A Visit from Karl Marx Claus

200 years ago on December, 23, 1823, in the Troy Sentinel newspaper, an short poem was published anonymously. The poem was submitted by a friend of the author, Clement Clarke Moore, a professor at General Theological Seminary of the Protestant Episcopal Church, in New York City. Moore had written the poem for his own children, but had also given out a few copies to friends, one of whom submitted it to the paper under the title, “A Visit from St. Nicholas”.

The poem relied on many of the Dutch traditions surrounding St. Nicholas, but was the first time one writing combined them all. The popularity of the poem has, for the past 200 years, set Christmas traditions that have persisted throughout the centuries…including the names of Santa’s reindeer.

In honor of that, I’d like to re-present I parody I wrote in 2012 based on the famous poem. I hope you enjoy it and feel free to share.

An original poem by Jason Shepherd

UPDATED from its original version published in 2012.


T’was the night before solstice,

And in our collective,

Everyone was being socially conscious,

Following Greta Thunberg’s directives.

No stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

As it sends a pro-carbon message, something our collective wouldn’t dare.

The children were nestled all snug in the beds,

While visions of low-cal and high-fiber snacks danced in their heads.

Parent one and I were just dozing as we watched on the TV,

An NBC news special on American corporate and Republican greed.

When from our urban garden there arose a sudden sound escalation,

I sprang from the couch to report the noise violation!

“I can’t hear Rachel Maddow,” I told the local government authority,

As I flew to the window, to identify the infringers, in their entirety.

A new layer of snow had fallen the previous night,

The global warming induced weather certainly helping my sight.

But what did I see puttering down the road?

But a vintage East German Trabant, belching exhaust in the cold.

With a bearded diminutive driver of advanced age preparing to park,

I knew in a moment it was Karl Marx!

I ended my call and in my excitement shouted loud,

And felt a tingle up my leg that would have made Chris Mathews proud.

Parent unit one and I raced to meet Mr. Marx at the door,

Sure that redistributed goodies from the evil rich would soon be piled on our floor.

In our home came this saint of equality,

Whose writings we read without frivolity!

“From each according to his ability to each according to his need.”

Is what we had long adopted as our life’s governing creed!

I asked him for what reason do we receive this great reward?

He said, “You brought me in by voting for Biden/Harris…d’accord?

He stepped into our hall and quickly looked all about.

“No, no this will not do,” he said. “It all must come out!”

All of a sudden Government agents did appear,

and started removing our things, taking whatever was near!

I stood in stunned silence, barely able to believe,

Even when they took my 72-inch plasma TV!

Out the door went my iPad, my iPhone and my other gadgets by Steve Jobs,

Out to my front lawn, where they were passed out to the eager mobs.

I finally found my voice and started to loudly protest,

But the government agents ignored me, and just continued to empty my nest.

“I thought you were bringing us loot from the evil rich,” is what to Marx I did beg.

“My friend you ARE the rich,” is what to me he said.

“From your large home heated by solar panel,

“To the hybrid in the garage shows how much wealth you’ve channeled.”

“You occupy Portland with your elite college degrees,

“thinking only bankers and lawyers and corporate execs are this nation’s disease.

“Millions below you now want their fair share, too

“So don’t complain to me, because I am here because of you.”

My wife stood there crying as soon our for our lives’ work we had nothing to show,

As everything we had worked for disappeared into the snow.

To Marx, I shouted angrily, “We’ve worked very hard to have all that you see!”

“You didn’t build that,” is all he said to me.

Soon nothing was left, not even our “Black Lives Matter!” banner,

Plus we now had three more families living in our eight-room manor.

But before leaving to visit the next family he planned to bother,

He gave us a copy of “Das Kapital” and “Dreams from my Father.”

Back into his Trabie, did the socialist devil climb,

Speeding off to redistribute at least one more time.

But our experience with Marx certainly gave us pause,

To finally realize…Socialism is no Santa Claus!

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