Christmas is coming,
It's very nearly here,
A time for fun and laughter,
For joy, goodwill, and cheer.

So we'd like to thank our members,
Each and every one,
For another year of education,
Inspiration, chat, and fun.

A very merry Christmas,
We wish to each of you,
Have a jolly festive season,
And a happy New Year too.

My hope is for a lot more years,
to spend with all you blokes.
You're all my favorite people,
the very best of folks.

And so a festive Crimbo wish
to you and all of yours.
Let's go on celebrating,
share love between our shores.

This is the time for giving, mates!
Let's love our fellow man.
Just please, no figgy pudding, though.
I'll skip it if I can.

It's time for me to close this rhyme,
and bring it to it's end.
With only one last thing to say,
"which way to the loo?"

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my Electronic Mouse
The stocking were hung by the chimney with care
Inside each was a right Royal Scare.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
The grown up's all downstairs, pished out their heads
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap
Waited patiently while mamma took a late evening crap

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed busting for a scatter
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and took that needed slash.

That's the first three verses, anyone care to continue. 

When what, to my wondering eyes should appear,
but some little street punk, making off with my deer!
"Hey, put back my lawn kitch!" I yelled in a rage,
"Or I'll beat you to death, REGARDLESS of age!"

The little bastage just laughed, with a bit of a smirk,
"You'll never outrun me, your threats just won't work!"
So I pulled out my pistol, and took careful aim,
"So I'll shoot you right there. It's all quite the same"

Well, the street punk went ghostly, dropped his loot, and then fled,
and behind me shouts Mamma, "Are you out of your head!?"
"But that street punk was stealing" shouted I in retort,
Mamma said, "so you'd shoot him? Oh my GAWD, where's the sport?

"Take the car, and go chase him, run him down if you can,
but don't shoot him, you idjit! Use your head! Make a plan!"
By this time, that young street punk, so lively and quick,
simply vanished to nowhere, and it made me quite sick.

"Now you see what you've done here?" shouted I to my wife,
"Little bastage, he's gone now! And I swear on my life!
Never will I forget him, for as long as I live,
and if ever I see him, what a thrashing I'll give!"





Ok, next?

Although this does look like a good game
I cannot rhyme, it is such a blot
I am so bad the disgrace makes me boil
I have so little to show from all of this hard work.

As christmas comes near, I wish you all good will.
Another year over and I'm over the bluff
So, don't get angry and go off in a rage
At my inability to rhyme on this forum.

To rhyme is not essential; it's the sentiment that counts,
And your poem is rather clever, the feelings of good will surmounts,
Our deep regretful sadness, the loss within our heart,
For the absence of our dear friend, oh where, oh where, is Art?

The literature board is waiting; we hope he will return,
To share his thoughts and suggestions, which help us all to learn.
So I've made a wish to Santa, on behalf of our community,
That Art will come and visit and bring joy to you and me.