005. When I wrote it, we scratched up $12.00 throughout the whole house to have a Christmas Eve Dinner at Checker Hamburger. It was the best hamburger I ever ate. We were bankrupt, working double shifts just to survive, seemed the lowest point in my life but which I refused to cave in to it because the family I loved so dear were depending on me to pull it off. I caved into myself and wrote songs and stories of which this one made more sense about my situation than any.   Thank the mercy of the Good Lord those days are past; we still have our unpleasant misfortunes from time to time, but all in all, God Blessed us and pulled us out of that hardest of times. This story was written so I would never forget the needs of others who are now where I was then. It’s kinda’ like a present from me to them. The Christmas Present.   God Bless Us Everyone.   The Christmas Present By Billy M. Smallwood I heard a knock on my door one Christmas Eve; as I looked out my window, a man I could see; he was cold and seemed so lonely and upon a bended knee. He asked, “Can you spare anything for me to eat . . . ?” I opened up the door and as I helped him in, he looked up at me with such a peaceful grin. As he drank down some coffee and had a bite to eat, I put more wood on the fire so he could warm his feet. . . . Over there by the fireplace he warmed his tired hands. I wonder where did he come from, this quiet, white haired man? But I wasn't at all afraid of his peaceful ways, you see, this man dressed in poor, almost as poor as me. . . . As he left, he turned and thanked me for all I had done, but he forgot to take his gloves, so out the door I run. He was gone in the blizzard and I couldn't hardly see, so I took his ole gloves back to the house with me. . . . Just a little after midnight, I awoke in the dark; there wasn't a bit of fire, just glowing cinders—a little spark, and where I'd placed his gloves by my little Christmas tree, there laid a brand new pair, and a Christmas Card for me. And it read. . . . You gave me shelter and food to keep me warm; you even tried to bring me my old gloves in the storm, so here's you a new pair,. . . the finest ever seen . . . As an angel of the Lord, I'll be sure to tell the King. . . . Merry Christmas . . .   © Copyright 2005, Billy M. Smallwood   Links to pages people have made for this story:    G:\Holidays2005\site1\christmas17.htm G:\Holidays2005\site2\The Christmas Present.htm G:\Holidays2005\site3\Christmas Celebrations, Traditions and Kids Activities.htm G:\Holidays2005\site4\Christmas Stories From Cathy.htm G:\Holidays2005\site5\CHriStMas_HeArtBreAkEr's Xanga Site.htm http://www.ahapoetry.com/oma1200C.HTM http://www.tugnet.org/images/December%202004.pdf http://www.santasearch.org/texts.asp?Do=4&TextID=698 http://ksteveh.tripod.com/christmaslight/id3.html http://www.walkthroughlife.com/input/angelstorieslog.htm http://www.techdirect.com/christmas/poetry.html http://nl.msnusers.com/GranniesAttic/merrychristmas.msnw   The Nutcracker General By A. Nan Emyss     The Nutcracker General   He’s a Christmas perennial and the favorite of carols; in all of the barracks his legend is max!   He likes dressing up, attending a ball, performs seasonal musicals: keeps time with his boot clacks playing fiddle or sax.   White slacks or black, sweater of wool, covers these with jackets of jewels, his boots shine with wax and stars in the tracks.   He’s the Nutcracker General, and most worthy of herald; he protects Santa’s sacks with a trident and ax!   When Evil attacks, the trident he’ll hurl, beyond meadow or mountain, valley, or hill; standing with a straight back he strongly fights back!   Though his career’s fighting evil, toward the good he is gentle, leading the barracks, his legend is max!   © Copyright 2005, A. Nan Emyss   Click here to read A. Nan Emyss' Brief Bio.   CHRISTMAS AIN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE By Remona W. Winston   It was ‘round about ol’ Christmas time We were sittin’ around shooting the breeze and sippin’ on wine talkin’ ‘bout what the kids want for Christmas this time all these high priced games, videos and stuff like that remembering when we were happy to just sit around and chit chat Now it’s money they want and not a dollar bill I'm talkin fiftys and hundreds like it ain't no big deal Man please is all we can say Get you a job then you can expect it to be that a way Child please I don't care what everybody else got You better go somewhere and sit down ‘cause you ‘bout to get knocked out I ain't ‘bout to be in debt trying to pay off all these credit cards just so you can be a big baller and try to break some li’l girl’s heart You better listen to me and realize you better be who you can be and not try to keep up with the joneses down the street ‘cause you don't know what they doing to put them $200 shoes on their feet. Christmas comes but once a year and evrbody got the reason all messed up Jesus is the reason for the season and not just a time to rent a tux. So ‘preciate what you already got Be glad you got what the next man has not. Be glad, Be glad, Be glad instead stop being so greedy and take yoursel’ to bed. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas.   © Copyright 2005, Remona W. Winston   Click here to read Remona W. Winston’s Brief Bio.   Click here to return to HUMDINGER LITERARY E-ZINE.