10 Funny and Nostalgic Christmas Poems

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Are you looking for a good poem to read at your Christmas party or gathering? Is it a more serious or light-hearted event? Christmas poems come in a great variety of shapes and sizes. They can be short or quite long, such poet Talbot Hook’s adaptation of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. This list is mostly lighthearted, funny or nostalgic shorter pieces in no particular order of importance. Also, if you are looking for more serious classic Christmas poems you can find them in 7 Classic Christmas and Seasonal Poems here. You can also find many more Christmas poems in our Christmas poem archive here. At any rate, hopefully the list below can help you have a merry Christmas!

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10. Christmas Rules and Promises

by Roy E. Peterson

My first rule for this Christmas is
__No carrot sticks for me.
They might have been a snowman’s nose,
__So I will let them be.

My second rule this Christmas is
__Your gift I will remember;
So if it turns out kind of cheesy,
__I’ll match it next December.

My third rule for this Christmas is
__Don’t change the songs I play.
When you are in my house you must
__Endure them for the day.

I’ll gift-wrap empty boxes nice,
__Then give a warning dire.
If you won’t listen, or obey,
__I’ll throw one in the fire.

And if you breathe a bad word to
__My Christmas company,
I’ll douse your head with eggnog,
__ Throw you through the Christmas tree.

Politely say “Thank you” for every
__Photo, gift, or box,
Even if it’s handkerchiefs
__Or just a pair of socks.

You’ll wish to all a “Merry Christmas,”
__When meeting them this yule.
That is my final Christmas wish,
__And final Christmas rule.

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9. Cat Versus Christmas Tree

by Roy E. Peterson

The house cat was excited:
At what was in his room.
It looked just like a tree,
And smelled like pine perfume.

The cat thought to himself,
This must be my reward.
Perhaps my family knew
That I was getting bored.

Another miracle
Appeared before his eyes:
They’d decorated it
Much to his great surprise.

They hung up pretty balls
That swung to and fro,
Then strings of blinking lights
That had a pretty glow.

Then they tried to warn him:
“Do not play with that,”
But they don’t know the longings
Of a pussy cat.

Pretty packages
Like dancing sugars plums
Were left there in the room.
He thought: “My chance now comes!”

He batted the first ball he saw
On the lower limb.
It had a fun reflection
That looked a lot like him.

Time to climb up in
The boughs of this pine tree;
To see what made that blink,
And study it closely.

He climbed up to the top;
Then chewed upon a wire.
The cat received a shock
That stung his mouth like fire.

He scrambled in the boughs,
And jumped immediately.
Crashing down on him,
Fell too the Christmas tree.

The family came arunning
“What terrible sound was that!?”
And there beneath the tree
They found fried pussy cat.

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8. ’Twas the Night Before Christmas

by Janice Canerdy

’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the malls
there was widespread confusion and hot, frenzied brawls.
Many shoppers were wanting the same bloomin’ gifts.
Desperation resulted in feud-level rifts.
There were four grandmas fighting for one preschool game.
Their ferocity made angry pit bulls look tame.
Jostling shoppers collided and bags hit the floor.
Their attempts to retrieve them caused head butts and more.
Loud confusion—“That’s mine!” “No, it’s mine!!”—could be heard.
The mortified shoppers heard many a bad word.
Two old geezers that should have been home fast asleep
bumped into a Santa; all three muttered “BLEEP!”
When announcements “Ten minutes till close” hit their ears,
those who hadn’t found all they desired held back tears.
The nightmare soon ended, tired shoppers went home,
Aware that at last no more malls they would roam.
Each vowed, “NO MORE last-minute shopping for me!”
Christmas morning—well-rested—all smiles by the tree,
they remembered the monsters they’d been just last night
and rejoiced that those creatures were nowhere in sight!

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7. It’s a Wonderful Life

by Brian Yapko

The forecast promised luscious, gleaming snow;
Instead the sky pours bitter, freezing rain.
The lights are strung but half of them won’t glow.
Our tree sags like the one in Charlie Brown.
We watch the news. It’s sad and full of strain.
I force a festive smile but I feel down.

It’s more than just the news and ugly storm.
It’s memories and grief that sear and scar.
I know we’re blest. The yule log keeps us warm.
We have our health, good food, some Christmas cheer.
But nowhere can I see the Holy Star
Which hides behind the clouds. Perhaps next year.

We watch old Christmas movies on T.V.
The kindly man who thinks he’s Santa Claus;
The Grinch, the Reindeer; and of course, Bing Crosby.
We come at last to Scrooge, who’s lost his way,
But gets restored to grace. Once his heart thaws
He vows to honor Christmas every day!

He’s right! We hail our ghosts of Christmas Past,
Those loved ones who we thought were gone forever.
Such bliss we feel when they arrive at last!
We laugh and toast and now the evening’s bright
Communing with the spirits—now and ever—
As all join in the hymn O, Holy Night.

It is indeed a most wonderful life
Of joy and miracles! My spirit swells
For faith and hope and love have banished strife.
A choir in the distance sweetly sings.
It’s midnight—I can hear our church’s bells.
Rejoice! Another angel’s got his wings!

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6. A Sentimental Villanelle

by Susan Jarvis Bryant

This year I’m wrapped in Christmases of old—
The tinseled tree and glee of hearts on high.
My mood is laced with myrrh and graced with gold.

The air is spiced with mulling wine as cold
Fleurettes of snow illume the twilight sky.
This year I’m wrapped in Christmases of old.

I hear his tell-tale bells and see a bold
Vermilion glowing nose as dawn draws nigh.
My mood is laced with myrrh and graced with gold.

I revel in a joy that’s uncontrolled—
The childish laughter in a merry eye.
This year I’m wrapped in Christmases of old.

The wonders of my yesterdays, I’ll hold
Forever in a world that’s gone awry.
My mood is laced with myrrh and graced with gold.

Today I’m letting blissful cheer unfold
To bloom within a wistful, miss-you sigh.
This year I’m wrapped in Christmases of old—
My mood is laced with myrrh and graced with gold.

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5. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer—A Sonnet

by Paul A. Freeman

Poor Rudolph was a reindeer with a nose
resembling a bulb of bright red hue.
The other reindeer laughed and said, “It glows
like Santa’s after knocking back a few.”
They called him ‘Scarlet Schnozz’ and wouldn’t play
or socialise with Rudolph till a mist
descended on the eve of Christmas Day
and threatened every young child’s Yuletide list.
Then Santa noticed Rudolph’s nasal light,
and said to him, “There’s naught for us to fear;
with your proboscis shining through the night,
you’ll lead my sleigh’s traditional team of deer.”
Thus Rudolph’s gleaming nose brought Christmas joy
and gifts to every girl and every boy.

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4. A Christmas Visitor, Revisited

by Paul A. Freeman

’Twas the night before Christmas; ’twas quiet as heck;
I’d been down the boozer and felt like a wreck.

The lights on the front of our semi looked brill,
though I dreaded next month’s electricity bill.

The fir tree we’d placed by the living-room door,
had needles cascading like rain on the floor.

But festive it looked, with its tinsel and balls;
as did the three cards we’d strung up on the walls.

From upstairs I heard my two young daughters jawing
into their iPhones, whilst their Mama was snoring.

Dear Wife! With her shower cap over her hair,
and cucumber face pack to keep her skin fair.

Then out by the patio came a rum sound,
of swearing, glass breaking, and guess what I found?

A fellow, be-masked, with a sack on his back,
had entered the kitchen attired all in black.

“Who goes there?” I asked. “I’m expecting St. Nick;
if you’re an intruder, I’ll go fetch a stick.”

“No! Wait!” cried the young man, an overgrown boy.
“I’m Santa’s apprentice. I’m here to bring joy.

“These gifts are for you,” and he passed me the sack.
So I said, “Come on in and partake of a snack.”

We placed all the presents safe under the tree,
then sat on the couch watching Christmas TV.

My new friend was eager to tell me his tale,
lest I get the wrong notion and send him to jail.

“St. Nick’s overworked,” he explained, “for the Earth
has too many kids, and of Santas a dearth.

“He hires, for this reason, an army of folk
like me to assist him—I swear it’s no joke.

“But red’s not my colour, and chimneys are blocked,
so I climb through the windows since doors are kept locked.”

I may be a cynic, but felt without doubt
he was Santa’s trainee, not a low, thieving lout.

So I fetched him some cookies and milk in a glass;
but he said: “If you don’t mind I’ll give them a pass.

“It’s cold out! My toes, I can feel them no longer,
I think I’d prefer a libation that’s stronger.”

I knew what he meant, so together we downed
two bottles of schnapps—then next day I was found

asleep by my wife and my girls on the couch,
beside Santa’s trainee, for whom I did vouch.

Alas, ’twas too late, the police had been phoned
about an intruder exceedingly stoned.

The lads and the lasses in blue came at once,
heard my story and promptly proclaimed me a dunce.

“This bloke,” said their sergeant, “is a thief much renowned,
who’s stolen from lots of the folks here around.

“Your neighbours, for instance, those presents are theirs;
the parents had hidden them under the stairs.”

And surely enough, they were not girlish toys;
it turned out the gifts were all purchased for boys.

In handcuffs the Christmas imposter was led
away to the station and a cell’s cheerless bed.

And me? I was left feeling heavy of heart,
till my neighbours pronounced me both cunning and smart.

I’d saved their sons’ presents whilst detaining a thief,
I’d captured a felon causing much yuletide grief.

I’m now deemed a hero, I’ve brought festive cheer;
Merry Christmas to all and a Happy New Year.

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3. Voices from Childhood

by David Watt

The play of the breeze brings the music of childhood,
The tinkle of laughter as light and as clear
As were our voices when singing in Wildwood
The day before Christmas—the best time of year.

The songs that we sang told of sleigh bells a-jingling,
Snow-laden branches, and manger with child;
A reindeer named Rudolph, with red nose a-tingling
From temperatures colder than our climate mild.

Although we were strangers to reindeer and mangers,
And sunscreen on noses was all that we knew
Of summertime whiteness, apart from the brightness
Of clouds in a sea of cerulean blue,
We sang with conviction, in vowel-perfect diction,
Extolling His birth, which we knew to be true.

Each chorister, following annual tradition,
Wore swimmers beneath formal trousers and robes.
But though the townsfolk knew our layered condition,
The height of our folly resisted all probes.

For when the last notes faded into the distance,
We packed up our songbooks, with danger in mind;
To head to the river, whose lilting insistence
Had drawn us to waters—the treacherous kind.

Before you could say Silent Night, or King Wenceslas,
We divested the vestments of choral attire:
On bordering fences, positions defenceless
From flurries of dust, and the rust stain of wire.

From cliffs high enough to see mountaintops showing,
We leapt to the ribbon of silver below,
Until our resistance to hunger pangs growing
Drifted away like a leaf in the flow.

Boastful, bedraggled, still dripping, we straggled
Back home after donning our gear for the way;
Dismissive of bruising, self-confidence oozing—
Outdoing each other in swagger and sway.

And these are the scenes that my memory’s bringing
Whenever December the twenty-fourth nears:
The pleasure of touching the skies with our singing,
Delighting in danger, and brushing off fears.

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2. Looking Forward to Christmas

by Jack Horne

Recalling Christmas in the past:
the time I mixed my drink—
a cocktail, “Everything we have”…
I puked at lunch. I think
you ate your meal, despite the stink!

Another time, our puppy dog
tore gifts beneath the tree.
A nasty whiff: we didn’t spot
the poop till half past three.
He also did a stream of pee.

The gifts that didn’t make the grade:
the gear that never fits
(cheap underwear, elasticless),
and broken stuff in bits—
our Christmases without the glitz.

The years have flown and now you’re gone.
I pat your empty chair,
and face another Christmas now,
just wishing you were there—
a time to smile and not despair.

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1. Make Christmas a Verb

by Mark F. Stone

For many, the gifts are the be-all and end-all:
the big screen, the tablet, the Barbie and Ken doll.
For me, gifts I get are like ice in the sun.
I cannot recall them. No, not even one.

How did I find a true way to remember
the import of each twenty-fifth of December?
The quest to acquire is an urge one can curb.
The lesson I learned was: make Christmas a verb.

Knock on the door of your neighbors who deal
with aging and loneliness. Bring them a meal.
If you have means and you live in fine fettle,
drop off some greens in that little red kettle.

Visit our vets who are hurt and express
your thanks for their service as they convalesce.
Deliver to others a luminous glow.
The gifts you will cherish are those you bestow.

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Poems selected by Paul A. Freeman.

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