So I didn't think this poem was so great, but she (my professor of Poetry, yes she has a doctorate in it -- yes it's a total wallpaper degree unless you teach it) had a hayday with it. She loved it.
So on the off chance it's any good, enjoy:
The sleigh slides across the slushy street
pulled by eight tiny reindeer, their prancing neat.
A funeral precession for a jovial, round, man of great fame
now dead and gone, the loss is a generational shame.
With an elfish wink he did succumb
to holiday treats, his red coat covered in crumbs.
His rosy red cheeks and snowy white beard
are things of the past, his image dutifully smeared.
A 12 day grieving period and gifts we will bring
and to commemorate childhood memories, a carol we will sing.
A jolly old saint, a father of time, Chris Cringle
had a merry gate (as his shoes tended to jingle).
A silent night, a holy night, all is calm
but now nothing can ever be right.
Santa is dead and with him my innocence.
They both lay face down in a puddle of spiked nog,
and from now on my childhood is behind me.
Santa is not real, not anymore at least.
And everything I knew and believed was a lie.
How can I ever love again?
(here's another she just gave me positive feedback on. This one I'm actually proud of.)
How to be a dinosaur
Dinos do not make friends, I explain to Kerri-Lynn.
She is Mrs. Giorgio's daughter, she is not yet a dinosaur.
She is learning from me, a Thunder Lizard expert.
I demonstrate my roar over the canopy and unlatch my jaws,
revealing my monstrous teeth and grizzled gums.
She takes a step back in fear, (how could she not?)
I stomp through Mrs. Giorgio's rosebushes
seeking my prey, hoping to fill my jurassic hunger.
My dino senses help me to stumble upon the dead
carcass of a bird. She thinks it's icky, but I care not.
I show her how to eat like a dinosaur,
with gnashing teeth and tearing flesh, blood trickling down
the chin and onto my tee-rex shirt.
She screams in horror at my menace.
She shouts for her mommy, tells her the weird boy is in the rosebushes.
I am no mere boy, I am a titan. A legendary greatness,
unfathomable in our time. A folktale in some ways.
Being a dinosaur is too much for some people.
I flee the feast at her shriekish, pterodactyl yell.
I tried to tell her, dinosaurs don't make friends.
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- Dread Pirate
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