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Christmas Autumn Poems | Christmas Poems About Autumn

These Christmas Autumn poems are examples of Christmas poems about Autumn. These are the best examples of Christmas Autumn poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

Hearthside On Christmas Eve

I can think of no better contentment that can be had,
Lounging in my robe and slippers comfortably clad,
Than relaxing by the hearth in my favorite chair,
Gazing at the dancing flames, ah, nothing can compare!

A winter storm rages outside piling up drifts of crystal snow.
I checked the thermometer and it read twenty degrees below!
But what care I as we settle in for an evening of respite,
Sipping Berringers White Zinfandel on this Holy winter's night!

We reminisce about the past and things for which we aspire,
Dreamily watching the glowing embers of the dying fire.
With music softly playing and the lights turned down low,
I light my pipe, savoring the aroma and its mellow glow!

I make room for dear old Simba as he curls up on my lap,
Purring contentedly and taking his usual evening nap.
My spouse prepares a bowl of piping hot popcorn for a treat.
I couldn't ask for anything more to make the evening complete!

In the autumn of my life, such simple times I truly treasure.
With my love by my side, I'm satisfied beyond all measure!
The grandfather clock measures time in its inexorable way.
Oh, that time would stand still that I could forever relish this day!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Placed No. 2 in Linda-Marie's "Holiday Hearth" Contest - November 2011

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Family Grief Family Happiness

   Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
    My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
        My Mother caring about all five in different ways
      Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays 
     My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
      Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John. 
       music  a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !

     Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
          The music  takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "    
      My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
                 My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
        feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food               
       the yelling , slamming of doors ,  tempers Flare , passion 
         Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
        After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
         Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?

       Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee  
                 No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
          the  Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .  
        Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
             Excited in Chicago !  seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
        Cubs ,  museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
       Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
             Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `  
        Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones , 
          scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
           ~ That is the Family I Love ,
                     that is the Family I choose to miss ~    

Copyright © Shanity Rain

Details | Rhyme | |

A Single Leaf Out of A Tree

A single leaf, 
Falls out of a tree above me,
 As it twist and turn, 
The wind blows it in my direction, 
It symbolizes the ending point of my 
struggles and all my pain, 
It tells me that they twist and turn, 
But never remain, 
It takes a sudden fall next to me, 
But why? 
It symbolizes the thought of being 
It tells me that someone is always 
by my side, 
As I write, 
The leaf flies away, 
As if it had a huge success in 
Nature communicates with us in 
many ways, 
Not with words, 
But with a single leaf out of a tree.

Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II

Details | Rhyme | |

A Homeless Man's Christmas Wish

Christmas day is coming soon
I can hear the little drummer boys beat 
As I sleep under a stack of newspapers
At my home here on the street
I have no shade from the summer heat
No shelter from a spring storm
When autumn and winter roll around
I have no blanket to keep me warm
I have no one to talk to 
No doctor to keep me well
My life is like the seventh circle
Of an everlasting hell
I have no feast on Thanksgiving
On my birthday, I have no cake
Most nights as I sleep in my concrete bed
I pray and hope I won't wake
I think about the man I used to be
The one that died so long ago
Now all that's left is this scruffy, filthy creature
Who I don't even know
Now that Christmas is here again
I pray to the good Lord above
For a gift that most don't appreciate 
Filled with lots of happiness and love
I'm not talking about material things
I can get by without any of that
All I want is a house and a family
Complete with a dog and  a cat
I wish every single Christmas season
That my dear, sweet Lord would send me
A beautiful family with warm, smiling faces
Sipping hot chocolate around a Christmas tree
We would have a most amazing feast
A rack of lamb tied up with a bow
Then we would all get bundled up
And go caroling in the snow
Oh, how glorious that would be
To have a family and a few friends
To have people who love me
Even after this life ends
God please hear my prayers
And answer them if you can
Just grant one simple Christmas wish
To this old homeless man

Copyright © Abby Lovern

Details | Couplet | |


Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs

Details | Light Poetry | |


Let's escape to space
& Leave the human race 

Space-love a new awesomeness
Forget the life & the gloominess

Kiss me, because I care
Even thought the life is unfair

I want to be a space-lover
Love you now, tomorrow & forever

Lest Live in a house made of stars
& drive spaceship instead of cars 

We feel the space-love in moon
I'll be yours, you'll be mine so soon

Galaxy, universe, stars & limitless
Screw the world, we found happiness.

Copyright © zineb laddioui

Details | Rhyme | |

Portrait of Jesus Christ

Few years back I use to make Paintings
Mostly of landscapes 
And sometimes, abstracts or portraits

The oil paintings which I use to make were such,  
That anyone would have 
Found them to possess and love

It was a season of Christmas and I was 
Strolling, when I saw two beautiful poetry books
One on the season of Autumn and other on Christmas

It had a bunch of adorable world of poetry
So beautiful and so lovely
Printed with beautiful photos and scenes

The photo of Jesus was so enchanting
With His loving eyes spreading 
The message of peace, love and humanity

One day when I was trying to draw a sketch
My brush started making on its own
A beautiful picture of Jesus 

One evening, when that portrait of Jesus 
Was almost complete 
A Christian friend of mine saw that picture fine

He was overwhelmed with joy and love
And hugged me as if I was someone very fine
He asked me? If I can gift that portrait to a Church divine

I had felt a joy in making that beautiful portrait
But giving it for a place of shrine
Was the most wonderful feeling, one can cherish in his life time

He asked me to come with that portrait of Jesus Christ
And give that gift to his Church on Christmas Day 
In the Church, where he was going to prey

I can never forget that Christmas day
While seeing that lovely portrait of Jesus
The priest blessed me with love, while tears in his eyes

I am not a Christian, but still I love Jesus 
For all the kindness and love he gave to humanity
And pain and sufferings He faced for us

I still keep those two most beautiful poetry books
Like a precious treasure
And can never forget those lovely moments of sketching Jesus Christ.


Kanpur  29th Nov. 2009  

Entered for Raul Moreno’s contest "The Deposition" 

Note 1: This poem is based on my own true happenings. I am still 
Keeping those poetry books published and printed in US around
1960’s and purchased by me second hand from a Magazine shop
Around 1965 as my most valuable treasure. But since a long
I am have not made any Paintings.

Note 2: Incidentally I have traced that Portrait now shining in the 
care of my senior friend Mr. J  F Patteson & brilliantly 
preserved by him till now.

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor

Details | Light Poetry | |


Let's escape to space
& Leave the human race 

Space-love a new awesomeness
Forget the life & the gloominess

Kiss me, because I care
Even thought the life is unfair

I want to be a space-lover
Love you now, tomorrow & forever

Lest Live in a house made of stars
& drive spaceship instead of cars 

We feel the space-love in moon
I'll be yours, you'll be mine so soon

Galaxy, universe, stars & limitless
Screw the world, we found happiness.

Copyright © zineb laddioui

Details | Free verse | |

Perennial Christmas

Like autumn leaves
the years had withered and blown away.
Her schoolgirl dreams had been set aside or
if appropriate wrapped in gay-patterned paper
and placed beneath the Christmas tree of her heart.

She awoke from dreamless sleep
and wondered who she was and where she was,
but the breathing of her husband and the ticking of the clock
reminded her of the person called ‘mother’ and ‘dear’.
Almost as a duty Christmas morn had come again.

Dad would visit today
and search her face for sadness,
for only he would notice if sparkling eyes had grown dim
and if her eyes, when blinking,
stayed closed a bit too long.

Amid a gaggle of restless children
she would nod a deferential nod
and inwardly long for the days when
Dad and daughter sailed the distant reaches
of their bright vivacious minds.

The once-a-year napkins
red and green with matching placemats
were ready for the throng; and the tree,
already bending low from weight of Christmas finery
would soon be gathered 'round.

For the children it was the perfect day,
but for her the conductor's podium was a lonely place.
She knew how fragile such happiness was;
more fragile, thought she,
than the hand blown bulbs upon the tree.

The children were awake!
Excited giggles and the tearing of wrapping paper
meant that Santa Claus had really come!
Yet Santa, tired from another hectic year,
simply smiled and closed her eyes.

© 2009 James Rasmusson

Copyright © James Rasmusson

Details | I do not know? | |

The last leaf

The last leaf
And there it is....the last leaf
Stubborn, brave
Holding tight to that branch
Refusing to be the last memory.
It’s colours are fading
Becoming brown and gray and black
Tattered and torn
By the determined breeze
By cold rain and crispy frost.
All the other leaves are on the ground
Said their goodbyes to the tree
Carpeting the pavement, grass
And ground under the paling sun.
But not our little leaf,
Refusing to become
The last memory of summer past.
But the gale is stronger
With a big blow sends our little leaf
On the ground, in the mud
Soggy, forgotten
Tattered, torn,
brave little leaf.

Copyright © Angela Johnston

Details | I do not know? | |

Sea of gold

Lustrous waves of wheat, 
Peppered with blues and reds, 
Dancing in the wind, 
Slowly swaying, rippling, 
Flap and flutter, 
Tranquil, peaceful, 
Sundance of
Rising, dropping, 
Rows and rows, 
Of rich yellow, 
Golden sea.
(20th Aug 2014)

Copyright © Angela Johnston

Details | Classicism | |

The Story Behind Christmas

The fog left from a wintery snow
Where snow flakes glimmer to the story behind Christmas
As children laugh and play
When pine trees lighten the story behind Christmas
The skid marks of snow mobiles 
Where parade mobiles add to the story behind Christmas
Along the roads in a small town
When Santa waves to the story behind Christmas
Not too far from here
Where children sing to the story behind Christmas
The path of righteous stands clear
When bells ring to the story behind Christmas
Where there is glory near
The story behind Christmas my dear
Sights of gaze and steer are frosty
When people reach out to the story behind Christmas
And held dear to the hearts of many
Where elves make toys at the story behind Christmas
The love is reminiscence in luminosity
When the clock strikes at the story behind Christmas
Not for faith to be indulged
Where the hour glass fills to the story behind Christmas
The blear insight of atrocity indisputable
When the train passes in the story behind Christmas
Reputable to the peace in question 
Where pine cones reflect the story behind Christmas
Where it is an ostentatious handler

Copyright © Brigett Hurley

Details | Senryu | |

Autumn Begins The Year Ends - senryu chain x5


Copyright © Warner Baxter

Details | I do not know? | |


Some say autumn is sad
It has it’s moments
Rain , mist, dying nature...
Stillness in the air,
Cold, crispy days
Bonfires, burning leaves...
I say autumn is joyful,
Happy, outburst of colours
Laughter in the parks,
Children chasing each other
falling  into the leaves,
Hunting  for acorns
Little treasures hidden
Under the fallen canopy.
Chestnuts, pumpkins,
Pies and hot cocoa...
Gathering, harvesting,
Leaf pile building.
Bullions of gold corn,
Smiling red apples,
Nutty nuts
Delicious hedge fruit
Bounty of nature
Rainbow of colours
Symphony of shades and hues
Tints of autumn
Spell of the Grand Wizard Frost.
Turned leaves, like a giddy spark of
Yellows, oranges, crimson and browns
Glistening glitter
Dance in the wind.
Bright hues of last
hurrah of autumn
Before the white, gloomy
Silence of winter.
Magic of autumn,
Golden Age of the year
With the last leaf that falls
On the muddy ground
One knows that time has come
For another magical time ...
Golden October, Frosty November
Magical December
And with this the spell starts all over again....

Copyright © Angela Johnston

Details | I do not know? | |

Old Letter

Old letter
Old letter in the bottom of my drawer,
Old thoughts laid on the paper many-many moons
Old ideas hidden in a tattered envelope,
Old feelings gathered on a sheet of paper,
Now yellow and tatty like the envelope.
Who is the sender?
Who is the receiver?
I cannot see..... I cannot tell....
The ink is old, almost invisible;
A few letters, maybe a syllable....hard to guess...
Hard to read......
Old letter in the bottom of my drawer,
What is your secret?
What are you hiding?
Are you a love letter?
Or maybe just a friendly reply to another
letter lost in time?
Or tear soaked sad thoughts of a broken heart?
Or are you a happy letter, a happy sphere of
Shared with someone close,
maybe a friend, a relative,
Or shared with a brother or a sister, a parent
or an aunt perhaps?
Or maybe an official letter starting with
“Dear Sir....or Madam...”  .
Little and torn and ragged and
fold in quarters, tatty, old letter
What is your secret?
I am begging you.......reveal!
I am standing  here, in the room,
with the letter in my hand;
Quiet, hardly breathing even,
Maybe a miracle will happen....
Maybe the tatty letter like a portal key
Will open up and will beam me back in time
And just as I am stepping out of mist
the sender will
Be brought to light sitting on the porch,
or in the shade of a tree;
Scribbling his thoughts on a silky,
snow white sheet of paper.....
lifting his head now and then to gather his
thoughts and scribble away again....
I am almost afraid he might see me,
So cautiously I step back;
but nothing happens,
and I am still in my room
standing by the window
with this timeworn letter in my hand,
still wondering When? Where? Why? and Who?
And smiling I am thinking at this antique letter
With its long forgotten thoughts,
Maybe it’s not my place to know your secret,
So little letter torn at corners, yellowed in time
Your secret will be safe with me
Well hidden deep
In the belly of my drawer.....

Copyright © Angela Johnston

Details | Ballad | |


Soft dawn light... 
Broke in the east 
Pink and red, 
in late December 
Christmas came on a frosty day... 
What I can remember..... 

This time, so long ago 
So many years passed by 
Yet, I remember 
The cold winter in that December 
The geese long since gone south 
Honking cry, 
in an Autumn sky 

I was a merest wisp of a boy 
All I ever wanted.... 
was that toy.... 
I was seven... 
You know... 
On that frosty Christmas day 
Back then.... 

Cold winters, come and go 
I am old ,you know... 
Yet, I remember that Christmas 
On a frosty day, 
back then.... 
In deep snow... 
I was seven.... 

Most of the family have passed on, 
gone to heaven 
I remember how the candles shone, 
long ago 
I am old , you know.... 
I was seven.. 

We were poor, you know 
back then... 
Long ago 
I was seven... 
A mere wisp of a boy 

I am old now, 
but I still remember 
My favourite Christmas... 
My favourite toy.... 
I was seven 

Christmas came on a frosty day.... 
Like so many since then 
I still have that toy... 
By my bed 
I am eighty seven, 
you know... 
and still a boy..... 

Copyright © Matthew Brackley

Details | Narrative | |

Deep In The Horizon

First comes Spring, with daisies and Easter eggs, 
And little girls running around wearing their Sunday best.
My peony's start blooming, followed by
long walks with my dog, who is sniffing around
fire hydrants for the first time in 3 months.
The sun's eyes are open later, 
While the moon takes his time rising deep in the horizon,
And the stars are just  so much more,

Summer brings newness and fresh green everything,
Everywhere it spreads, wherever it can touch and see.
The burning heat is combined with sweating, 
which then turns into family reunions,
Followed by swimming with my cousins.
And I can hear the sound of tiny footprints on lawns 
Running through the neighbor's favorite sprinkler.
And sweet smell of marshmallows to eat,
	-at dusk.

My favorite one of them all, would have to be the Fall,
The sweet scent of fire lingering through the
Twilit cool breeze,
And there are yellow, orange and red leaves falling,
Like confetti from a pinata, 
They have a certain destination in mind,
Mostly it's for my children collecting them with papa,
Or using them for their 3rd grade Science project.
Families all over the world get to do one thing, 
At the same time...
Collect nature's beauty marks,
And jump so excitingly among,
	-the beauty of a season..

Not too long after that, the Winter I saved for last.
Not because I don't appreciate this weathered season,
But because there's nothing better than that first time
You can see your breath when you breathe.
I'll never forget the first time I woke up as a child,
Gazed out our front porch window,
And experiencing awe for the very first time and saw,
Snow dipped pine trees with little green, and a lot of white.
There are icicles dangling reflecting a prism into
All surrounding light, and when they decide it's time to melt,
It's about that time of year when the sun stays up a little later,
And when the moon takes his time rising deep in the horizon.
And when the starts are just so much more..

Copyright © Laura Urbaniak

Details | Verse | |

The Nihilist - Five: Dog-Tired Days

Parallel went the universe someplace along the line
When autumn French-kissed winter with tongues of leaf and ice;
The lamp-posts dripped drab amber with a dark and dreary shine,
A devil's brew of garnished sleet, elemental egg-fried rice.
Night caved long and colder as day fell short, sedate,
And I felt somewhat older, in my heart a dying spark;
Crying out for love rekindling to alleviate the fate
Of departing in pitch-blackness and returning in the dark.
Tedious treadmill grinding as the Christmas pines were sawn,
Down in the valley decorations sagged and popped and spat;
Sizzling bulbs of neon death, ramshackle and forlorn,
Greeting cards from no one close had piled up on the mat.
My eyes blurred red and jaundiced in a fiery bourbon haze,
Well-past midnight I still sit and hungrily imbibe;
Toasting all the ghosts I knew throughout my dog-tired days,
On glitzy wrapping clawed the wishes I wished to inscribe.
Never has the relevance of nothing meant so much,
The face of unrequited love recedes in mist and snow;
The angels on the Christmas tree bestow no healing touch,
Pull up the covers, settle down, there's nowhere left to go…

Copyright © Tony Bush