a different christmas poem

#1
A Different Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the garden to a winter delight.


The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.


The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.


Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.


"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..


To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.


No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Grandfather died in France ' on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gran always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of Burma
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.


I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... a Union flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.


I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a trench with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."


" So go back inside," he said, "harbour no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."


Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."
 
#2
It sounded OK apart from the bit about the threesome with the wife and daughter.
 
#3
I'm sure this isn't different as I'm certain that I've read this before, every Christmas for the past couple of years
 
#5
'Twas the night before Desert-Storm
and all through Iraq
Not a weapon was stirring
not even a track.

When up, in the air,
there arose such a clatter
Saddam jumped from bed
to see what was the matter.

He whipped up the window,
threw open the sash -
And was narrowly missed
by Iraqi ack-ack!

And what before his bloodshot eyes
should ensue,
But an attack by Eagles,
and some Tornadoes too.

In nap-of-the-earth
the fighters they came.
They bombed as they went,
and they kicked ass by name!

"Hey Mohammed! Hey Abdullah!
Hey Terik-the-sleaze!
Here's a Maverick, some Snakeyes,
napalm if you please!"

Missile batteries, command posts,
the pilots zapped them with ease -
"Who said this was tough?
With Pave Tack it's a breeze!"

Then to the palace they turned
and they let their bombs fly
All the while screaming
"Death from the sky!"

One bomb, it was targeted
down the chimney and flue-
Not a mean feat
with a Mark Eighty-two!

The windows, they shattered
the chimney, it fell
And Saddam cleaned his trousers
while the bombers raised hell.

The aircrews yelled back
as they streaked out of sight,
"If it makes you feel better
we'll be bombing all night!"
 
#6
Have A Stealth Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,
Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.
Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds,
As enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.

Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube,
Was triply-redundant linked to the Blue Cube,
And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense,
That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.

When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter,
I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter,
I dialed up the gain and then quick as a flash,
Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.

And there found the source of the warning we'd heeded,
An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.
"Alert status red!" went the word down the wire,
As we gave every system the codes that meant "FIRE"!

On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk!
And scramble our fighters -- let's send the whole flock!
Launch decoys and missiles! Use chaff by the yard!
Get the kitchen sink up! Call the National Guard!

They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged,
Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,
And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,
As the foe met his fate in the high arctic night.

So we sent out some recon to look for debris,
Yet all that they found, both on land and on sea,
Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,
Broken sleighbells, white hair, and a deer's parachute.

Now it isn't quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.
There are unhappy kids in each village and town.
For the Spirit of Christmas can't hope to evade,
All the web of defenses we've carefully made.

Just look how the gadgets we use to protect us,
In other ways alter, transform, and affect us.
They keep us from things that make life more worth living,
Like love for each other, and thoughts of just giving.

But a crash program's on: Working hard, night and day,
All the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.
So let's wait for next Christmas, in cheer and in health,
For the future has hope: Santa's coming by stealth!
 
#7
thought i'd lighten up the mood a bit:

'Twas the month before Christmas,
And just for a stunt,
Santa had his face buried
In Mrs. Claus' c*nt.

There was a loud noise,
And Santa jumped with a start.
It seems Mrs. Claus had cut loose
With one hell of a fart.

All Santa could do was
gag and spit.
His face and his beard
Were all plastered with sh1t.

Mrs. Claus was still on the bed,
Panting and groaning,
Hollerin' for Santa to
Please get his bone in.

Santa started laughing and shouting,
And with a loud cheer,
He said "I know what I'll do,
I'll screw one of the deer."

They're cleaner and neater,
And don't you suppose,
They'll be just the right height,
If I stand on my toes.

Santa ran from the barn
Shaking his head at the noise.
"Jesus Christ, how was I to know
All the reindeer were boys?

It was getting about time
To head for the south.
Santa was hoping to be rid
Of the taste in his mouth.

As the reindeer proceeded
To line up all in fours,
Santa yelled "Merry Christmas Mrs. Claus
This vibrator is yours.

While Santa rode in the dark night,
His ass frozen to the sled,
He started thinking of Mrs. Claus
At home in her warm bed.

Santa spun around in mid air,
And headed back to the pole,
They say he never got farther
From that hairy old hole.

The moral of this story,
Will end with this bit,
Any job that you do,
You just have to take shit..........
 
#8
That was shite as well.
 
#10
The_Snail said:
That was shite as well.
and now for an example of a fine piece of poetry from u now? show us how it's done.
 
#11
intergeri said:
The_Snail said:
That was shite as well.
and now for an example of a fine piece of poetry from u now? show us how it's done.
still waiting :roll:

There's a bloke watching TV, and he hears a knock at the door. When he answers, there's no one to be seen!
Just as he's about to close the door, he hears a small voice say "Excuse me sir, could I interest you in a set of encyclopaedias?"
He looks down and sees a snail on his doorstep. Angered at being dragged away from the NSW v Qld State of Origin Match on the tube
by a snail selling encyclopaedias, he kicks the poor snail off his front steps and into the garden, before returning inside.
Six months later, there's a knock at the door. When he answers, there's no one there again.
He looks down and sees the snail, who asks "What did you do that for?"

i know it's an old joke :D
 
#12


In 1986, Peter Davies was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from North-western University.



On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Peter approached it very carefully.



He got down on one knee, inspected the elephant’s foot, and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Peter worked the wood out with his knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Peter stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Peter never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.



Twenty years later, Peter was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenage son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Peter and his son Cameron were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Peter, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.



Remembering the encounter in 1986, Peter could not help wondering if this was the same elephant. Peter summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing, and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Peter legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.



Probably wasn't the same elephant!



This is for everyone who sends me those heart-warming bullsh*t stories.
 
#14
Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except the dead mouse
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there

The children were tied and gagged in their beds
Where visions of bugs burrowed through their heads
And mamma in her body bag and I in my cap
Had just eaten some brains before a long winters nap

Where out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I got my hatchet to see what was the matter
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Threw aside the bodies and drew up the sash

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a blood-like luster to the corpses below
When what to my gouged-out eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and eight gutted reindeer

With an eaten away driver so shiny and slick
I knew in a moment it mustve been St. Nick
More rapid than ravens his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

Now, Shot! Now, Rot!
Now, Putrid and Death!
On, Moldy! On, Wormy!
On, Torn and Wreath!

To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
To the top of the mortuary!
Now dash away all!

As dry heads that before the wild death cart fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, heave to the sky
So up to the housetop the corpses they flew
With a sleigh full of dead babies, St. Nicholas, too

And then in a thumping I heard on the roof,
The sliding and pawing on each little stumped hoof
As I drew in my head and was stumbling around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a thump sound

He was dressed in tanned flesh from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with bloodspots and soot
A bundle of dead elves he flung on his back,
And he looked like a wolf about to cannibalize his pack

His eyes - how they chilled!
His dimples, how scary!
His cheeks rotting from his face,
His nose ripe like a berry!

His gaping mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as flaky as snow
The stump of a finger he held tight in his teeth,
And the blood, it encircled his face like a wreath

He had a broad face and a hollow round belly,
That emptied out on the ground like a bowl full of jelly
He was chubby and plump, A right hellish old zombie
And I laughed when I smelt him in spite of myself

I gouged out his eyes and twisted his head,
Until I knew I had nothing to dread
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings then fell with a jerk

And reattaching his face to his nose,
And giving a nod up the chimney he rose
He sprang to his sleigh to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew through the sharp tearing thistles

But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight,
Hand me a baby to munch on, its going to be a long night
____________________________________________
 

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