#santa
Sevena Smith
With seven faces
(One with a beard),
The girl next-door
Is kinda weird.
Little Alice Liddell
O Little Alice Liddell went,
All on a summer's day,
Down, down a deep, dark rabbit hole,
Landed, and went her way
Adventuring through Wonderland,
Where face cards played croquet.
She made some friends, and drank some tea,
And proved a right good lass.
She barely kept her head, and then
Awoke on English grass.
When back she went to Wonderland
'T was through the looking glass.
Gunther Gutenjunge
Gunther Gutenjunge's an eellogofusciouhipoppokunurious boy
With a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious cat,
A ztyxnmweqbdvghrpakcfljious dog,
And a baby brother who's an acrasial brat.
The Skipper
The skipper is skipping and skipping and skipping
And skipping and skipping and skipping and tripping.
Nicholas Claus
A fella named Nicholas Claus
Can't ever skip Christmas because
He delivers the toys
To the good girls and boys
Whose cookies are made for his jaws.
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 4:08 AM UTC
Santa Claus a jolly old man
In his red suit and he flies
On Reindeer on Christmas night
With rudolph fast as lighting and Santa
He boys and girls gifts all around the world
He slides down chimneys quiet as a mouse
And leaves us presents in our house
A twinkle in his eye a beard so white
Santa brings joy to all little children in the night.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 12:49 PM UTC
On the ground
I
Beat
My
Fists
****** mud cakes on cold, numb hands as i beat my grief-stricken syncopation. Howling wails deep from pain I've not felt tare out my mouth with convulsing sobs and the memories of things not yet done play havoc on my already streched thin mind.
I plead, but mercy is not a currency traded in this sorrow laden mire.
After my time in eternity, i rise to my feet knowing that my time has come and to meet with destiny, the meeting is at 8.
Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 4:17 PM UTC
The stores overheated, by a plethora of peeps
(people, for the younger crowd:)
Bruised and battered shoppers, making financial leaps
Credit cards overloaded, checkbook, over drawn
Buyin all those lights, inflatables, for the house and the lawn
Presents piled high, neath the Tree
Even for the relatives, that we hardly ever see
Come the day, observe, their faces all alight
For we know, the bills, will do far more than bite
Usury a term they use, for predatory banks
Santa Claus' the one, all of us will curse, and yes, thank!
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 8:37 AM UTC
I love Christmas. How the snow softly falls,
the togetherness of family and the joy of that day that comes around once a year. The presents under the tree. The glowing lights on houses and trees, lights decorating the eaves, and little blow up Santa's in the yards of peoples houses. I like to think of Christmas as a day that brings joy and happiness. Where the world is less gloomy and grey. Where you can see the children's happy smiles and the glow of their faces as they see what's under the tree. I love Christmas the smell of hot cocoa, apple cider, and the faint smell of pine drifting in the breeze. The Christmas lights strewn all around blinking and adding just enough joy to the day. On cold days where I can play in the snow throw snowballs and make snowmen with each snowflake that falls. I love Christmas the best holiday of all.
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 6:25 PM UTC
(Parody song seven of seven from the nonexistent, but soon to come out 🤞🏼 album "Naughty Kid Lane: The Ballad of the New Santa")
(To the tune of "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah")
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!
My, oh my, what a wonderful day!
No more list-checking, no more big sleigh,
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!
Mister Red Suit, I'm writing to you,
Heard your old gang is making you blue!
Heard they threw coal right straight at your head,
Makes me so happy, tucked in my bed!
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!
How does it feel to work every day?
I'm eating candy, and watching TV,
So glad that you are now you, and I'm me!
Remember the curse I told you was true?
You thought I was lying, the joke is on you!
Your belly is growing, your back's getting sore,
You don't get a weekend, not anymore!
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!
I'm going outside, it's sunny, let's play!
Have fun with the elves and the mountains of mail,
It's funny 'cause you're in a magical jail!
It's funny 'cause you're in a magical jail!
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 12:21 PM UTC
(Parody song six of seven from the nonexistent, but soon to come out 🤞🏼 album "Naughty Kid Lane: The Ballad of the New Santa")
(To the tune of a classic narrative folk ballad, like "The Ballad of Billy the Kid")
Come gather 'round, ye children dear, and a story I will tell,
'Bout Nasty Nick's first year in charge, a truly living hell.
He won the fight, he took the suit, the beard, the sleigh, the sack,
But he forgot the naughty crew he'd left upon his track.
He sat upon the ruby throne, his face a ghastly white,
The magic of the suit compelled him to do what was right.
He checked the list, he fed the deer, he oversaw the shop,
But in the mines, he heard a chant he knew he couldn't stop.
It was the sound of angry kids, the ones he'd led before,
They banged their shovels on the rocks and rattled at the door.
"We want our Nick!" they cried as one, "The leader of the bad!"
"Not this new Santa, fat and old, and looking oh-so-sad!"
The foreman, a tough elf named Gus, came running to the throne,
"They've started a rebellion, sir! They're breaking all the stone!"
"They've made a list of new demands, it's pinned up on the wall,"
"They want more candy, fewer chores, and games of dodge-the-wall!"
So Nick went down, the new St. Nick, his belly all a-jiggle,
He saw his friends, "Glue-Gun" Sue and "Tripping" Timmy giggle.
"Well, look who's here!" cried Timmy, "If it isn't Mr. Claus!"
"Come to demand we work for you and follow all your laws?"
"Now listen, guys," said Santa Nick, his voice a nervous plea,
"The job's not what I thought it was, it's changed the heart of me!"
Sue threw a lump of coal that bounced right off his velvet hat,
"You sold us out, you big balloon! For what? To be a rat?"
He tried to tell them of the curse, the magic, and the pain,
How winning meant he'd lost himself, a truly awful chain.
But all they saw was their old friend, now plump and dressed in red,
The ultimate authority, the one they wished was dead.
And so he spends his lonely nights, a king without a friend,
His old crew hates the man he is, until the bitter end.
He delivers toys to all the good, with a tear in his sad eye,
For the naughtiest kid of all is trapped, and can't do aught but cry.
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 12:19 PM UTC
(Parody song five of seven from the nonexistent, but soon to come out 🤞🏼 album "Naughty Kid Lane: The Ballad of the New Santa")
(To the tune of "Carol of the Bells")
Hark, how the bells, bitter bells, all seem to say, "Throw him away!"
Christmas is here, bringing fear, Santa's dark rage, from his gold cage!
See the boy run, it's no fun, Santa descends, this is the end!
Nick is so fast, will it last? Santa's old might, ends it tonight!
"Think you can flee?" chuckles he, "Flee from your fate, you're far too late!"
"I was a boy, full of joy, just like you now, broke every vow!"
(Chorus builds)
"I was the first, I was the worst! Naughty and proud, shouted out loud!"
"Challenged the role, lost my own soul, now I am bound, this merry-go-round!"
"This is the curse, nothing is worse! One must be me, for eternity!"
"If you should win, you'll be locked in! You'll wear the suit, I'll be rebooted, free and acute!"
(Action intensifies)
Nick throws a gear, full of fear, Santa just swats, tying up knots!
Rope made of light, shining so bright, wraps 'round the boy, stealing his joy!
"No!" Nick does cry, up to the sky, Santa just sighs, looks in his eyes.
"You fought so well, welcome to Hell," Santa declares, "Answer their prayers!"
(The transformation begins)
Nick starts to swell, breaking the spell, beard growing white, in the cold night!
Belly gets round, right on the ground, suit turns to red, fills him with dread!
Santa grows thin, sheds his old skin, turning back to a boy, whooping with joy!
"I am now free! You are now me!" laughs the old Nick, sealing the fate!
Hark, how the bells, bitter bells, all seem to say, "There's no escape!"
The new Santa's here, filled with fear, trapped in the role, he's lost his soul!
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas...
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas...
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 12:18 PM UTC
(Parody song four of seven from the nonexistent, but soon to come out 🤞🏼 album "Naughty Kid Lane: The Ballad of the New Santa")
(To the tune of "Frosty the Snowman")
Nasty Nick, the naughty kid, was a pain throughout the year,
He had a coal-black heart and two big ears, and a permanent, smug sneer.
Nasty Nick, the naughty kid, is a legend, I've been told,
He was thrown in Santa's sack one night, but he was much too bold!
There must have been some magic in that old lock-pick he found,
For when he slipped it from his shoe, he began to look around.
Oh, Nasty Nick, the naughty kid, was as sly as he could be,
And the other kids all said, "How can we get out and be free?"
He led them on a great escape, right from that burlap sack,
He said, "Let's run, we'll have some fun, and we're not coming back!"
Thumpity-thump-thump,
Thumpity-thump-thump,
Look at Nasty go!
Thumpity-thump-thump,
Thumpity-thump-thump,
Over the Christmas snow!
Nasty Nick, the naughty kid, knew the sun was not his friend,
'Cause Santa would be after him, right up until the end.
So he said, "Santa's coming, but we've got a plan, you see!"
"We'll hide out in the workshop and we'll set the reindeer free!"
He waved goodbye, saying, "Don't you cry, I'll be back on Christmas Day!"
(To steal all of the presents and then make a getaway!)
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 12:16 PM UTC
(Parody song three of seven from the nonexistent, but soon to come out 🤞🏼 album "Naughty Kid Lane: The Ballad of the New Santa")
(To the tune of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch")
You're a mean one, little brat,
You really are a heel.
You're as pleasant as a cat, with tape stuck to its back, you little brat!
You're a monster, little Tim!
Your heart's an empty hole,
Your brain is full of schemes,
You've got garlic in your soul, little Tim!
I'm assessing the an-nual damage, and I'd like to be specific in my summary...
You're a vile one, little Sue,
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, little Sue!
Given the choice between the two of you, I'd take the seasick crocodile!
You're a foul one, Master Jack,
You're a nasty, wasty skunk!
Your soul is full of gunk, Master Jack!
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote:
"Stink! Stank! Stunk!"
You're a rotter, little Jane,
You're the king of sinful sots!
Your heart's a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots, little Jane!
Your soul is an appalling dump heap, overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable ******* imaginable, mangled up in tangled up knots!
You nauseate me, naughty crew!
With a nauseous super-naus!
You're a crooked jerky jockey and you drive a crooked hoss, you naughty crew!
You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich...
With arsenic sauce!
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 12:14 PM UTC
(Parody song two of seven from the nonexistent, but soon to come out 🤞🏼 album "Naughty Kid Lane: The Ballad of the New Santa")
(To the tune of "We're Off to See the Wizard")
We're off to see the North Pole,
The wonderful North Pole of dread!
We hear he has a coal mine
To match the words we said!
The words we said, the things we did, the pranks we pulled all year,
We're off to see the North Pole, the wonderful North Pole of fear!
So, you're the kid who glued the cat
Right to your father's head?
And you're the one who told your aunt
You wished that she was dead?
Well, I'm the one who swapped the sugar out with salt, you see,
It seems that Santa's workshop has no sense of comedy!
We're off to see the North Pole,
The wonderful North Pole of dread!
I bet he'll make us work all night
And never go to bed!
But listen up, you rejects, you delinquents, and you thieves,
I think we've got enough kids here to bring him to his knees!
So, let's all stick together,
A nasty, naughty crew.
When he opens up this sack of his,
He won't know what to do!
We'll tie him up with tinsel, and we'll hijack his whole sleigh,
And then we'll take the good kids' toys and finally fly away!
We're off to see the North Pole,
The wonderful North Pole of dread!
But we'll become the rulers of
The North Pole in his stead!
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 12:12 PM UTC
(Parody song one of seven from the nonexistent, but soon to come out 🤞🏼 album "Naughty Kid Lane: The Ballad of the New Santa")
(To the tune of "Here Comes Santa Claus")
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Right down Naughty Kid Lane!
He's got a list of punks and brats, and he's checking it again.
Bells are ringing, children screaming, all is full of dread,
'Cause Santa Claus is coming to ****** you from your bed!
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Right down Naughty Kid Lane!
He doesn't care 'bout cookies left, or your whining, or your pain.
He tiptoes to your bedroom, while you're sleeping sound and deep,
To grab another little monster who refused to go to sleep!
He sees you drew upon the walls and blamed your baby brother,
He knows you told your grandma that you wished you had another.
He's got a giant, magic sack, that's wiggling and it's lumpy,
It's filled with other children who were arrogant and grumpy!
So listen for his sleigh bells, and the crunching on the roof,
It isn't gifts he's bringing, 'cause he's got all the proof.
Hang your stockings, say your prayers, and hope he passes you,
'Cause Santa Claus is coming for... YOU!
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 12:09 PM UTC
Part I: The Prequel - Genesis of the Cosmic Mirth
Where the Bifröst’s bright colors were running too fast,
And the echoes of Odin’s great laughter were cast,
A new god was born in a shimmer of light,
To bring structured joy to the long winter night.
He was Jólnir-Klaus, with a beard like the snow,
And a coat woven bright where the Auroras glow.
His staff was a stalk of the mushroom so grand,
The red-spotted magic that blooms in the land.
He was Structured Joy, with a twinkle and plan,
The benevolent trip for the soul of the man.
His reindeer were clouds of bright, vaporous smoke,
And his sleigh was a vessel for one cosmic joke.
But from Niflheim’s corners, where shadows are spun,
And reality’s rules are ignored, one by one,
Came a creature of chaos, a trickster of glee,
The offspring of Garmr, the hound of the free.
He was Giggle-Garm, with a coat that would shift,
From the blue of a bruise to the gold of a gift.
His hooves left a trail of bright, shimmering runes,
And he danced to the tune of the lunatic moons.
His Iron Chains were not forged of the steel,
But of pure, uncontrollable laughter you feel,
A sound that would bind you, a dizzying spell,
The Chaotic Mirth from the deepest, dark well.
They met on the peak of the world, in the haze,
Of a thousand impossible, shimmering days.
They shared the first Yule-Trip, a vision so deep,
They flew through the worlds while the mortals did sleep.
They painted the sky with the hues of the mad,
And invented the concept of presents they had.
"Let's give them the joy that is perfectly planned,"
Said Klaus, with a list in his perfectly gloved hand.
"No, let's give them nonsense! A fish that can sing!
A key to a door that means nothing!" Garm would swing.
And the First Pact was sealed with a shared, hearty roar,
To bring joy and confusion to mortals evermore.
Part II: The Schism - The Split of the Joke
But the nature of joy is a tricky affair,
And the need for a system hung heavy in air.
Klaus grew obsessed with the chimney and list,
The perfect delivery that could not be missed.
He polished his sleigh and he timed every flight,
To bring Mirthful Order to every dark night.
"The Mirth must be delivered with structure," he cried,
"Or the beautiful feeling will simply subside!"
But Garm saw the structure as prison and cage,
A terrible blot on the cosmic, bright page.
He yearned for the days of the glorious spill,
The joy that could shatter a mortal’s free will.
"Your structure is poison! Your list is a lie!
The chaos is truth that is written on high!
The Mirth must be unbound!" the Hound did declare,
"Let the dizzying nonsense hang heavy in air!"
Then Garm played the prank that would shatter the bond,
The ultimate joke that the two worlds beyond
Had never conceived in their wildest of dreams:
He turned Klaus’s sleigh into shimmering seams
Of a Sentient Gingerbread House, soft and sweet,
With frosting that whispered of glorious defeat.
He swapped out the list for a scroll of bright lies,
And turned the whole journey to pure, mad surprise.
Klaus, though he chuckled, saw danger in this,
The chaos that threatened the Yule-Night’s soft kiss.
He tried to impose a Rune of Logic so neat,
And wove it in threads of a bright candy treat.
"This will bind your wild spirit, dear brother," he said,
"And keep the sweet chaos inside of your head."
But Garm snapped the cane with a giggle and sneer,
"You try to cage laughter? You try to cage fear?
Then let the great battle begin, I proclaim!
The Split of the Joke is the end of the game!"
Part III: The Battle - The Yule-Trip War
The battle was set in the Hall of Pure Mirth,
A place where the laws of the heavens and earth
Were melted like wax, where the clocks dripped and ran,
And the floor was a trampoline, bouncy and grand.
Klaus stood on the ceiling, his staff held on high,
A beacon of red 'gainst the lavender sky.
He raised the Mushroom-Staff, and with a great shout,
He summoned a blizzard of rainbow snow out.
It sang in a thousand bright, dissonant tones,
And rained down on Garm, who was gnawing on stones.
Klaus hurled a great wave of Structured Glamour and might,
Perfectly wrapped presents that burst into light,
Releasing benevolent, dizzying visions,
Of logic and love and precise, sweet decisions.
But Garm was a master of Chaotic Intensity,
He met the bright gifts with a dizzying density.
He lashed out his Chains of Giggles so fast,
A sound that made the bright firmament crack and not last.
The laughter was physical, sharp as a knife,
It threatened to sever the thread of all life.
He turned Klaus’s beard to a flock of bright birds,
That chirped out the most nonsensical words.
Klaus, laughing, turned Garm’s chains to a bright,
Spinning carousel, bathed in pure, golden light.
Garm turned Klaus’s sleigh to a two-dimensional print,
A flat, cardboard cutout without any hint
Of the depth or the magic it held in its core,
And the battle raged on, with a mirthful, loud roar.
The final attack was a dizzying rush,
A close-quarters combat, a scramble, a crush.
Klaus tried to pin Garm with a blanket of stars,
Garm met him with pure, unadulterated guffaws.
The nine worlds began to wobble and sway,
As the Tickle-Fight threatened to end the bright day.
Part IV: The Resolution and Epilogue
Then, in a moment of pure, shared delight,
They both tumbled down from the ceiling of light.
They lay on the trampoline floor, side by side,
And the laughter that bound them could no longer hide.
The battle was over, the weapons all gone,
The greatest of jokes had been played and then drawn.
"You are too much of structure," Garm gasped with a tear,
"And you are too much of the chaos, my dear!"
Klaus wiped a bright tear from his eye, red and grand,
"The battle was perfect, the best in the land!"
And so they agreed to the Final Great Truce,
A pact that the two would forever produce
The joy of the Yule-Night, in two different ways:
Klaus gets the structure, the chimneys, the praise,
The gifts that are needed, the lists that are true,
But Garm gets the "after-party," wild and new.
He follows the sleigh, with his giggling sound,
To ensure that the joy is delightfully unbound.
They rose from the floor, with a wink and a nod,
The two sides of mirth, the two faces of God.
They shared a great cup of the spiced, glowing mead,
And planned the next year’s impossible deed.
The cycle continues, the Eternal Great Joke,
The light and the chaos, the words that are spoke.
The sleigh is a cloud, and the hound is a friend,
And the psychedelic Yule-Trip will never quite end.
The Mirth is the measure, the chaos the key,
And the two Norse-born brothers fly wild and free.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
I. The Frost-Born Origins
In the yawning halls of Yggdrasil’s dream,
Where roots drink fire and branches gleam,
Two spirits stirred in the northern mist—
One of laughter, one of fist.
Klaus, the red-robed wanderer bold,
Forged from Odin’s breath and Freyja’s gold,
His sleigh a ship of starlit runes,
His bells the echo of cosmic tunes.
Krampus, horned from Hel’s own sigh,
A beast of shadow, a trickster’s eye,
He danced with Loki in caverns deep,
And woke the guilty from their sleep.
II. The Pact of Balance
Long they roamed the ninefold spheres,
Balancing joy with mortal fears.
Klaus bestowed gifts of mirth and cheer,
Krampus lashed those who lied insincere.
Together they were yin and flame,
Two sides of justice, one ancient name.
But mirth is a drug, a dazzling light,
And envy grew in the beast of night.
III. The Psychedelic Betrayal
On a night when the sky was a serpent’s tongue,
And the stars sang songs that had never been sung,
Krampus laughed with a manic grin,
And shattered the pact with chains of sin.
Colors bled from the northern sky,
Auroras screamed, the moon did cry.
Klaus, with eyes of ember bright,
Raised his staff against the night.
IV. The Cosmic Battle
Upon the rainbow bridge they fought,
Bifröst trembled, the gods distraught.
Klaus hurled gifts that burst like suns,
Krampus swung chains that sang like drums.
The air was thick with fractal flame,
The world itself forgot its name.
Children dreamed of candy skies,
While wolves laughed with emerald eyes.
V. The Hint of Mirth
Yet even as they clashed with might,
A strange delight adorned the fight.
For Klaus would wink, and Krampus grin,
Two rivals bound by ancient kin.
** beast!” cried Klaus, “your chains are loud!”
“Ha, saint!” roared Krampus, “your bells are proud!”
And in their mirth, the cosmos spun,
A carnival of frost begun.
VI. The Eternal Dance
Now each winter, the tale is told,
Of Klaus the bright and Krampus bold.
Not merely foes, but jesters twinned,
Two Norse-born spirits, chaos-skinned.
They battle, laugh, and weave the night,
A psychedelic storm of frost and light.
And mortals dream, both dread and cheer,
For Klaus and Krampus always near.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:52 AM UTC
In the swirling mists of Yggdrasil’s embrace,
Where time dissolves in a kaleidoscopic space,
Lived legends woven from threads of rune,
From frost’s whisper to fire’s tune.
From the cold, breath-hinted halls of the All-Father,
Odin’s wild spirit, a wanderer—further and further,
Brewed a dream in the mead of the gods’ desire,
A tale of two shadows, one spun of frost, one of fire.
From the Great Yggdrasil’s Branches
Santa Klaus, a jolly old soul,
With eyes that twinkle like a distant star’s goal,
His beard a cascade of midnight snow,
A vessel of laughter, of gift and glow.
He rode a sleigh of shimmering rune-wood,
Led by shimmering deer, divine and good,
His coat woven from the aurora’s thread,
His belly shaking with mirth and dread.
Born from Odin’s trickster’s grin,
A spirit that dances deep within,
He roams through dreams and cosmic haze,
A cheer-spreader through the labyrinth’s maze.
And from the shadows, twisted and grinning,
Krampus awoke—sinister, spinning,
Born in the gnarl of Norse myth’s core,
A beast of darkness, myth and more.
His horns like spiraled cosmic waves,
His eyes—mad galaxies, a blazing rave,
Claws dripping with nebula’s night,
A creature of chaos, grinning wide.
A Psychedelic Prequel
In a hallucinogenic whirl of fate,
They met beneath the astral gate,
Where visions flickered—stars and bones,
A surreal dance amidst Norse stones.
Santa’s laughter echoed a kaleidoscope tune,
Like bells that sang in a psychedelic monsoon,
He tossed a gift—an orb of light,
That flickered in the cosmic night.
Krampus cackled, a guttural roar,
Riding the winds of a rainbow’s core,
His chains chiming a dark lullaby,
A melody of mischief in a swirling sky.
They spun through realms of endless hue,
Where dreams and shadows both ran through,
A game of jest, a wild delight,
In the psychedelic Norse night.
The Spectral Confrontation
Suddenly, the universe swayed and spun,
As magic collided—chaos and fun,
Krampus leapt with a twisted grin,
His claws a tapestry of psychedelic spin.
Santa countered with a joyful cry,
A burst of colors, a rainbow’s eye,
Their clash became a cosmic dance,
A swirling whirl of chance and trance.
Chains of glittering stardust curled and spun,
While Santa’s staff cast a nebula run,
Laughing at worlds erupting in mirth,
A war of wits on the astral Earth.
Mirth and madness—side by side,
In a carnival of myth far and wide,
They battled with a psychedelic flair,
A spectacle of cosmic dare.
The Mirthful Resolution
In the end, amidst shimmering tears,
They shook the chaos—calmed their fears,
Krampus grinned, a grin so wide,
And Santa chuckled, swelling with pride.
For in their absurd, kaleidoscopic fight,
They found a truth—how dark and bright,
Are threads of the same Norse dream,
A cosmic joke, a mythic gleam.
So now they dance in the nebula’s glow,
In realms of wonder where visions flow,
Mirth and chaos, joy and fear,
Bound in the tales we hold so dear.
And in each winter’s psychedelic haze,
Their legend burns in mystical blaze,
A tale of fun, of myth, of lore—
Santa Klaus and Krampus, forevermore.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:51 AM UTC
In elder snows before the sagas,
Before Odin dreamed of womb and war,
Two brothers rose from Yggdrasil’s frost—
One wreathed in gold, one in embered maw.
Santa Klaus, the North’s bright keeper,
Born from sparks of Baldr’s grin,
Gathered laughter in his furs,
And bound it to the wintry wind.
Krampus crawled from Hel’s deep ember,
Hooves aflame upon the ice,
Tongue like a serpent tasting sin,
Eyes twin moons of mischief’s price.
Together they strode through glacier halls,
Trading gifts of joy and fright:
Klaus gave dawn to weary hearts,
Krampus stole the dreams of night.
They wagered over souls and songs—
Whose melody could move the stars?
Krampus hummed of chaos wild,
Klaus of hearths and mead-filled jars.
The gods looked down from snowy heights,
And toasted both with horns of mead,
For laughter needs its shadow-skein,
And cruelty must sow the seed.
When Ragnarok’s drums began to sound,
They met beneath the aurora’s crown.
Klaus with bells of molten gold,
Krampus chained in thorn and frown.
“Come, brother,” Klaus boomed, voice of thunder,
“Let us tend this world once more.”
Krampus grinned, uncoiling laughter,
“Let’s feed it madness, like before.”
So they spun the wintry firmament,
Klaus planting stars like apples ripe,
Krampus painting skies with ash—
A tapestry of wrong and right.
Out of that dance came color strange,
A northern light, a cosmic jest.
Children dreamt of gifts and hooves,
Of kindness, fear, and well-earned rest.
Now when the solstice wind begins,
And candles tremble in the frost,
Remember both in balance sworn—
The giver found, the taker lost.
For Santa smiles through fur and fire,
Krampus laughs through smoke and spice,
And somewhere deep in Norseborn dark,
They share one heart of mirrored ice.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
(A grim and glittering saga in twelve cantos)
Canto I – The First Snow
Before the calendars knew Christ,
before the birch rods learned to whistle,
there was only the Wind that carried two seeds
across the black pine ridges of the world.
One seed was ember-bright, a coal of mercy.
The other was iron-cold, a splinter of night.
They fell together into the same cradle of frost,
and the Earth herself shuddered, knowing
what twins she had birthed.
Canto II – The Boy Called Nikolos
In Myra’s salt-white harbor, beneath a sky of hammered bronze,
a child was born with hearth-fire in his eyes.
When plague ships drifted in, he walked their decks
and the dead sat up, coughing gifts of bread.
When widows wept for dowries lost,
gold coins rang like bells in their empty jars.
The people named him Nikolos the Giver,
and every miracle he wrought smelled of cinnamon and myrrh.
Yet even saints cast shadows;
his grew long and clawed when no one looked.
Canto III – The Boy Called Krampen
Far north, where the sun forgets its own name,
a horned child tore free from a glacier’s womb.
His first cry cracked the ice for seven leagues.
Reindeer fled. Ravens learned new omens.
He drank the milk of wolves,
and the chain-lightning of the aurora
wrote runes of punishment across his back.
The mountain tribes left saucers of blood on doorsteps
so the boy called Krampen would pass them by.
He never did.
Canto IV – The Covenant of Balance
On the night the Pole Star burned blood-red,
the Ancient Ones (those faceless keepers of the hinge between mercy and reckoning)
summoned both youths to the Hollow Beneath the World.
There, in a cavern lit only by frozen tears,
they were offered dominion over the turning year:
One to reward the light within the child,
One to drag the dark out by its hair.
Nikolos took the golden birch switch and the sack of gifts.
Krampen took the iron chains and the burlap of screams.
They clasped forearms in solemn oath:
“Never shall one trespass upon the other’s night.”
The cavern sealed. The pact was sung by glaciers.
But oaths are only words wearing armor.
Canto V – The Creeping Schism
Centuries slithered past like black adders.
Nikolos grew tall and kind and terrible in his kindness,
robed in scarlet as martyr’s blood,
his beard white as forgiven sin.
Children began to call him Father Christmas, Sinterklaas, Saint Nicholas,
and his laughter shook the snow from the eaves in silver sheets.
Krampen grew taller still, horned crown scraping the moon.
His tongue forked with every lie he devoured from naughty mouths.
He learned to wear shadow like velvet,
to make his footfalls sound like parents’ disappointment.
The old tribes dwindled; new cities rose,
and city children laughed at horned devils.
Krampen’s chains grew heavy with rust and neglect.
Canto VI – The Night of the Three Betrayals
It began with a single child:
a merchant’s son who mocked the poor,
beat his dog,
and burned the wings off flies for sport.
Nicholas came first, gentle as falling ash,
left a purse of gold and a whispered warning.
The boy ****** on the coins and laughed.
Krampen came second, rattling like a dungeon door,
dragged the brat screaming into the sack.
But the merchant’s gold bought bishops,
bishops wrote letters,
letters became edicts:
“No demon shall touch the children of the Church.”
Nicholas, bound by new mitres and new mercy,
could not intervene.
Krampen was driven into the blizzard with pitchforks and psalms.
That was the First Betrayal.
The Second: Nicholas, to soothe the weeping world,
allowed his night to swell,
December 6 became December 24,
and soon his sleigh eclipsed half the winter sky.
Krampen’s solstice eve shrank to a whispered threat.
The Third: A child who truly repented,
who had felt Krampen’s switch and turned toward light,
was still visited by Nicholas with toys,
as though punishment had never carved its lesson.
Krampen watched mercy erase his work
and felt the ancient covenant crack like thin ice.
Canto VII – The Declaration Beneath the Blood Aurora
On the longest night in a thousand years,
Krampen ascended the highest peak of the Brocken,
split the sky with a roar that avalanched valleys,
and hurled his rusted chain skyward.
The links wrapped the moon and pulled.
“I will have my half of winter back,” he thundered,
“or I will drag your saintly beard through every coal-mine of hell.”
Nicholas rose from his toy-crowded hall,
eyes no longer soft, but burning like altar coals.
“So be it,” he answered, voice rolling like cathedral bells across the tundra.
“One night. One battlefield. The Solstice Eve to come.
Winner claims all children, naughty and nice, forever.”
The reindeer pawed sparks from the clouds.
The demons sharpened icicle claws.
The covenant was dead.
Canto VIII – Armies of the Long Night
Nicholas summoned the Host of Hearth-flame:
toy soldiers grown tall as iron legions,
nutcrackers with jaws of wolves,
angels whose wings dripped molten gold,
and eight reindeer whose antlers were forest lightning.
Krampus called the Unforgiven:
black goats with children’s crying eyes,
witch-mothers riding sleds of ribcage bones,
wrauers and perchten masked in flayed faces,
and a single white reindeer whose heart he had torn out
and replaced with burning coal; it pulled his sled of chains.
Canto IX – The Battle of the Nine Broken Stars
They met where the Arctic Circle bleeds into dream.
Snow turned red, then black, then gold again
as mercy and punishment clashed like cathedral and dungeon colliding.
Nicholas swung his crozier; it became a flaming sword of frankincense.
Krampus parried with chains that screamed the names of every beaten child.
Reindeer locked antlers; sparks birthed new constellations.
A nutcracker bit the head off a perchten;
a goat devoured an angel’s harp and shat out minor chords.
Birch rods whipped against iron switches;
both bled sap and blood that hissed into glass upon the snow.
The moon herself fled behind a cloud, ashamed.
Canto X – The Moment of Almost-Reconciliation
In the heart of the melee they came face to face,
breath fogging between them like incense and sulfur.
Nicholas saw in Krampen’s eyes the lonely boy denied his purpose.
Krampus saw in Nicholas’s eyes the tyrant kindness that feared true reckoning.
For one heartbeat the battlefield stilled.
A single snowflake hung motionless between their horns and mitre.
They might have lowered weapons.
They might have rewritten the covenant in blood and myrrh.
But a child’s voice (some brat in Munich laughing at both saint and demon)
echoed across the astral plain.
Pride, older than both of them, flared.
The snowflake shattered.
The war roared on.
Canto XI – The Sundering
No one won.
The sky cracked open and the Ancient Ones,
long silent, spoke one word that was a thunderclap:
“ENOUGH.”
The combatants were hurled apart by a wind of frozen screams.
Nicholas crashed into his northern hall, beard singed, sack torn, half his reindeer fled.
Krampus was flung into the deepest crevasse, chains snapped, one horn broken, crown of the dark, broken off.
Yet the wound in the year remained.
Ever after, on the night of December 5–6,
the veil thins.
Hooves thunder against rooftops.
Chains rattle in chimneys.
Sometimes children receive both gifts and coal,
sometimes a switch and orange,
because the battle is never over;
it merely withdraws into the shadows of a single night
and waits for the next prideful heartbeat.
Canto XII – The Eternal Eve
So when the wind howls low and the fire pops like bones,
listen:
One set of boots is soft with snow and charity.
The other drags chains that remember every unrepented sin.
They are coming.
They are always coming.
One to fill your stocking with wonder.
One to remind you the stocking can also be a shroud.
Choose, little ones, while there is still time to choose,
for Nicholas and Krampus share the same face in the mirror of the longest night:
the face of what you deserve.
And the war between mercy and justice
glitters on,
beautiful and brutal,
beneath the cold, indifferent stars.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC
Part I: The Prequel - Genesis of the Winter Spirits
From the deep well of the world, where the first frost was spun,
Before the pale moon knew its course, or the new age begun,
Two spirits rose from the silence, from the elemental core,
To rule the long, cold season, and to balance evermore.
One was Nicholas, a mortal man, by grace divine refined,
A vessel for the solar light, the best of humankind.
He was not born, but chosen, on a night of golden snow,
When a star fell to his humble roof, and set his heart aglow.
His robes were dyed in Crimson, the hue of selfless grace,
His voice a gentle thunder in that desolate, dark place.
He was the Spirit of Merciful Winter, the promise of the thaw,
The warmth that waits within the hearth, defying nature's law.
The other was the Krampus, a thing of hoof and horn,
From the chthonic, Alpine caverns, where the primal fear was born.
He was the son of Hel, the Norse queen, and the Earth’s cold, granite heart,
A creature of necessity, a brutal, ancient art.
His breath was sulfurous and sharp, his fur was matted, black,
He dragged the Iron Chains of consequence upon his track.
He was the Spirit of Primal Justice, the enforcer of the dread,
The one who taught the wicked that the winter must be fed.
They walked the world in tandem, a paradox of might,
The Shadow and the Shine, the darkness and the light.
Nicholas offered the Gift, a hope for the soul's release,
Krampus offered the Whip, the terror that brings peace.
"We are the balance," Nicholas spoke, his voice a silver chime,
"I offer the redemption, you offer the due time."
"We are the Law," the Krampus hissed, his voice a grinding stone,
"The fear that keeps the children straight, lest they be left alone."
And so the First Pact was sealed, in a mist of ice and gold,
A dual sovereignty of fear and love, a story to be told.
Part II: The Schism - The Seeds of Rivalry
But the world was turning swiftly, and the old ways started to fade,
As the gentle faith of Nicholas a new foundation laid.
The light grew strong, the shadows waned, the people sought the grace,
And the primal, gritty lessons were forgotten in that place.
Nicholas, with his Crozier, a staff of purest gold,
Began to teach a softer truth, a story to unfold.
He saw the fear in children's eyes, the terror of the chain,
And thought that love alone could wash away the moral stain.
He showered gifts with lavish hand, a glamorous, golden rain,
And the world began to see the Shadow as a needless pain.
This Schism tore the ancient bond, and Krampus felt the sting,
The bitter, cold resentment that a broken pact can bring.
He watched the children grow soft, their discipline undone,
And saw the ruin Nicholas’s Spoiling had begun.
"You breed a race of weaklings!" he roared, his voice a mountain slide,
"Your Mercy is a sickness! Your Grace is simply pride!
You steal the fear that keeps them whole, the grit that makes them strong,
You make a mockery of the Law, where have you gone so wrong?"
Nicholas stood upon a peak, his face a mask of sorrow,
"Your justice has become a feast, a hunger for tomorrow.
Your chains are no longer discipline, but pure, unbridled spite,
You have descended into malice, and lost your guiding light."
And in a moment of pure will, a terrible mistake,
Nicholas forged a chain of light, for the ancient Spirit's sake.
A chain of starlight, golden-bright, to bind the demon's rage,
To seal him from the children's world, and turn a hopeful page.
The Krampus laughed, a sound like rock that splits beneath the frost,
"You think to chain the primal fear? You know not what you've lost!"
He snapped the chain with a single shrug, the golden links all flew,
But the attempted imprisonment, the insult, was brand new.
The Final Insult burned like fire in the demon's heart of stone,
And the ancient, necessary balance was forever overthrown.
Part III: The Battle - Krampusnacht's ******
The night was Krampusnacht, the air was thick with dread,
A village huddled in the snow, the stars all turned to red.
From a fissure in the earth, a rift of smoking coal,
The Krampus rose, a roaring beast, to claim the wicked soul.
His eyes were burning embers, his horns scraped on the sky,
He sought the one who broke the Pact, the one who dared to lie.
Then came the sound of silver bells, a glorious, sharp chime,
A sleigh of polished, gleaming wood, transcending space and time.
Nicholas stood upon the runners, his Crozier held on high,
A figure of such Glamour, against the blackened sky.
His robes of crimson billowed out, a banner in the storm,
He was the perfect, shining man, to keep the children warm.
The Clash of Elements began, a spectacle of might,
The Shadow met the Shine in the heart of the long night.
Krampus hurled his Iron Chains, a hundred links of dread,
They wrapped around the golden sleigh, and tore it from its bed.
The gifts spilled out like broken stars, the reindeer cried in fear,
As the demon's roar of victory was all the world could hear.
But Nicholas was ready, his face serene and cold,
He raised the Crimson Crozier, a story to be told.
A wave of Divine Fire burst, a blinding, holy flash,
It struck the Krampus, not to burn, but to repel the crash.
Then Nicholas plunged into the fray, no longer soft and mild,
He fought with the fierce protection of a father for his child.
The battle was a dance of light and shadow, fierce and grand,
The Crozier met the claw and hoof, across the frozen land.
Krampus, with his Birch Rods, lashed out with savage grace,
Nicholas parried with a shield of light, a smile upon his face.
The Intensity was blinding, the air was torn and frayed,
As the Spirit of Fear and the Spirit of Hope their final gambit played.
In a moment of close-quarters, the demon pinned him down,
His breath of sulfur on the Saint, his face a hateful frown.
"I am the necessary dark!" the Krampus shrieked with rage,
"You cannot end the primal fear, you cannot turn the page!"
But Nicholas did not strike back, he simply held his ground,
And pressed the golden Crozier to the demon's heart, profound.
Part IV: The Resolution and Epilogue
"I know you are necessary," Nicholas whispered, calm and deep,
"But the Law you serve is one of love, not malice you would keep.
I cannot **** the Shadow, for the light would lose its worth,
But I can re-impose the Pact, and chain you to the Earth."
The Crozier pulsed with blinding light, a silent, final plea,
And Krampus felt the ancient bond, the first necessity.
He pulled away, his fury spent, his chains fell to the snow,
The Glamour of the battle faded, the intense light sank low.
He vanished in a plume of smoke, a shadow in the night,
Forced back into the darkness, by the power of the light.
The village woke to silence, the snow was clean and white,
And wondered if the terrible sound was just a dream of night.
But Nicholas stood victorious, his robes a little torn,
The Crimson Crozier gleaming, waiting for the morn.
And so the cycle turns again, the Eternal War unseen,
The Shadow waits for Krampusnacht, the Light remains serene.
For fear must have its champion, and hope must have its guide,
And the Spirit of the Winter Night, forever must abide.
The Krampus waits in darkness, for the children to stray far,
And Nicholas waits with his gifts, beneath the morning star.
The Pact is broken, yet remains, a truth that must be known:
The Light is only measured by the Shadow it has thrown.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:42 AM UTC
In the heart of winter's chill, where shadows dance and spirits roam,
Two figures emerged from the twilight, each claiming the realm of home.
Saint Nicholas, clad in robes of crimson, with a heart as warm as the sun,
And Krampus, the darkened specter, whose laughter echoed, a fearsome one.
The Rise of Saint Nicholas
Born of a humble village, where kindness bloomed like spring,
Nicholas, a child of wonder, with a gift for giving, he'd bring.
From the whispers of the ancients, tales of joy and grace,
He learned the art of compassion, the beauty of a smiling face.
With every Christmas season, his legend began to grow,
He wandered through the frostbitten lands, spreading warmth in the snow.
Gifts of toys and sweetened treats, he left for every child,
A beacon of hope and innocence, in a world often wild.
Yet, shadows grew behind him, as the darkness sought to claim,
The hearts of those who strayed from light, igniting a wicked flame.
In the depths of the forest, where the twisted branches claw,
Krampus watched with hungry eyes, embodying winter's raw.
The Birth of Krampus
Once a spirit of the ancients, a guardian of the night,
Krampus roamed the frozen woods, in search of wrongs to right.
But as the years turned into ages, and the world began to change,
He felt the sting of bitterness, his heart grew dark and strange.
With chains that clanked like thunder, and horns that curled and twisted,
He descended into the folklore, where the fearful hearts existed.
A figure of retribution, he thrived on dread and fright,
For every child ungrateful, he would visit on Christmas night.
His laughter, a chilling echo, as he whisked the naughty away,
To the depths of his shadowy lair, where lost souls forever sway.
And thus, the stage was set, in the frost of the yuletide air,
Two titans of the season, destined to clash and tear.
The Catalyst of War
The conflict ignited when whispers of a prophecy spread,
Of a night when darkness and light would clash until one lay dead.
Saint Nicholas, the guardian, vowed to protect the realm,
While Krampus, the harbinger, sought to take the helm.
As the solstice moon rose high, painting silver on the ground,
They met upon the battlefield, where the stars shone all around.
The air crackled with tension, as winter’s breath held its sigh,
In the battle of joy and sorrow, under the watchful sky.
The Clash of Titans
With a flourish of his staff, Nicholas called forth the light,
A blinding brilliance surged forth, cutting through the night.
Krampus roared with fury, wielding shadows like a blade,
His voice, a tempest's fury, in the darkness it cascaded.
The clash of their powers echoed, a symphony of fate,
With every strike and parry, the world began to shake.
Snowflakes turned to daggers, as the heavens raged above,
In this epic confrontation, the essence of their love.
For each had once been noble, each had once been revered,
But the path of their creation had twisted and seared.
Nicholas, the saintly giver, and Krampus, the wrathful foe,
Bound by a fate unbroken, in the depths of winter's snow.
The Aftermath
As dawn broke over the battleground, with the light of hope anew,
Both figures stood, battle-worn, with a truth they never knew.
For in their strife, a lesson lingered, a truth both harsh and clear:
Light and dark are intertwined, and from each, one must steer.
In the heart of Christmas spirit, a balance must be found,
For without the dark, the light is lost, and joy cannot abound.
So they forged a fragile truce, a pact beneath the stars,
To watch over the world together, as guardians from afar.
Thus, the saga of Saint Nicholas and Krampus forever unfolds,
A tale of light and shadow, in the winter's bitter cold.
They dance in the hearts of children, in stories passed down through time,
A reminder of the balance, in life’s unending rhyme.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:41 AM UTC
My heart is too big, Grinch Stole Christmas or who zooming who? I'm just a pea in the *** With visions of flying with no wings. This life's overstayed – soon to be wasted. Next life, maybe I'll become the wind, wild and free. "Hugo, they call me"... I run with the Santa Ana winds. Raw, untamed, and restless – that's my heart's language. Absence of time.
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 8:53 PM UTC
When Santa got stuck up the chimney it caused such a scene
Chaos broke out everywhere, the worst I’ve ever seen.
People standing watching while others did their jobs
Upsetting our new neighbours which was fine for they are snobs.
Snow was falling thickly the temperature had dropped
A blizzard started earlier and it just hadn’t stopped.
Someone heard his cries for help so they called nine one one
They thought the caller joking, thought he was having fun.
Six firemen and their tender were the first ones to arrive
Hoping when they got there that Santa was alive.
They extended up their ladder till it reached the chimney stack
But they couldn’t see poor Santa their view blocked by a sack.
Next arrived the policemen to cordon off the square
To hold back all the nosey folk who came from everywhere.
A keeper from the local zoo was the next guy to appear
Summoned by authorities to look after nine reindeer.
They’d munched upon our borders and chewed our Christmas wreath
There wasn’t really anything safe from all those teeth.
TV crews then battled to get a better view
Behind the lights of police cars flashing red and blue.
Police held back bystanders letting builders and their tools
Make their way to our house past the hoards of shivering fools.
Scaffolding erected they began to deconstruct
The brickwork where it was thought Santa had got stuck.
There’s hotdog stalls and burger vans, ice cream stands there as well
Our street is fast becoming a scene straight out of hell.
Two tired paramedics at the end of a long day
Yawned and asked each other was this really worth their pay,
To sit here for a fat man who really should know more
Than to try to use a chimney when theres always been a door.
Our chimneys near demolished and still he’s not been found
The brickworks gone, the builders are almost at the ground.
And now there someone at the door with a briefcase and a scowl
The underwriters lackey making sure there’s nothing foul.
He sat upon our sofa, glasses hanging from his ears
he said he’d never known the likes in all his working years.
Then there was a rumble, a crash, a cloud of soot
A sack appeared, a tattered suit, a belt and one right boot.
And when the dust had settled and we could see around
Although his clothes where on the floor Santa wasn’t found.
So now then I will tell you what the underwriter said
As he wiped with a hanky the sweat off his forehead.
“Santa did a runner as he was not insured,”
The reindeer too, they were gone from where they had been moored.
So now I’m out a fortune having all these repairs done
And did Santa leave a present, not a single ****** one.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 8:36 AM UTC
Santa Clause, I still believe in you
I know where your power is
It’s the love of children
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 11:31 PM UTC
After seeing the ruthless killings
of black, tiny, weak kids on TV,
from starvation in Africa
on Christmas Eve,
I tiptoed back to my
white son's room,
made off with the gifts I had left,
burned them,
and killed the Santa Claus.
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 10:23 AM UTC
Papá Noel tenía miedo de pasar el día de Navidad
En las calles de Puerto Príncipe. Las balas se disparaban en masa
Esporádicamente, al azar. Mucha gente se escondía debajo de las camas
Los terroristas traviesos son como perros, hienas en bosques viles o desiertos mortales
Están por todas partes con grandes ametralladoras que no se fabrican en Haití
Los bandidos sin ley o demonios espantosos están matando y aterrorizando a todos
Incluso gatos viejos y ratas sucias que corren por los barrancos
Las cosas son muy serias, extremadamente peligrosas y terriblemente malas en Haití
Este año, el tío Noel tenía miedo, mucho miedo, por eso no visitó
Y no pasó por las pequeñas calles de Haití. Nadie sabe cuándo
Estas cosas feas e inusuales, el caos, los crímenes, la pesadilla cambiarán o terminarán
No hubo misas de medianoche; Todas las puertas de la iglesia estaban cerradas, cerradas
Los bandidos que calzan sandalias sucias llevan armas muy caras y modernas
Que sus tíos occidentales blancos y oligarcas sucios les dieron como regalos de Navidad
Para que puedan empujar a más civiles inocentes más profundamente en las llamas del Infierno
Es muy fascinante notar que los hombres lobos, los infames Loups Garous
También tenían miedo de ir a los cementerios para desenterrar a sus víctimas inocentes
En Haití, antiguamente la Perla de las Indias Occidentales, son perros que comen perros
Son gatos que comen gatos. Son perros que comen ratas
La gente está atrapada en este otrora paraíso, la Perla de las Antillas
Que ahora es el Infierno en la Tierra y mazmorras sangrientas para tantos
Son gatos que comen ratas. Son perros que comen ratas y gatos
Esta es una locura despreciable. Frankenstein habría sido feliz allí
La gente nunca antes había experimentado un desastre tan feo. ¿Cuándo cambiará esto?
¿Cuándo terminará esto? ¿Cuándo los colonos oligárquicos, occidentales y codiciosos
Dejarán en paz al pacífico y resistente pueblo de Haití? ¿Y cuándo, cuándo?
¿Cuándo se rebelará el valiente pueblo? ¿Cuándo, maldita sea, la diáspora
Se unirá para luchar y defender a Haití? Los Haitianos están cansados de perder vidas, dinero
Territorios y propiedades en Haití. ¿Cuándo desaparecerán de la faz del Universo
Todos estos terroristas rebeldes? Estoy gritando furioso
Maldita sea, te estoy hablando a ti. Te estoy hablando a ti, maldita sea
Te estoy hablando a ti, sí, sí, sí a ti, criminales violentos
Cucarachas, pájaros impíos, hipócritas malvados y tontos ignorantes
Deja de hablar de revolución. Usa el sentido común. Deja de soñar
Abre los ojos. Sí, porque en nombre de Iahvé, te estoy hablando a ti también
Papá Noel, Père Noël, Tonton Nowèl tenía miedo. No hay pobres ni gente pequeña
No recibieron regalos, nada, cero, chivatos, sólo los sórdidos perpetradores
Que matan y aterrorizan a los ciudadanos, estaban de fiesta. La débil Policía
El ejército y los indefensos vacacionistas de la ONU no pueden hacer más
Simplemente pueden hacer menos. Sabemos que Haití no es Ucrania
Pero Haití necesita ayuda. Los Haitianos están desesperados, los nefastos presidentes
Del CPT ganan mucho dinero, mucho dinero, mucho dinero, mucho dinero
Y mucho dinero, los infames que están en el poder, reciben mucho dinero
Estos traidores están defendiendo sus bolsillos, no la patria
No protegerán a la gente inocente, no defenderán a Haití
Los bandidos, terroristas, hipócritas y oligarcas codiciosos están al mando
Los grupos criminales están dispersos ubicuamente en los pasillos, por todas partes
El pequeño Jesús no fue a Haití, él también tenía miedo. Santa Claus no vino
Tenía miedo naturalmente. Pensemos, pensemos profundamente
Resistamos y soñemos hasta la primavera.
P.D. Este poema está dedicado a todos los que sufren en Haití.
El pueblo haitiano y la diáspora están cansados de ser humillados. Abajo la miseria,
La inseguridad, la corrupción, el crimen, la injusticia, la impunidad, la discriminación y la desigualdad.
Esta es una traducción de ‘Pè Nowèl Te Pè Pase Nan Pòtoprens, Ayiti’,
“Santa Claus Was Afraid to Pass Through Port-au-Prince, Haiti’.
Copyright © Diciembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados
Hébert Logerie es autor de varias colecciones de poemas.
Jan 5, 2025
Jan 5, 2025 at 2:35 PM UTC