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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
Copyright © Sharon Smith
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
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
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
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,
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
Not with words,
But with a single leaf out of a tree.
Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II
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
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
( 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
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
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
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
With wonderment and gleeful bliss
she gave her mama a goodnight kiss.
Then off to bend the stars till dawn
and watch the snow adorn the lawn.
Hoping so much to see a sleigh
the wee one bowed her head to pray
for Santa's safe journey and such.
Really she didn't ask for much.
Her nose frosted the window panes
as she reached for some candy canes
to feed to Santa's swift reindeer.
How she could feel their presence near!
Finally she lay down to sleep
so quiet she didn't make a peep.
She watched from her bed to the moonlit sky
to see if Santa Claus really did fly!
Fatigue took over;the little girl slept.
Her guardian angel it's vigil kept.
Off she slipped to a dreamland sweet
till she heard the clatter of reindeer feet.
It's morning and down the stairs she flies
among the toys and a dolly that cries
there stands a tricycle in pink
and Mama gives her a smile and a wink!
written Christmas Eve Dec.24th, 2013
Copyright © Deb Wilson
The Hush of Christmas Past
It came more slowly then.
the lights and decorations
started showing up.
The excitement started to build.
Santa showed up at the
department store, The
ads in the newspapers
were larger, some even
in color. There was talk of
“the list”, and “naughty or nice”.
It was agonizing – waiting for
the night Mom said “OK, let’s
go buy the tree”. The trip to
the back lot behind the
super market, “This one…
NO! THIS ONE!” We carried
the tree - by any means possible -
remembering Mom’s warning:
“Remember, you will have to
carry that big tree home.”
The tree was somehow decorated.
Lights, tinsel, bulbs, each one someone’s
favorite, ribbons, bows, a picture
of the cat. Now the speculation
began in earnest. “Whadaya
think you’re gonna get?”. “OH,
I hope, I hope, I hope”, “But I can’t
tell you, it’s a secret.” We knew there
would probably be sox, some new
PJ’s, mittens – the usual. But there
would also be those other nicely
wrapped gifts – from Santa.
The baseball glove, the skates,
the “un-wrapable” scooters, bikes,
baseball bats, hockey sticks.
These were always brought by
Santa Clause. Santa supplied the
dreams, Mom and Dad the gifts.
We provided the unmistakable
sounds of Christmas morning.
There would be church and a
Christmas dinner, lost amid the
joy of dreams. Dreams of snagging
that line drive with the new baseball
glove, of racing down the hill on
the bike, of Bobby Orr like moves
with the new skates.
The colored lights took their cue
from the setting sun as we gathered
around the table and savored the
sweet, juicy, succulence of Mom’s -
never to be equaled – Apple Pie.
John G. Lawless
submitted to HUSH OF CHRISTMAS PAST – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Mystic Rose
Copyright © John lawless
A self-written poem begun in Christmas Time,
While it tasting the soup and looking for rhyme.
In the kitchen, neighbor with the quiet tomato paste,
The sorcerer's apprentice, a poet pretty well placed
Near Soups (ciorbe) with characteristic sour taste
With luminous face and much grace added the rest:
As he was sipping and tasting from raw and cooked.
His group had a passionate look at what was booked
For the dinner: These might be meat and vegetable soups.
They had to choose till the coming of the helping troops
For the pig`s sacrifice rite, old mixture of joy and grief
Under the hot and long debrief of the pleasant smell-thief
Tripe soup (ciorba de burta) hard prepared from beef,
And calf foot soup (ciorba de vitel), with green-gold leaf
Pickled soup (supa de moare) with pork and big rice;
But use the dice to decide between spice and allspice.
From the slaughtered pig the village` families prepare:
Carnati - sausages kept in special aromatic smoke
Of wet fir and oak burned at small fire as enjoyed by folk;
Caltabos - sausages made with liver sprinkled with beers;
Toba and piftie - dishes using pig's feet, head and ears
Suspended in aspic like a frozen symphony in red
After cups of plum brandy and before going the bed
Tochitura - pan-fried pork to bid it a farewell, twice
Served with mamaliga - palesta , and red wine with ice,
Or boiled wine with pepper and cinnamon against frost;
So that the pork can swim and the verse were glossed;
Piftie - inferior parts of the bashful pig, mainly the tail,
Feet and ears, kind of meal like taken from a fairytale
In which all are cooked and served in a form of gelatin
In this naturalist field, all the poets smile like Mr.Bean;
Jumari - small pieces of pig meat are fried and tumbled
Through various spices if after all, you are a little troubled
And may falter some poetical from the famous songs
Like "So, good people drink…" couples of diphthongs
Since Saturday to Thursday and make colorful the gray.
This poem was written in the Night of Tuesday to Friday.
( And later we`d find that the housewife had covered with it the pickles cucumbers jar.)
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa
Listening to the roosters crow brings thoughts
Memories of when I was very young
There was a rooster who wasn't store-bought
He had strong masculine traits and strong lungs
He would loudly crow, strut, and fight the best
The day he flew at me and tried to spur
Was the day his name became the fowl pest
On Christmas Eve he met his fate_ yes, sir
'Pon that fated day he crowed his last crow
His fancy strutt in the pot mom did stir
The feet, the neck, tips of wings she did throw
When those were done, dumplings she did transfer
The meal was done and all sat down to eat
Mom passed the dumplings around and served me
In the dumplings on my plate landed his feet
Laughter around the table showed our esprit
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
Contest: Christmas Dinner With Humor
Minimum 12 lines
Christmas day the rest was boiled and dressing made...
Copyright © Sara Kendrick
There was a tree I remember that
Though the house seemed dark I swear.
Father had left us months ago
Now Christmas time was here.
Sister, well, she was only three
and knew not much of presents
I cried for many things that year
one of them loving parents.
On Christmas morning beneath the tree
a special Dolly waited
with joints that moved and eyes of glass
sorrow had abated.
Dolly, well she was an real angel
for she’d brought my Daddy home.
Convinced was I by twinkling eye
and sparkling golden comb.
Magical Dolly with moving hands,
no matter a bit broken,
the token Daddy gave to me
love had truly spoken.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi
It snowed all night!
On Christmas Day,
the ground was white,
so we could play.
Then men of snow
stood in a row.
For Gail’s A Christmas Snow contest
Copyright © jack horne
Ring ring I called to Jesus
He picked the phone and called my name
I have some questions I said
go ahead and ask, he said.
Why isn’t Christmas celebrated everyday?
Why can’t I get presents as often as possible?
Why did you choose December for such moment of bliss?
He answered with a gentle smile.
I have made you the never fading hope
the crown which you’ll glory in my presence
I’ve filled your heart with Joy and gladness
as often as you let me
my grace for you is abundant
which is renewed every morning
and my love for you is endless and never bounded by time
and yet you only celebrate me once in a year?
Oh lord forgive me- I weep
how can I celebrate you everyday?
He said- Purify your heart
and be clothed with a constantly renewed mind.
This is the perfect Gift I seek.
Oh Lord my God!
my heart is all yours now and forever more.
merry Christmas to me……………
merry Christmas to the world.
Copyright © Funom Makama