World Of Christmas
Make your Christmas celebrations a little naughty by reciting few of the naughty poems, we have given below.

Naughty Christmas Poems

Christmas is a time to rejoice and laugh. It is at this occasion that we get together with our loved ones and forget all our miseries. But what would be Christmas, without a little mischief. To make Christmas celebrations mischievous, reciting naughty poems is a great idea to do so. Laugh and enjoy with your family and friends, reciting these naughty and silly poems. The naughty poems are to be taken in light humor as they make fun of the fairy, Santa and poke fun at the new Computer age Christmas. Given below are few naughty Christmas poems, you can enjoy with your loved ones.

The Christmas Fairy is a cute and naughty poem, in which the plastic fairy is explaining, why is she so glum, sitting on top of the Christmas tree.

The Christmas Fairy
I sit atop your Christmas tree,
All clad in pink, a real fairy.
The reason I appear so glum,
The sprig of spruce stuck up my bum.

This untitled naughty poem is meant for kids who have been naughty throughout the year and await their Christmas present.

On St. Nicholas Day,
The band of children waits;
For the good cookie he brings,
But for the naughty a switch that stings."

In this poem, Santa becomes a little naughty and pokes fun at the computer.

'Twas A Computer Christmas
T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the shop,
The computers were whirring; they never do stop.
The power was on and the temperature right,
In hopes that the input would feed back that night.
The system was ready, the program was coded,
And memory drums had been carefully loaded;
While adding a Christmasy glow to the scene,
The lights on the console, flashed red, white and green.
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
The programmer ran to see what was the matter.
Away to the hallway he flew like a flash,
Forgetting his key in his curious dash.
He stood in the hallway and looked all about,
When the door slammed behind him, and he was locked out.
Then, in the computer room what should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer;
And a little old man, who with scarcely a pause,
Chuckled: "My name is Santa...the last name is Claus."
The computer was startled, confused by the name,
Then it buzzed as it heard the old fellow exclaim:
"This is Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,
And Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen."
With all these odd names, it was puzzled anew;
It hummed and it clanked, and a main circuit blew.

It searched in its memory core, trying to "think";
Then the multi-line printer went out on the blink.

Unable to do its electronic job,
It said in a voice that was almost a sob:
"Your eyes - how they twinkle - your dimples so merry,
Your cheeks so like roses, your nose like a cherry,
Your smile - all these things, I've been programmed to know,
And at data - recall, I am more than so - so;
But your name and your address (computers can't lie),
Are things that I just cannot identify.
You've a jolly old face and a little round belly,
That shakes when you laugh like a bowlful of jelly;
My scanners can see you, but still I insist,
Since you're not in my program, you cannot exist!"
Old Santa just chuckled a merry "ho, ho",
And sat down to type out a quick word or so.
The keyboard clack-clattered, its sound sharp and clean,
As Santa fed this "data" to the machine:
"Kids everywhere know me; I come every year;
The presents I bring add to everyone's cheer;
But you won't get anything - that's plain to see;
Too bad your programmers forgot about me."
Then he faced the machine and said with a shrug,
" Merry Christmas to All " as he pulled out the plug!

Written by Winifred Sackville Stoner Jr., this is a mischievous poem in which, it is now the turn of the poet to poke fun at Nissen, the Santa Claus of Norway.

Nissen, the Santa Claus of Norway
How glad I am that I was born in this land very dear,
Where children have a Santa Claus of whom they have no fear;
A Santa who is always kind, remembering one and all
When every year at Christmas time, he pays us all a call.

In far away chill Norway, there NISSEN is the name
Of the Christmas visitor who bears good Santa's fame;
But he's a naughty brownie so short and very small,
Not a bit like Santa who pays us all a call.

But, like our good gift giver, his beard is long and white,
And he wears a coat of furs and many colors bright.
But instead of bringing goodies to girls and to boys,
Nice new clothes and books and games and lots of wondrous toys,

He expects that all big folks and little ones
Should leave his favorite dishes, such as puddings, cakes and buns,
Outside of every doorway so that he may eat at will
Of these luscious dainties until he has had his fill.

Then after eating all the cakes his "tummy-tum" can hold,
He milks the cows and splits the wood (at least, so I've been told),
But never thinks to bring nice gifts to little girls and boys
Whose parents have to trim their trees and buy them all their toys.

Besides, this naughty NISSEN is cross at times and bad,
And does all shorts of horrid tricks which I think is very sad
At Christmas when we all should be so kind to one another,
And treat each person whom we meet as if he were our brother.

But NISSEN steals away the cows and even horses fleet,
From all the people who forget to bake him puddings sweet;
And if above a whisper one should dare to speak or sing
About this cranky fellow, then this evil he will bring.
Upon the one who dared to throw his name upon the breeze,
As from that time the guilty one must sneeze and sneeze and sneeze.

Now in our land we sing loud praise of Santa all the time,
And tell about his goodness great, in prose and jingling rhyme;
And yet it seems the more we sing about the jolly elf,
The more he brings each year to us upon the mantel shelf.

But children in far Norway are better girls and boys
Than we who live in this fair land and think so much of toys
That we forget about the pets while feeding our own selves
Like thoughtless, greedy little pigs or naughty selfish elves.

While Norway children in the fall they work to gather corn
And save it for the birds they feed on every Christmas morn;
So we should follow in their steps and feed the wee bird crumbs
Before we start to feast ourselves on Christmas sugar plums.