Twas the Night Before...
The Night Before Christmas
or A Visit from St. Nicholas
by Clement Clarke Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD
The Fight Before Christmas
(With Apologies to Clement C. Moore)
We are Each of Us Angels with but one wing,
And we can only fly embracing each other.
by L. DeCrescenzo
'Twas the fight before Christmas
when all through the house
the tension was rising
'tween in-laws and spouse.
Expecting the onslaught, she'd shopped, wrapped, and baked,
Mom verged on exhaustion, her back cramped and ached.
"This year will be perfect!" determined she vowed
Then she lined up her brood, and she ordered aloud,
"Now, listen up, kids! Clean your ears, so you'll hear it!
You'll stop all your whining and get into the spirit!"
Their kinfolk were traveling from locales afar,
to watch little Jen as she held up the Star,
Jeremiah as drummer, and Jimmy as goat,
and the rest of the rugrats playing Heavenly Host.
The pastor who cast them, though 'twas said he was braver
didn't trust Baby Paul to portray the sweet Savior.
Now the eve of the holiday pageant had come.
The mock angels fluttered, the wee drummer drummed,
and drummed and he drummed until Mom thought she'd throttle
that dear little drummer or go drown in a bottle.
Their haloes cocksure, they were ready to go.
Aunt Tessie glanced out, "Oooo, it's starting to snow!"
So back to the closet for twenty-two boots,
while Gramps sneaked to the sideboard for a couple of snoots.
Dad paced with impatience, beating tracks on the floor.
Julie rushed from the house, clipped one wing in the door.
Momma, on round-up, was prodding the herd.
Julie wailed with dismay, "I WILL LOOK LIKE A NERD!"
Loading four vans full, they skidded to church,
side-swiping two carolers, came to rest with a lurch,
and disgorged the uncles, the cousins and aunties,
the angels and livestock, three Wisemen, and Granny.
When all were assembled they commanded three pews.
Freckled shepherds processed and proclaimed the Good News.
Momma leaned on Dad's shoulder, her stamina tested;
on the other, the video camera was rested.
Training its lens on his offspring with pride,
disgruntled he found there was no tape inside.
He cursed much too loud for his present location.
His pious Aunt Phoebe prayed for his salvation.
Granny sighed disappointment, "Tsk, tsk, what a shame."
Momma glared at her husband, volleyed bullets of blame.
Dad was soundly upbraided by a clan 'twas adjacent
Poor pastor feared rightly that brouha' was nascent.
The man behind bellowed, "Sit down in the front."
Dad howled, "Go to blazes, you overgrown punk."
How the threats escalated, I haven't a hunch.
And no one remembers who threw the first punch.
But the fray that ensued was a Mother of All
right up to the altar, 'round the heavenly stall.
Fur and feathers were flying, taunts rang through the air.
There was gnashing of teeth and the pulling of hair.
The peace of nativity wrenched by the roar,
the manger upsot, dolly rolled 'cross the floor.
The choir tried vainly to scream out the lines,
of the old-fashioned favorite, 'The Tie That Binds.'
Soon the kids took their cue from their fathers and mothers,
And the air became littered with the straw and the fodder.
Young oxen were kicking, little donkeys were braying,
the shepherds' rods snapped and poor pastor was praying.
Once innocent angels from heaven were falling,
and even wee Drummer was biting and brawling.
The candlesticks tottered, the altar was battered,
the tree lying prone, pastor's vestments were tattered.
Then sweet, one-winged Julie, fearing huge conflagration,
was sparked by the blaze of Divine inspiration.
She gathered up all of the cherubs, I'm told,
and began tearing one wing from each little shoulder.
When the dust finally settled, only one light remained,
A lone Christmas candle whose heavenly flame
bathed the children in gold, with arms 'round each other,
turning angels with black eyes to sisters and brothers.
Their timorous voices sang out, 'Silent Night,'
overpowering the fracas and ending the fight.
So this story of angels with singleton wings,
who like the blest infant, humbled powerful kings,
taught a lesson of love to the grown-ups that night:
Only Bearing Each Other Up, Can We Take Flight.
And the pastor blessed all, waved them home with relief,
"Merry Christmas. Go Home. And May God Grant You Peace!"
by Mary C. Ginn
The Week Before Christmas
By Joyce Luke
'Twas the week before Christmas and all through the school
Not a pupil was silent, no matter what rule.
The children were busy with paper and paste;
The mess that they made with it couldn't be faced.
The teacher half frantic and almost in tears,
Had just settled down to work with her dears,
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter
up sprang the kids to see what was the matter!
Away to the door they all flew like a flash;
The one who was leading went down with a crash.
Then what to their wondering eyes did appear
But a green Christmas tree! (To decorate I fear!)
When the teacher saw this, she almost grew sick.
She knew in a moment it must be Old Nick!
She ran to the door (all her efforts were vain)
But she shouted, and stamped, and she called them by name;
"Now Tommy! Now Sandy, Now Judy and Harry!
Stop Billy! Stop Robert! Stop Donny and Sherry!
Now get to your places get away from the hall
Now get away! Get away! Get away all!
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly
The pupils, pell mell, started scurrying by.
They ran to the blackboard and skipped down the aisle;
Their faces were shining and each had a smile.
First came a basket of popcorn to string
Then came the Christmas tree (menacing thing).
As the tree was brought in there arose a great shout;
The pupils were merrily romping about.
The state they were in could lead to a riot;
The teacher was sure, if allowed, they would try it.
Her nerves how they jangled! Her temples were throbbing!
The rush of her breath sounded almost like sobbing!
The lines of her face were as fixed as a mask;
It was plain that she didn't feel up to her task.
The look in her eye would have tamed a wild steer,
But the children ignored it; they did every year.
A tear from her eye and a shake of her head
Soon led me to think that she wished she were dead.
She spoke not a word but went straight to her work,
Strung all the popcorn which broke with a jerk.
But at last it was finished and placed on the tree;
Then came the bell and the children were free.
Their shrill little voices soon faded away
And peace was restored at the end of the day.
As she looked at the Christmas tree glistening and tall,
She smiled as she whispered, Merry Christmas to all!
A (System Support) Christmas Poem
Twas the night before crisis, and all through the house
not a program was working, not even a browse.
The programmers were wrung out, too mindless to care,
knowing chances of cutover hadn't a prayer.
The users were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of inquiries danced in their heads.
When out in the lobby there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my cube to see what was the matter!
And what to my wondering eyes should appear
but a super programmer, oblivious to fear.
More rapid than eagles, his programs they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
'On update! On add! On inquiry! On delete!
On batch jobs! On closing! On functions complete!'
His eyes were glazed over, his fingers were lean
from weekends and nights in front of the screen.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
turning specs into code, then turned with a jerk,
and laying his finger on the 'ENTER' key,
the system came up and worked perfectly!
The updates updated, the deletes they deleted,
the inquiries inquired, and the closing completed.
He tested each whistle, and tested each bell
with nary an abend, and all had gone well.
The system was finished, the tests were concluded.
The client's last changes were even included!!
And the client exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt,
'It's just what I asked for, but it's not what I want!'
'Twas The Day After Christmas
by David Frank
'Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house
Children sat slack-jawed, bored on the couch.
Wrappings and toys littered the floor,
An incredible mess that I did abhor.
With Mom in her robe and I in my jeans,
We waded in to get the place clean.
When suddenly the doorbell: it started to clatter,
I sprang to the Security-View to check out the matter.
The new-fallen snow, now blackened with soot,
Was trampled and icy and treacherous to foot.
But suddenly in view, did I gasp and pant:
An unhappy bill collector and eight tiny accountants.
The door flew open and in they came,
Stern-looking men with bills in my name.
On Discover, on Visa, on American Express,
On Mastercard too, I sadly confess,
Right to my limits, then beyond my net worth,
Over the top I had charged, in a frenzy of mirth.
The black-suited men, so somber, so strict,
I wondered why me that they had first picked.
They stared at me with a look I couldn't miss,
That said "Buddy, when are you for paying for this?"
I shrugged my shoulders, but then I grew bolder,
Went to the cabinet and pulled out a folder.
"As you can see," I said with a smile,
"It's bankruptcy that I'll have to file!"
And with a swoop of my arm, my middle digit extended
I threw the bills in the fire: the matter had ended.
The scent of burnt ash came to my nose,
As up the chimney my credit-worthiness rose.
Without another word they turned and walked out,
Got into their limos, but one gave a shout:
"You may think that's the answer to all of your fears,
But it's nothing you'll charge for at least seven years!
The Net Before Christmas
by Jim Trudeau & Jay Trudeau (1991)
With apologies to Clement C. Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the nets
Not a mousie was stirring, not even the pets.
The floppies were stacked by the modem with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The files were nestled all snug in a folder
The screen saver turned on, the weather was colder.
And leaving the keyboard along with my mouse
I turned from the screen to the rest of the house.
When up from the drive there arose such a clatter
I turned to the screen to see what was the matter.
Away to the mouse I flew like a flash,
Zoomed open a window in fear of a crash...
The glow from the screen on the keyboard below
Gave an electronic luster to all my macros.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a little sleigh icon with eight tiny reindeer
And a tiny disk driver so SCSI and quick
I knew in a nano it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than trackballs his cursors they came,
He whistled and shouted and faxed them by name.
"Now Flasher! Now Dasher! Now Raster and Bixel!
On Phosphor! On Photon! On Baudrate and Pixel!
To the top of the stack. To the top of the heap."
Then each little reindeer made a soft beep.
As data that before the wild electrons fly,
When they meet with a node, mount to the drive,
So up to the screentop the cursors they flew
With a sleigh full of disks and databits, too.
And then in a twinkling I heard the high whine
Of a modem connecting at a baud rate so fine.
As I gazed at the screen with a puzzling frown
St. Nicholas logged on though I thought I was down.
He was dressed all in bytes from header to footer
And the words on the screen said "Don't you reboot 'er."
A bundle of bits he had flung on his back
And he looked like a programmer starting his hack.
His eyes how they glazed, his hair was so scary,
His cola was jolt, not flavored with cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a GIF
And the pixels of his beard sure gave me a lift.
The stump of a routine he held tight in his code
And I knew he had made it past the last node.
He spoke not a word but looked right at me
And I saw in a flash his file was .SEA.
He self-decompressed and I watched him unfold,
Into a jolly old elf, a sight to behold.
And the whispering sound of my hard drive's head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He went straight to his work without saying a word
And filled all the folders of this happy nerd.
And 'tis the whole truth, as the story is told,
That giving a nod up the window he scrolled,
He sprang to the serial port as if truly on fire
And away they all flew down the thin copper wire.
But I heard him exclaim as he scrolled out of sight
"Happy Christmas to All, and to all a good night."
The Night Before Finals
Twas the night before finals,And all through the college,
The students were praying For last minute knowledge.
Most were quite sleepy, But none touched their beds,
While visions of essays Danced in their heads.
Out in the taverns, A few were still drinking,
And hoping that liquor Would loosen their thinking.
In my own apartment,I had been pacing,
And dreading exams I soon would be facing.
My roomate was speechless, His nose in his books,
And my comments to him Drew unfriendly looks.
I drained all the coffee, And brewed a new pot,
No longer caring That my nerves were shot.
I stared at my notes, But my thoughts were muddy,
My eyes were ablur, I just couldn't study. "Some pizza
might help,"I said with a shiver,
But each place I called Refused to deliver.
I'd nearly concluded That life was too cruel,
With futures depending On grades had in school.
When all of a sudden, Our door opened wide,
And Patron Saint Put It Off Ambled inside.
His spirit was careless, His manner was mellow,
He looked down at me, And started to bellow:
"What kind of student Would make such a fuss,
To toss back at teachers What they tossed at us?"
"On Cliff Notes! On Crib Notes! On Last Year's Exams!
On Wingit and Slingit, And Last minute crams!"
His message delivered, He vanished from sight,
But we heard him laughing Outside in the night.
"Your teachers have pegged you, So just do your best,
Happy Finals to All, And to All, a Good Test!"
More Nights Before Christmas
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And Even More Nights Before Christmas
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