A New Tradition--Bad Holiday Odes
By now everyone knows I have a certain twisted affection for bad poetry. I especially like to read bad poetry aloud. I use a hushed-smarty-pants voice and I add in a lot of dramatic pauses. If someone’s watching me (an audience is one or more people) I may stare at them intently for a moment as if I have a lot of depth to me. I like it when my audience snaps. And so…a new holiday tradition. Please join me in writing your own bad holiday ode. You can submit it to me via email heyblunderwoman@gmail.com or in the comments section of this blog. I’ll copy your ode not into the comment section, oh no, but into the very body of this blog and maybe, maybe even add a picture.
So I challenge you: bring me you Christmas trees, your shopping, your stressed out holiday meal with drunk family members. Bring me your bad poetry, your overdone metaphors, your pointlessly deep ideas. And may your Christmas be merry and bright.
Here’s an ode to get us a started:
Ode to Santa Claus
by Tanya Eby
Dear Santa…
My dear, beloved, Santa,
I’ve been thinking about you
a lot.
You’re such a giver, you red-clothed devil you.
Let me be your minion.
I want to trim your tree,
Santa.
I want to decorate your
halls
of love.
Let me rub your belly as you tickle
my fancy.
Oh, Santa, I know it might not seem appropriate
but I’ve always had a thing for older men
(like Colin Firth, sure, but I also love Gregory Peck even though I’m not sure if he’s alive or dead.)
Santa, you fill me
with joy
Let me give you something back--
my back Santa.
I love you. I adore you.
It might be your beard, your rosy cheeks, whatever
I don’t care.
I just want you to know that I
can be naughty or nice
I’ll be whatever you want
because I believe in you.
Please, believe in me
and the depths of my affection
like cold bells ringing in the night.
Santa, it just isn’t Christmas
without you in
my sleigh
bed.
