Christmas Humorous Poems | Examples
These Christmas Humorous poems are examples of Humorous poems about Christmas. These are the best examples of Humorous Christmas poems written by international poets.
Bleep.
Tap.
Trolly overload.
Some look as if they consume too much;others,not enough.
Bleep Bleep.
Tap Tap.
Discount app,
Three for two.
Bleep bleep bleep.
Tap tap tap.
Some appear as if in a Zen-like state of grace;
Others, as if waiting on a delayed train.
Bleep bleep bleep
Tap tap tap.
Remove card now.
Bleep bleep bleep.
From start to finish.
I pray you had a joyous Yule with your relations,
And that Santa more than met your expectations!
'Twas the Season for joy, never feeling sad or blue;
That comes, dear friend, now that the credit card bills are due!
Then what to his wand'ring blund'ring eye should appear
A comely young lass willing to spread dread and fear
Even much better's she married much older
"All the better to see you my Dear and be bolder.
I delight in the fright and things will be dandy.
If it will be spread by some winsome eye candy."
All the while this Grinch swallows and wallows in pardon
While he plays DJ where the roses were gardened
You can hear 'midst the din, hue and cry in the land
But this is the guy who now picks the bands
That will be centering all our attention
There will be no mention of any dissension
Because Sinterclause cows the Press and the Right
"Merry Xmas to all", unless we say, "Good night!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“The cookies? Not mine.
The milk? A setup.
The glitter footprints
leading straight to my bed?
Circumstantial.”
“I swear on the tinsel~
this whole naughty thing
is a frame job.”
“Check your naughty list again,
Santa—someone’s pulling your beard.”
Yours (wrongfully accused),
A Very Framed Elf
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The scale winks,
knowing its silence
is complicit.
Christmas is made
of butter and mercy~
a brief, sweet amnesty
where every cookie
is just a crumb of
Christmas joy.
The holiday rule is simple:
if no one sees you eat it,
the snow absorbs the evidence,
and midnight erases the calories~
When in doubt, remember
Christmas calories don’t count.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midnight shakes frost
from his whiskers~
Chester the squirrel
slips into the chimney,
claws click on brick,
tail a question mark
in the soot.
Inside his sack:
acorns wrapped in tinfoil,
stolen sprigs of holly,
a walnut cracked open
to show its golden heart.
He leaves them
in boots,
on windowsills,
behind the dog’s water bowl
(just to watch him sniff).
Dawn finds Chester
back in his oak,
giddy
with sugarplum
theft,
dreaming of next year~
Maybe I’ll learn to drive a sleigh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He started with tinsel~
because, well,
it was shiny.
Draped it like ivy,
a haphazard garland
stuck to bark
with stolen gum.
The ornaments came next:
acorn caps,
a button from someone’s coat,
a soda tab,
and one fragile,
forgotten robin’s eggshell
balanced precariously
on the highest twig.
His crowning touch?
A popcorn strand,
half-eaten,
strung with the dedication
of a creature who believes
snacks improve everything.
The tree tilted slightly
under the weight
of his zeal,
but oh!~
how it sparkled
in the December sun,
a wild, crooked work of art
only a squirrel
could call perfect.
In Christmas this old man thought time was good
to drink foaming beer as much as he could.
Fell asleep after last sip,
did not fore-feel he would drip,
needed diaper cuddling babyhood.
Clyde yearned for a kiss 'neath the mistletoe
But not a gal took notice of his woe
The ladies just tittered
As by him they skittered
His fly was unzipped and ALL was aglow
Smog and blackouts led to an off-track sleigh,
‘til Rudolph’s red nose could not save the day.
Santa refused to show stress,
So he used his G-P-S*
To get Christmas Eve trek back on its way!
Smug Santa unloaded his sack
As Mrs Claus lay on her back
Hear her whoop, hear her cheer
Santa comes once a year
Cos nookie nights they sadly lack!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Porch becomes an altar of anticipation~
another box, another small salvation.
Who knew joy could arrive so flatly packaged,
wrapped in tape and mild neglect?
We whisper sweet nothings to the delivery app,
tracking miracles like digital wise men.
Out for delivery—the sacred hymn
of last-minute repentance.
Without Prime, we’d be marooned
in the land of sold out and backordered,
forced to gift IOUs and half-hearted hugs—
a truly unholy end to December.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The squirrel perched on a frost-kissed branch,
tail twitching like a metronome,
declared himself no longer Stan~
but Prancer, king of winter’s throne.
His acorns? Merely fallen stars.
His nest? A sleigh in need of crew.
The oaks stood still, the wind polite,
while jays erupted into uproarious heckles.
Undeterred, Stan bound a tin-can harness
to three confused but loyal flying beetles,
then leapt—and for one dazzling moment,
the gutter was his midnight sky.
Squirrel named Nutmeg, full of cheer,
Drank eggnog (his downfall, I fear).
Staggering with tail asway,
He leapt onto Santa's sleigh~
"On Prancer!" he shouted—oh dear!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, small gray squirrel with paws swift and horrific,
your crimes against Christmas stir outrage mythic.
Every December, the same dang fight~
you gnaw through our twinkling strands of light.
We’ve duct-taped. We’ve sprayed. We’ve begged you to cease;
yet, you chomp with a rodent’s relentless mouthpiece.
Your tiny teeth, sharper than Scrooge’s spite,
leave our lawn a dark, half-lit blight.
Next year, we’ll rig traps large and unbenign
or string the lights with razor wire design.
But deep down we know—you’ll win this war,
one chewed-up bulb at a time, you anarchic piece of forest lore.