My thoughts drift back to my childhood days
Of so many years ago
All the family gathered by a roaring fire
Whilst outside glistens with sparkling snow
We had such fun making snow angels and snowmen
Our little frozen fingers and rosy faces were aglow
Memories of Christmas now firmly in the past
I look back on happy days of so long ago
Our Christmas tree was draped with tiny twinkling lights,
Bright baubles, tinsel and candy canes just for our delight
Oh how the years have flown by so fast
Sadly, like the snowflakes our childhood days don’t last
I scan the list of Christmas cards that I’ve got to write
Each year it grows shorter, with loved ones we now miss
I dream of turning back the clock and returning to the past
My memories of Christmas are ones I hope will always last
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest: Christmas Carols
Song Chosen - White Christmas
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Oh the Ghosts, Oh the Ghosts!!!
The Ghosts of Christmas shall haunt the wicked
They shall haunt the bitter and sorrowful decrepit creatures
Your hunched back and wallet will be no shield
For the three ghosts of the Christmas past
I Sir am the ghost of the Christmas past
Fear not I shall do yee no harm
That, you have already done upon your own wicked soul
Yes, that is you, as a young man, full of piss and vinegar as they say
Oh I know, you young ones then called it love, sore sight that was
I sir am the ghost of the Christmas present
Fear not, the bitter cause their own harm, not I for sure
They seethe within their own discontent and folly
The chains you hear old scrooge, are not mine
They are the irons that chain your heart to the wheel of wealth
I sir am the ghost of Christmas future
Fear not, for there is hope for all mankind
Even you, who counts coins like lovers count kisses
When you wake, you shall remember not, all these wise illusionary dreams
Old scrooge, the gift of mercy shall bestow a last grasp at happiness, take yee hold!!!
The most festive of December days, the sun rose in the cold brisk air
Scrooge awoke, and the inexplicable sound of laughter filled his dreary bedroom
Pure unadulterated joy from the grumpiest of old men
The maid fled in fear, what insanity must have possessed this bitter old lard
Ah but happiness was indeed in the air
On with his topcoat and hat, nary a moment to ponder
Of he went to his secretary’s house
Carol, Carol !!!! He exclaimed, yes, I am not mad not crazy nor insane, open the door!
Possessed maybe, but only of joy, that I, the one so filled with animosity
Now I see, by the grace of the god, the love before my very eyes!!!
Well Carol and Scrooge passed a very Merry Christmas indeed!!!!!
Notes: This take of “A Christmas Carol” is from fond memories as a child, when our Dad “made” us watch this movie over the years! Blessed are those with such fond childhood memories of Christmas!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
As I contemplate life
Through thick lenses glasses of the whiskey bottle
Is there life?
What is life, what is the lie, or even the truth?
Or is there only the journey to darkness
If so, why not buy a first class ticket
To the black hole of the universe
There in death, I can sit
Dreaming of the rebirth of atoms and molecules
Then, I ponder some more
I remember years ago
Holding a soda pop bottle
I just couldn’t discard
Somehow I was happy
He was my invisible friend
We sure had adventures
Nighttime I was safe
He would guard the window
Be would both gaze at the stars
I would talk and he sure knew how to listen
These memories bring me smiles even now
Is the universe that strange?
Are we all related so, objects, minds and souls?
All I know, is maybe I better stick around
Have a soda
Savoring my youthful days
When all my friends came around to play
Yelling Ricky, come on out, it’s a beautiful day!
Baseball was always fun back then
I always had my soda pop bottle in my bag
Surrounded by friends and so so content
As I contemplate life
I am somewhat amazed
That the ghost from the Christmas past
Is no illusions after all
Chains be dammed, I am set free
I awake with a new vigor
To a new year
Notes: First I recommend to read Orange Crush The adventures of Soda Pop by Richard Lamoureux, all of them are a series. So, I added my dark side, and a wee bit of Charles Dickens at the end, as he like Richard used to write stores in series like this. I thought it unique to combine these 3 ideas in one!
I took the character of Ricky, aged him, and had him look back in time!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Love is a season.
And holidays mark the seasons, and years like signs in the road,
reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home.
Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down,
it was long past midnight, Christmas eve.
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me.
It was if they were trying to fill our dark house with color.
The block was filled with a hundred lighted windows.
But the blackness of our own, somehow, seemed more appropriate.
There was no Christmas tree in our house that year.
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
had taken all the strength he had.
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together.
Perry Como, I think it was, for I think I remember he sang "Ava Maria", and Dad got teary eyed.
My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week,
trying to help bring us a bit of cheer,....at least, for awhile,
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly.
The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed.
I wasn't sleepy,....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, waiting for Christmas.
As I finally headed for bed, I noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet.
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box.
The shoe box that had kept the sugar cube house, safe, dry, and out of harm's way.
A sugar cube house that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old.
Little sugar cubes stacked into walls, and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Good Housekeeping magazine that year,
and had surrounded it with little trees, and a oval mirror pond, and items we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store. She had carefully packed it all away last year.
After her last Christmas.
Late into the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the fireplace mantel....just as Mom would have done.
When the freckled morning moved into day...I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me. He had covered me with a warm blanket, and had fallen asleep beside me.
After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch from our old evergreen tree.
We decorated that bedraggled branch...it wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had, but it brought Christmas back to my family.
For Deb's Contest: A Christmas Tale
(Inspired by "The Match Girl" By H.C. Anderson
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
On the day after Christmas, they started appearing,
cast out of houses, stripped of their finery,
lying crooked in the gutter, garbage bags flanking.
My brothers and I walked to school
and halfway there, three blocks away,
was a steep ravine called The Hollow.
A place of some dark mystery in summer,
one hundred feet deep and forbidden land
according to most parents, The Hollow
sang its song to all neighborhood kids.
Returning to school after Christmas,
my brothers and I would drag the discarded
Christmas trees along the sidewalk and onto the bridge
that spanned The Hollow, then heave them over the railing,
watching their graceful tumble earthward,
their air brushing final fall.
"Hey, I used to do that too!" Donnie was a lot older,
almost done with high school, and his walk took him
right by our elementary school - he laughed to see us
hauling the trees to that concluding bridge.
He grabbed a large one, bigger than any of us could handle,
and upon the bridge had us help him hold it upright on the railing,
as it stood in life, as it looked down upon Christmas gifts;
we watched it slowly lean into Gravity,
watched the balletic descent into silence.
Donnie kept with us that first month into the new year,
the pile of trees growing in the bottom of The Hollow.
He told us things, we told him things,
we asked him things and he told us more.
My brothers and I still talk about that big tree
on the railing of the bridge over The Hollow.
It hit right on top of the pile of other trees
and bounced off to the side, its own special place.
As January wore on, we didn't find as many trees,
and ultimately it was all done.
Eventually the school year too was done,
and then more years, and school itself was done.
The trees at the bottom of The Hollow rotted away to nothing.
Somewhere in there my mom told me that Donnie
had been shipped off to war, killed within a few weeks.
We had that one magic month.
December 25, 2016
For Anthony Slausen's contest - 'The Day After Christmas'
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016
Trevor, Wendy and Sheila they all lived next door
Then there was me and that made us four
We all sang in St Peters church choir in my village home
On Christmas Eve we sang carols as round the village we would roam
We sang at every door in the village on that night
Wishing all a merry Christmas as they turned on their porch light
We sang the entire carol every single verse
Though sometimes the snow would just get worse and worse
All the money that we raised went to Overley Hall
To help keep the place open a benefit to all
Our last carol of the night was always at the York’s
He and his missus couldn’t they half talk
She would play piano and we would sing along
He would sit by fireside joining in the song
After we had finished they showed us to the door
With cake and fruit and a donation even though they might be poor
They had no children of their own so enjoyed our carol singing
We always left with words of thanks and exaltations ringing
We would find our way home it would be after ten
We used to count the money gat ourselves warm and then
They would go home back to the house next door
I would go up to my room and sleep deep that for sure
We would get up the next day and Christmas day was there
Yet Christmas Eve and carol singing was great for us to share
Copyright © Owen Yeates | Year Posted 2012
Snow sprinkles the ground
as delicate as sugar
crystallizing the exterior with a romantic heritage
only found in the heart of a child's imagination.
Like happiness it can melt in your hands,
and like happiness it can grow bitter like the ice you slip on
Forming miraculously to the curves of the earth
hugging till the land soaks in it's providence
white like the pages I battle with
Falling so passionately you'd think it was falling in love with the ground
And when it lands,
A blanket of perfection
glistening the season to a crisp
gently the sun arises
"there's no where to go today,
I'm just going to sit and enjoy the magic."
Copyright © Madison Caldwell | Year Posted 2013
We said our goodbyes in June,
and the months since blur into mist.
At unexpected moments, awareness
of loss hits; tears spill unbidden.
Family gathering, Christmas Eve
as usual . . . minus one.
We quietly exchanged gifts,
found flowers from her funeral
crafted into hand-made jewelry,
kaleidoscopes, treasured mementoes.
I cooked grapes today, dark muscadines.
I extracted seeds and peelings,
and measured life-sustaining juice
through the metal funnel she used
from the day of her marriage.
It came to me dented and bent,
like her body had been at 93.
I still taste those fresh-from-the-oven
chocolate rolls after school,
garden tomatoes warmed by the sun,
hot biscuits with apple jelly,
squeezed from the peelings after
she baked crisp slices in cinnamon-rich pie.
I'm glad I didn't know then,
about being allergic to Cinnamon.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
We were poor, but my brother and I didn’t know it.
Before Christmas my dad would take us to find just the right scraggly
fir tree..a wonderful afternoon tramping around in the woods.
Old and worn decorations..we were delighted to open the crate
and unpack them; it was like seeing old and beloved friends again.
The red velvet car was my favorite.. his a bedraggled Santa sled.
We always had a present or two..but the most exciting gifts were
in our stockings. The stockings were my dad’s work socks..washed
and pressed for the occasion. They hung with pride, beautiful to us.
One year I got a fishing pole in my stocking. It was stuck through
a hole in the heel. I thought that Santa was the cleverest
of men. Imagine..using that hole to my advantage!
My dad’s boss would give us the same thing year after year.
A crate of oranges, something we never had at any other time.
I can still see the juice on my hands as we devoured that special gift.
I wouldn’t trade those Christmas memories. The greatest gift was feeling
warm, and safe…and loved.
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2009
The snow fell gently on a quiet street
Neighbors walked in without knocking
There was a feeling of joy in the air
As each child hung up their stocking
There was a coal fire in the heatrola
Which took a little while to start
O Come All Ye Faithful on the radio
And a warmth radiating from each heart
The kids all went to bed early
Couldn't sleep until early morn
Waiting for presents from Santa
And to celebrate the day Christ was born.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006
Along narrow streets,carol singing
Boxes rattling,lanterns swinging
A stocking hung for Santa to fill
waking too early was a thrill
Chicken killed as a special treat
Finding three-penny piece in our sweet
In England ,in our area at least this has not changed much in 60+ years
the 'chicken' maybe a turkey or a piece of beef even,the thtree-penny pieces are now 5p's
There is still street carol singing,albeit now for charity.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008
I do not know?
Once upon a Christmas dreaming
Alphabets of spelling sleep,
Coal and snow plumed shrouded wreaths,
Fantasia minds plunged ever teeming
Distant choral souls redeeming,
Silence weeping, starlight beaming,
Light years bursting solar sheaths.
Whatever lost craved warmth and finding,
Rang the bells and rapped the brass,
Crept a creep of holy stealth,
Midnight chimed, the clock unwinding,
Visual feasts of gospels blinding,
Shadows lifted, ever minding
Love bestowing priceless wealth.
In the veils of crystals falling
Carols gelled with latticed ice,
Knitted pearls of liquid frost,
The songs of Christmas past were calling,
Eerie, wistful caterwauling,
Heaven bent on reinstalling,
Beckoned home whatever lost.
Once upon a Christmas waking
To a world of perfect white,
Love and caring left the grave
And arms wrapped bodies live and shaking,
Purest beauty in the making,
Gifts for giving, gifts for taking,
And all we took was all we gave.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
My Christmas Baby Doll
Fast down the staircase, eight of us in all,
like Santa’s reindeer, fly to our big tree
the very second that our parents call
us from our bedrooms. Oh, the gifts we see!
The glitter of the tinsel can’t compare
to our excitement as we run to snatch
our presents up! Then we begin to tear
the wrapping off, and then at last I catch
a glimpse of my best present on the floor.
A box rectangular, it makes me guess
it has to be the gift I will adore.
Pink-cheeked and sweet, it’s Thumbelina! Yes!
I wind a knob. Her small head moves. How real
my baby is, and what great joy I feel!
Written Dec. 21, 2016 for The Christmas Day Contest of Alexis Y.
See picture of the vintage 1964 doll above.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
An orb of light flashes through the window
and I see a new day arrive.
Reflections of yesteryears with Winters coming
and going before me. With each new season
of Winter, I see remarkable beauty.
I see snow-capped pines in my yard and they
look as if they were meant to live in that
Lovers skate on mother nature’s delight
and hold hands as if they were in love since
the dawn of time. They see each other in
a different light when dressed in warm attire
with scarves of wool made by grandma that
will be passed down through generations.
Children dance in angel’s wings and snowballs
fly in the daylight on snow days. There’s
something about watching a child play in
the snow. Maybe it reminds us of our
childhood, or maybe it is just the way they
laugh inside a fort made by the help of
Fireplace gatherings on the Eve of
Christmas brings joy in our hearts.
The children run around the couches
in circles, as “Up On The Rooftop” is heard
from our old record player we kept from
when we were children. We drink hot
chocolate and eat sugar cookies but
always leave some for Santa, as well
as carrots for Rudolph. Santa visits and
the chimney always seemed to be too
small, but the story has been told for many
a year that’s how he brings joy to our
Magic is but a sense of wonder and wonder
is but a dream of imagination. Watching water
turn into icicles seems to bring the most
fascination to me. As if they were born to
bring such a reflection of a new reason to
shine with hues of a rainbow. The season of
Winter is full of amazement and enchantment.
Charisma is born and as each year passes
the beauty never fades.
Winter Magic Contest
January 1, 2017
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2017
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 | Year Posted 2013
I was just trying to remember the past
trying to remember the good people
and the bad people,
that i came across on my way,
i want you to know
that you are among the good people
that left a good trace in my life,
once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.
Copyright © VICTOR BUN | Year Posted 2012
It was many years ago that I sat there on the floor
With Aunt Allie and my cousins, we knew what was in store.
The clan was gathered there around the Christmas tree
Just eagerly awaiting their Christmas gifts to see.
There was Billy Joe and Grady Earl and pretty Bonnie Lou
I can’t remember Martha – She might have been there too.
All these kids, aged six to nine, were very close to me
And when you saw just one of us you’d see two or three.
Now, Christmas gifts at my house were opened Christmas eve
But presents in aunt Allie’s home, were saved ‘til morning, don’t you see.
I’d had my Christmas presents; there were quite a lot.
So I’d gone on down to Auntie’s to see what they all got.
They took turns opening their gifts – around the room they’d go.
The first one up was Bonnie Lou – ladies first, you know
Bonnie gave a gleeful shout and raised her present high,
Just what she’d wanted for so long -- a portable hi-fi.
Grady Earl was next to see what Santa had in store,
He left cousin Grady skates that he’d been savin’ for.
Billy Joe was anxious to see if it were true
That if you had not been real good, it’s switches there for you.
Well, Billy didn’t have to wait too long to find what was in store
A box as big as China was coming through the door.
Now generally big boxes meant something really good
And when they opened up this box, a new bicycle stood.
All this Christmas giving went on an hour or so
When people began watchin’ me and started talkin’ low.
They tried to look so normal as they continued on
When I heard one kid whisper, “There’s nothin’ here for John.”
I’d opened presents earlier and I thought that they all knew
I was only there to witness, not to gather me a few.
It was not long, I’d say; just a minute, maybe two --
Someone handed me a package, saying, “John, this is for you.”
Something wrapped in tissue was now held in my hand –
I really tried to protest – They didn’t understand.
Their love for me was genuine and, me? – I felt the same.
They were somehow embarrassed that no gift bore my name.
I pulled away the ribbon from the tissue they’d prepared --
I know their love was all wrapped up in what was lying there.
At first it was puzzling as I looked into their faces,
For lying there was a brand-new pair of simple shoelaces.
Though I didn’t understand it on that day so long ago
The meaning of the laces continues to grow and grow.
Innocence was present then and few will now recall --
Young minds can seldom comprehend the meaning of it all.
Sweet memories of Christmas past now fill the summer air
As I stand here looking down at the marker lying there.
Bill and all the other kids have now all gone away,
But the meaning of the shoestrings comforts me today.
Written by John Posey
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2012
Santa Claus so creepy and weird
Neon pink bathrobe, mask cracked and yellowed beard
On his left arm my dad`s clock, so strange - we feared
Mom just smile and laugh, dad in the bathroom - afterwards he reappeared
- Anne-Lise Andresen :)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015
A single leaf,
Falls out of a tree above me.
As it twist and turn,
The wind blows it in my direction.
It symbolizes all my struggle and all my pain.
It tells me that they twist and turn,
But never remain.
It takes a sudden fall next to me.
It symbolizes the thought of being alone.
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 it's encouragement.
Nature communicates with us in many ways.
Not with words,
But with a single leaf out of a tree.
Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II | Year Posted 2012
15 December 2010
By: Noel N. Villarosa
I was at my age avid for adventure
Played outside home, street as my playground
Every nimiety of joy, I want to capture
Never ran out of game plan to lay down
At that time, robots are in the boom
Voltes V, Mazinger Z, and Daimos, among my favorites
But what most appealing for me to have in my playroom
Is a battery operated toy train with complete accessories
Christmas season is the best time to receive gifts
For a child like me, full of excitement and wishful
Life was hard before, wishful thinking somehow gone adrift
Somehow, someday under the Christmas tree, I’ll find it circling in full
Watch the tiny trains buzzing along the tracks
It’s a fun to place little trees and people in the scene
Reverberating rhythm of horn and its wheels click-clack
Passing by a miniature bridge, tunnels, forest so evergreen
Make up stories for the little people in the scene
Why there are there and what’s happening
Still fresh and playing wildly in my brain
I’ll make it happen on Christmas day with my son mingling
6th place in "TOYLAND" contest
Sponsored by: Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
Copyright © Noel Villarosa | Year Posted 2010
L Long ago travelled Kings
O Opened their minds to prophecies
V Visiting from afar they brought gifts of Gold, Fracincense and Myrrh
E Eastern Star guiding them lighting the way
C Company of Heavenly Host
A Allelujah! Angels appeared to Shepherds, telling Savior born
M Manger for bed wrapped in cloths in Town of David
E Evangelically proclaimed Christ the Lord
D December 25th designated day
O On which we recollect
W Why/way Christ entered our world
N Nativity only part of His story
A A new testament
T Tells of new covenant between God and His people
C Christ's coming to Earth
H Hailed as new born King, Holy
R Risen Lord, righteous redeemer,
I Intercedes for us as
S Spiritual Saviour to save sinners souls
T Time for Truth, Trust, Trinity
M Man's belief in God of Love,
A As Father Son and Holy Spirit
S Shall be saved
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2009
Copyright © Sharon Smith | Year Posted 2012
The sleigh bells jingle merrily across the horses backs,
The snowflakes fall around us, filling the horses tracks;
The silver silence broken by boisterous Christmas songs,
Midnight chimes on the clock over head but we’re still going strong;
The whiskey warms our insides as we pass the bottle around,
Aside from the caroling voices, the night doesn’t make a sound;
We’re snuggled under blankets, breath fogging in the air;
Riding along with family and friends, living without a care!
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2012
It must have been around 1967, a Christmas that
feels like yesterday. Funny thing though, I don’t
remember unwrapping it, I don’t remember jumping
for joy, but I’m certain I did. With five children we
didn’t think of asking Santa for more than one gift.
Oh, there were always more gifts under the tree,
ones from our grandparents and of course mom
and dad. But that one, the one you wished for
was never knitted socks or mitts or anything
you wear, it was something special like
a toy or game. This one year the gift of all gifts
came to me. We always visited relatives and
good friends and I remember taking it with me.
I see it in my hands as I sat with my very own
transistor radio in the quiet corner listening to
the Boston Bruins playing hockey with my
hero number 4, Bobby Orr. I had a ten year old
girly crush on him and I was in heaven that night
every time the announcer said his name. Many
Christmases have come and gone since then, but
the memories of that radio with an antenna and
two turning knobs I will never forget.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Contest: Hush of Christmas Past
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
You'll shoot your eye out, they said to young Ralphie
when for Christmas, he asked for a gun to shoot BB's.
Yes, it's funny to watch this poor kid's Christmas stress,
but don't you think once a year is enough, TBS!
For Andrea Dietrich's Christmas Character Clerihew Contest, 12/7/14
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014
It’s eight, I’m waking up late
the aroma of mummy’s fry
gives me so much joy to cry
It’s nine, admiring my gifts so fine
counting the time to display
this, I’ve been hoping since may.
It’s ten; guess who’s here; Uncle Ben
can’t wait for his Biblical stories
as the Kitchen scents with currys
It’s eleven; I wished for this hour since seven
dancing through the city square
I’m so happy Life is fair.
Hurray! It’s Christmas
and I don’t want it to pass
so thank you Jesus, for this gift of Love!
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014
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 | Year Posted 2013
Come listen to a tale of lessons learned.
How I now cringe remembering when I
Reached up and touched a red-clad elf and turned
Idyllic moments to a time to cry!
Such ignorance! My grandson told me that
To touch an elf will break the magic spell.
My pleas to be forgiven all fell flat
At first. I'm glad to say things turned out well.
Sweet letters to irked elves can sometimes be
Enough to bring their Christmas magic back.
Long flights to Santa Claus can guarantee
Victorious good kids. Gifts--they won't lack.
Each time I see that little elf, I make
Sure I don't touch it so no hearts will break.
The Elf on the Shelf, a book by Carol Aebersold and Chanda Bell, tells of little elf figures that show up at young children's houses just after Thanksgiving, observe the children's behavior, fly to the North Pole nightly till Christmas Eve to report to Santa, fly back, and land in a new spot each time. The elf is NOT to be touched! The poem is autobiographical.
Copyright © Janice Canerdy | Year Posted 2015
When I received the greatest gift,
Was Christmas when I was ten;
That present gives my soul a lift,
When I think of it now and then;
I didn’t see a box with my name,
When I searched under the tree;
I thought my parents were playing a game,
And had hidden it from me;
I waited oh so patiently,
For my gift on Christmas Day;
And when mom put a blindfold on me,
I didn’t know quite what to say;
She marched me out the front door,
And held my hand so tight;
Just when I thought I could take no more,
I saw that glorious sight;
My dad was holding the reins,
To a horse with a big red bow;
He had ribbons tied in his mane,
With a coat that seemed to glow;
I burst out into happy tears,
As I reached out to touch his face;
It’s a moment I’ve remembered for many years,
No other could take it’s place;
My greatest gift was “Lucky”,
My horse so tried and true;
And I hope you’ll be as lucky,
To have a gift like that for you!
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011
( This is a fictional write)
I was a short skinny seven year old boy growing in a town
Believed in fantasies of scary boogie to jolly old red man.
When dad took to see Santa, was worried about naughty list.
On Christmas Eve I went to bed early full with excitement.
Then heard a strange sound coming from the living room
Saw parents carrying toys placing them under the tree.
Returned to bed and where I silently cried myself to sleep.
As if was not enough heard the voices of parents fighting.
Saw Christmas tree torn, toys scattered and dad leaving.
Felt rejection, loneliness, physical and emotional abuse
It was awful and bitterly engrained still in my memory.
When the troubles come, come not single but in battalion.
Sixth place win in:
Contest: My darkest childhood Memory sponsored by Walayee Whitlock
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2011