“Thongs and Boardies” by Sioban Timmer



Thongs and Boardies

Songs of yore, can be a bore

When they speak of snow and Holly.

Songs of sun are much more fun

To make our Christmas jolly.

We don’t ride sleighs – we catch some rays

As temperatures are soaring.

Hams to slice and prawns on ice

The feast is never boring.

Thongs on feet are not complete

Without our favourite boardies.

And by the pool, we’re staying cool

As Christmas hits the forties.

We don’t admire yuletide fire

Where chestnuts sit to roast.

We find fun with water guns,

Watch the sunset by the coast.

Raise a cup, with head held up

And toast the winter failure.

Sunshine above, what’s not love

That’s Christmas in Australia.


Poem of the Day


Santa’s New Clothes


Santa had a problem—his special suit no longer fit.

It was snug around the tummy. When he sat, his trousers split.

One bight and early morning, Mrs Santa said:

“Dear, I must tell you something that I read.

I love you roly-poly, I love you as you are,

but if you took a health test you wouldn’t get a star.

It’s really most important to have a healthy heart

and if you want a long life, it’s not too late to start.”

Santa called in at the health club—the trainer checked him out.

She said: “We’ll plan a program that’ll work without a doubt.”

She booked him in for workouts three times every week,

then talked about his diet and told him what to eat.

He ate lots of fruit and vegies, chose grilled instead of fried

for every single main meal, with salads on the side.

He said no to morning tea cakes and had carrot sticks instead.

Whenever offered sweet treats, he firmly shook his head.

Santa also started walking quite early in the day

and soon those extra kilos began to melt away.

He said: “I feel fantastic, this year will be a breeze.

I’ll deliver all those presents without the slightest wheeze.

I won’t get stuck in chimneys or struggle up steep stairs

or stop to have a rest whenever I see chairs.”

Then on Christmas Eve, a problem as Santa dressed to leave.

His suit no longer fit him except for length of sleeve.

His top was loose and baggy where tight it was before,

and when he pulled his trousers up, they slid down to the floor.

He looked at Mrs Santa. “Whatever will we do?

Perhaps some safety pins? Could you sew a seam or two?

We need a quick solution for I really ought to go.

The children are all waiting and I can’t be late, you know.”

Mrs Santa nodded and tried to hide a smile.

“Thank goodness it’s late shopping. This will only take a while.”

So that’s why this year Santa won’t be wearing his red suit.

He’s got a brand new outfit. Mrs Santa thinks it’s cute.

It’s a bright red fleecy tracksuit for warmth in North Pole cold,

and a pair of sporty sneakers replacing boots of old.

For his head a woolly beanie instead of pom pom cap.

So if one Christmas evening you should glimpse a bearded chap

who looks a lot like Santa except he’s fit and trim,

don’t think that you’re mistaken, for yes, you’re right, it’s him!

Teena Raffa-Mulligan

Poem of the Day

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12 days of Dogness


On the first day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

Last year’s Christmas stocking

In the bottom was a pea


On the second day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A chewed up Christmas decoration

For our brand new tree


On the third day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A dug up bone from last year

And dumped it by my knee


On the fourth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

An old Santa hat

Found under the old settee


On the fifth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A bit of Christmas cake

To go with my cup of tea


On the sixth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A striped candy cane

Stolen from the tree


On the seventh day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A string of Christmas lights

He thought needed to be freed


On the eighth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

A potato from the vegie patch

One less for Christmas tea


On the ninth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

A freshly baked mince pie

And eyes that pleaded “feed me”


On the tenth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

An old nativity book

Pages ripped out for me to see


On the eleventh day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

Santa’s special cookies

Left out for Santa’s feed


On the twelfth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A heart of Christmas cheer

Which was really all I need

Jeanie Axton



Poem of the Day

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Star of Hope


Sparkle, sparkle, heav’nly gem,

Lead the wise to Bethlehem.

For their journey from afar,

You will be their guiding star.

Lead them onward to the west:

So they may be truly blessed,

As they offer gifts they bring

To the newborn infant King.

Star of hope: from heav’n a sign,

Lead them to the Child divine!

Monty Edwards
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #50


Monty says: I’d been trying on and off to produce a new Christmas poem since the “star” prompt (#35). Along came #49 “Christmas” and suddenly time was running out, but at last #50 “Sparkle” (cf.”twinkle”) got me going, with the above result.

Poem of the Day


We Wish You a Merry Birthday


My name is Noelle and I’m sorry to say

that I was born on Christmas Day,

after the presents but before the singing

(nonsense about sleigh bells ringing).

My father claimed he’d had a hunch

that I’d be born right after lunch

and so it was: Mum gave a shout!

Pudding went in, I popped out.

I wish, I wish, I really do

she’d held on for a week or two.

Each year I share my special day

with that festering, festive holiday.

Instead of balloons I get baubles.

My head aches as my family warbles

Christmas carols all day long—

I never get a birthday song

and though each year I get a cake

it’s always fruit, for goodness sake.

I always thought it couldn’t be worse

than a birthday with a tinsel curse

till my sister made my birthday cool—

she was born an April fool.

Jessica Nelson

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #49
    poetry-prompt-48Jessica said: I was guilty of having a baby on Christmas Day last year, and I’ve been filled in on the potential downsides of a birthday overshadowed by Christmas. I hope she always finds her birthday special, and I’ll be sure to sing her Happy Birthday every year.


Poem of the Day

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The Christmas Garden


Right across from my house is a garden sublime,

where it looks like it’s Christmas there all of the time.

There are several old pine trees all bushy and green,

with the largest brown pine cones that you’ve ever seen.

There’s a seat on the lawn that just looks like a sleigh,

simply waiting for reindeer to pull it away.

There are statues of angels turned up to the sky,

sculptured wings all out ready to fly, oh so high.

And then peeking round flowers quite pleased with themselves

are some colourful gnomes that could pass for the elves.

Now this garden belongs to a fellow called Dawes,

who looks very much like, the real Santa Claus.

He is jolly and round, with a beard snowy white

and he works in his workshop late into the night.

Each December he puts on a Christmas display,

that brings people to visit from far and away.

On the pine trees are baubles and lights that all shine.

There is tinsel, and snowflakes and gold stars divine.

Harnessed up to the sleigh stands a proud reindeer team,

with big Rudolph out front – his red nose all a-gleam.

All the angels now stand singing carols and hymns,

while the elves wear red hats each with festive white trims.

Now lean over close and I’ll whisper to you

a secret that’s known but to only a few.

A tale so amazing you may not believe

that magic takes place there on each Christmas Eve.

When darkness has fallen and shadows are deep,

the elves and the reindeer awake from their sleep.

All the angels fly over the sleigh sprinkling gold

and transform the old seat to a sight to behold.

A sack is now filled to the brim with bright toys,

for kind little girls and good little boys.

Mister Dawes dressed in red, then strides out to his sleigh,

quickly takes up the reins and flies quietly away.

It is just as the sun starts to rise Christmas morn,

that the reindeer fly quietly back onto the lawn.

In the instant they land things are back how they were,

All except for old Dawes, who is still dressed in fur.

As he’s done every year for a very long while,

He now looks to my window and gives me a smile.

I then nod and I wave as I sit there relieved,

again pleased that in magic, I’ve always believed.

Caroline Tuohey
  • Submitted in response to poetry prompt #49


Caroline said: This poem was inspired by the garden of my mum’s friend Sue – she loves Christmas and each year, when I was a child, we’d visit her in the lead up to Christmas Day.  Her house and garden were always full of beautiful decorations and it seemed a totally magical place – as close to the real Santa’s house and garden as you could get.


Poem of the Day

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Last night

Last night I saw something that

I’d never seen before.

This something that I’d never seen

was right outside my door.


It made me gasp aloud with shock

the moment that I saw it.

The something was so big and red

I couldn’t dare ignore it.


I quickly jumped out of my bed,

tip-toed across the floor.

I had to know about this thing

I hadn’t seen before.


As soon as I crept close to it

my heart began to race.

I saw the thing was not a thing

because it had a face!


My body shook from head to toe,

my mind was full of fear.

There was someone that I’d never seen

and he was very near.


I stared in shock at his red coat,

his boots of blackest black.

I saw the pompom on his hat,

the bulging big red sack.


And then I had to laugh out loud.

You know why, I’m sure.

That someone was not scary at all.

It was Santa that I saw.

Kristin Martin
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #49


Poem of the Day


The Visit

Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,

carefully avoiding the creaks,

we stop

and take each other’s hand.

At the bottom we tiptoe,


towards the door.

Almost afraid to breathe

we slowly, gently, push it open.

Beneath the twinkling lights

sit the gifts.

‘He’s been,’ we whisper

‘He’s been.’

Pat Simmons

(Published 2014 by Celapene Press, Short and Twisted and Thynks Publications Bards at Blidworth and Beyond Anthology)

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #49