White paper boat
Her image fled among the trees
his realness to intercept,
some Christmas day, with scenes inept,
beneath dark clouds and deathward freeze.
A sergeant of Marines he was
who served and fought for many years,
commanding, hence, the volunteers,
instructing e'er the warfare laws.
The coffee, on the mountain glen,
at twilight dark of wintertime,
his Christmas warmed (recalled a chime),
the M16 A4's his friend.
A ranger, served elite brigades,
but could not tell how life was lost,
his apparition of a ghost,
that fled to slopes and pure cascades.
But he recalled a Winter morn,
received her mail; on streamlet banks,
next to the seething tracks of tanks,
he read her vows, on paper worn.
He never knew to phrase response,
and also thought she would not wait;
his quantum was devoid of fate,
proscribing stronghold, Christmas sconce.
On thawed snow-stream her worn mail goes,
white paper boat, comrade and guard,
his stare kept up, he was shot hard,
upon the snow, two qubits froze.
© 11-22-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Epic, Iambic tetrameter)
TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS
Daddy's little girl is going.
Daddy's little girl is slowly leaving...
it's what the angels are singing
Outside there are ringing laughter, however--
on a hospital bed which was cold white as the snow
lies the body of a little girl, dead.
Her little soul just had to go.
She just had to go ahead than the others.
Her once sun kissed face when she smiles
now the palest cream.
Her once twinkling eyes now shut so tight.
The glow of light and love she always bring
was lost on Christmas night,
as Santa stood in red and white
holding a present on his hands
staring at the child
his eyes wet with falling tears
for his little girl had died.
©O. E. Guillermo
12:02 am, November 27, 2014
There were things of mine in the drawers that could be thrown out,
But I kept gravitating to the things that were his.
His Public School 45 autograph book. It was red, white, and blue leatherette with
Inside was his hand, writing the names of favorite teachers,
And the dreams of the future you have when you are 13.
His father, an old world German who never shared himself,
left ink blotches of emotion under his hand.
In another drawer, the fancy leather passport wallet complete with passport and
He was 16.
I don’t remember him talking about anything else with the same twinkle in his
As he did about the 6 months he spent in Germany.
Here is a poem written to him on his 40th birthday,
by his best friend in the world.
The gift made so much better because it was so unlike this IBM Executive
to write personal poetry full of memories.
There was an untouched underwear drawer.
Cards of love and joy that I had given to him over many years.
A collection of Christmas wallets.
A yo-yo. Gift from a child with nothing else to give.
Old prescription glasses. Why do we keep those? Pocket knives, hankies.
A sweater and socks I knitted for him,
Always said they were too good to wear.
I store them still.
Every drawer I opened, every cupboard, every box stored away throughout the
whole house had something of his tucked away within.
A stray bullet or black powder ball. A toothpick holder.
A cork screw. A flint, patches, pictures of his ‘49 Olds, a comb, a watch, pocket
~ Maybe if I go clean someplace safe like the fridge.
And there was the bottle of Zeller Schwartz Katz wine
bought for the coming Christmas season of entertaining.
This is foolishness, hanging on.
In spite of saving all this stuff
the hole in me is still there. ...
But I just could not throw him away.
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.
A royal King was born, Emmanuel --
Down by His manger men and angels fell;
But he did not within a palace dwell,
Instead he came to save our souls from hell.
The years had passed and death was coming nigh;
He bore His cross while Mary softly cried:
What pain to watch her Son so slowly die,
While wishing Him a tearful last goodbye.
A mother's tears no words could ever tell --
As one by one at Jesus' feet they fell:
What pain to watch her Son so slowly die,
While wishing Him a tearful last goodbye.
~Listen to the music that these lyrics were written to at
Then the leader in a flash
Sent his bullet through my
Pregnant wife’s stomach,
Sending the bullet out of her
To my little girl’s brain.
He was a killer glutton, for he turned to my
Son’s brain, scattering it,
With his axe, making the brain
Splash on my dazed countenance.
They swiftly and organisingly boundled me up
Amidst my confusion and helpless struggles,
They cut off the veins at the back of my fits,
Leaving me in a river of blood.
Death claimed my home,
His weapons were the Christmas rebels,
On a melancholic Christmas night.
My saddest Christmas ever.
THE END OF THE MATTER…..
By Charles Melody (Lightening Ink)
For all the victims in jos crisis.
Rest in peace.
When meanings have been broken,
When your cross has been uncrossed,
When the reasons that you gave me,
In the labyrinth have been lost.
When your house has been emptied,
When your bedroom is swept clean,
I will come and wake you,
From your long and endless dream.
more at http://labyrinthoflies.com
your flowers came the other day
so wild and free like me
all colors graced the lovely vase
so beautiful to see
at first i didn't read the card
so busy in my work
i simply put them on my desk
assuming them a perk
so many flowers gifts and things
appear each day on angels wings
its christmas time again you see
i never thought you'd think of me
you passed away six months ago
without you time just goes so slow
i know your in a better place
oh God to only see your face
and then a chill came over me
and all was plain for me to see
you thought ahead and had them sent
all though my love your life was spent
these flowers came from you above
and given with such life and love
you knew how much i loved them so
and in my heart they'll always grow...
Merry Christmas darling
Thank you for the flowers!
Daddy left Mommy, when I was two
She really didn't know what to do
Four little children under the age of six
Was a situation, she just could not fix
Christmas was coming, she didn't have a dime
The bills were piling up at the same time
She tried to focus on her belief,
Lost the battle and applied for relief
A county program, for the very poor
Barely kept the collectors from our door
So sad she was, by her lack of funds,
She couldn't buy presents, for her little ones
With grandma watching us, she left to go out
She never came home, we were forgot about
I was too young to remember Christmas that year,
It was years, before the whole story, I'd hear
Grandma tried hard to make it right,
She took care of us until Mom returned, one night
Branded in my memory, the day of her return
After nine long months, I would later learn
Mom never mentioned the time she was away
She loved us to the fullest every single day
Twenty-four years quickly flew by
When I think of the day it happened, I cry
God took my mother on the ninth of December
Unexpected, a loss I'll always remember
Going through her belongings, we came across.
A small newspaper article, that intensified the loss
How we found it I will never know
This plea, with a picture, from so long ago
As I read the article, blurred by my tears
I was transported back, through the years
To a little girl on grandma's knee
Looking at a shabby, Christmas Tree
Crying for her mommy, who wasn't there
While grandma patted her silky hair
Grief, it hit me, no time to hesitate
When I saw the significance of the date
December ninth, the paper, said it all
Memory upon memory, I would recall
Two events, so many years apart
Yet, I could feel the child with a broken heart
Holiday Spirit, sad to say, I had none
Decorating that year without the usual fun
Mommies little tree, on a table it sat
Her homemade ornaments, and a tree mat
Going through the motions, I have to admit
All I wanted to do, was quit
Events don't shape us, they make us learn
Even grief, has its turn
Memories of a Christmas, thirty years past
Impressions, they fade, but still last
By Karla Null~Godsgift~
Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever Contest
Sponsored by Constance LaFrance~A Rambling Poet~
Deep Space Christmas
God is busy this time of year attending to the billions
People’s needs, guiding reindeer, assisting Santa, counting souls
Helping with the naughty/nice boys and girls
Even Craigslist needs some tweaking here and there
And other things too numerous to know or mention here
God is the great Creator out there at all times
At Christmas He moves faster than the speed of light
He has to keep up with popular demands
Stars and universes don’t create themselves you know
He rides great rivers of dark matter like a magic carpet
That move along ribbons of space and time
Cosmic phenomena built on great speeds increasing every second
Millions of parsecs wide and longer than known universes
They curve through cosmic landscapes and glide to the beyond
God looks out at the great black void
And with legions of pretty angels by His side
The wondrous design begins again
Everyone knows that thousands of angels can dance on the head of a pin
It is common knowledge that each celestial creature has that gift
They carry within their deep deep pockets, (just below the wings)
Thousands of other angels dancing on their own individual pins
But did you know these same tiny angels grow?
They expand larger than most universes
With multi-color baskets by their side
God directs them to toss assorted planets
From blue baskets into the great unknown
Over there to be precise, to the right and upward
And somewhat just beyond that spot
The yellow baskets have suns and quasars with special protective shields
To shield the angels from wing singes and radiation fields
They throw thousands at a time by pure design
And since suns are too hot to handle, they throw them fast and throw a lot
Black baskets hold black holes, dark matter and a scattering of exotic things
God pulls them out real slow due to weight considerations and mysteries
Orange baskets hold more void but more about that later
We don’t want to distract you from the Creator
Back at Earth He takes his favorite creation by the hands
Men and women die all the time
He looks at each and every one of them with His bright kind eyes
At that moment they are the only thing in His universe
Don’t cry. You are not applying for a job
He holds them as his own and welcomes them home
So grab a basket from an angel and let’s get back to work
Universes don’t build themselves you know
This is something I wrote after the death of my daughter (1995). Bruno was her pride and joy and he sat in a rocking chair in her room for many years after. I've revised it somewhat. Unfortunately, my husband has also died since, so now we're down to two. Now Colette's little girl, Grace loves Barbies
Bruno sits in a rocking chair
as though she’s coming hither.
He's just a battered old Christmas bear
but I remember that winter.
Our girls didn’t know
we searched at night
as Santa’s helpers
filled with delight.
Jeannie, loved bears.
Barbies delighted Colette.
We bumped into Ken
driving Barbie’s corvette.
Suddenly looking at us with
two beady eyes, was
the biggest toy bear
we'd seen in our lives.
On Christmas day,
Jeannie gasped at that bear
Colette loved her vet
We were all there.
Now Bruno sits
and sit so do I.
I know Jeannie’s not coming.
Bruno can’t say goodbye.
Bruno will wait
and we'll not forget
Not I. Not papa.
Not our darling Colette.
We’ll see her again
wherever it be.
Now Jeannie’s adieu.
We’re lonely as three.
©June 5, 2001
Copyright © 2012
(A Purpose So Clear)
Like children we fear
In secret a somber tear
Like learning to walk
Babies listen to talk
And reach for a hand
To help them stand
This too, we all must do
By HIS Hand made anew
-DECEMBER 25,2:37 AM-
SHE WAS THINNING 'WAY-
HER COLOUR GOING GRAY
WHILE SHE DROWNED IN SWEAT:
"GERALD,HAVE YOU SLEPT?"
HER VOICE SO OLD,
AND GAVE ME THE COLD.
BUT HOW COULD I SLEEP
WHILE MUM'S LIFE COULD CREEP...?
I HAD BEEN CRYING
WEEPING AND WEEPING
SILENTLY FOR HER-
MY MOTHER WAS DYING..
I CREPT FROM MY BED:
NO LIGHTS; POOR AND SAID-
I HELD HER WEAK HANDS-
COLD WITHOUT LIFE'S TAN:
I HEARD HER BREATHING-
AND MY HEART CRAVING
FOR MAMA'S GOOD HEALTH.
"BUT," I ASKED MYSELF:
"WHY MUST SHE SUFFER
NEAR A WEEPING SON?"
AND WHERE WAS FATHER?
HE WAS DEAD AND GONE.
I WEPT AS I THOUGHT.
"RETURN TO YOUR COT,
YOU NEED A NIGHT'S SLEEP."
SHE SPOKE, MY HEART LEAPED.
"I SHALL BE HERE UNTIL
DEATH IS NOT FULFILLED-
YOU SHALL NEVER DIE
ELSE I SHALL GHASTLY CRY."
SHE PRESSED ME TO HER HEART
AND GAVE ME A GENT' PAT.
"GERALD,PLEASE LET US SLEEP
AND MY SON DO NOT WEEP.
"IF I DIE, THEN GOD CALLED
CAUSING WEEPS TO COME FORTH-
BUT DO PRAY FOR MY SOUL,
TO REST IN HAVEN'S HOLD."
"BUT MUM," I CRIED."DO STOP."
"SON," SHE CONTINUED."DEATH
IS INHERENT TO LIFE.
DEATH COMES 'ROUND AS WE STRIVE."
I TOOK HER HANDS IN MINE
FEELING THEM FREEZING,KIND:
-THUS ENDED HER EARTHLY STAY,
WHILE I STILL HAD MUCH TO SAY.....
...AND EVERY LAUGHTER EVAPORATED
FROM MY FACE AS EVERY CHRISTMAS
BRINGS SAD MEMORIES
BACK TO MIND......
CONTEST NAME-"Saddest" Christmas Ever
SPONSOR-Constance La France
It was for you and me ,
That Jesus left His throne,
Bore the scourge and agony,
Shivered His flesh and bone,
It was for you and me,
He took the awry tour,
Towards the dreaded Calvary,
Summed His tortured hours,
It was for you and me,
That Jesus bore the cross,
Paid the greatest penalty,
That death supposed be ours,
It was for you and me,
He wailed the gloomiest cry,
It was for you and me,
Jesus was nailed to die,
Oh, that you and I may see,
Our wickedness beyond measure,
Jesus to set us free,
In our stead bore the torture,
His love mysterious great,
Knocks the door of all men's heart,
His mighty power recreates,
Renews our lives whole to restart,
It was for you and me,
When on the third day death sufficed,
The savior left His grave,
Victorious he arised,
He rose back to His throne,
Sitting by His Father's side,
Prepare! He's coming soon,
Today is to decide,
THE STATIONERY BOY
His little dark street
Is at home in the silky cobweb;
His little dark street
Is only loud in the missionaries’ prayers,
It elicits a gaze in very few people,
It is but an uninvited guest to life.
The stationery boy hands out his beautiful fliers,
Like a messenger of his little dark street.
In his big clear eyes a tear is born,
Not as an accusation,
But as wonderful love,
His heart is young and full of hopes
That someday his big silent tear
Shall drop onto someone’s palm.
A new day is born in his wonderful spirit,
Perhaps somewhat cold and strange,
But a new day, still.
Oh powerful destiny, listen to your unloved son,
Wake up the sleeping star;
Wake up the sleeping sun;
Wake up the sleeping hearts of men,
So that the new day may be a friend to your unloved son.
In the inaudible shadows, he has his faithful listeners,
In death he has a faithful visitor,
His young beautiful eyes are more familiar with death than life.
When so many happy children gather around the city’s Christmas tree,
His dear young heart is loudly beating into the deaf nights,
Like a silver bell,
So that his small, dark home would be alight with a gaze.
When the wonderful northern wind brings
Happy children’s voices from afar,
Like a modest Christmas gift,
The stationery boy is building his little kingdom of happiness
In his vivid imagination,
His days and nights may be cold and dark,
But his imagination is bright and completely wonderful,
It shines in the darkness like an angel.
His silver bell is ringing beyond the heavenly dome.
If you want to show a real angel to your kid,
Hurry towards that little dark street,
And you might be lucky enough to see the stationery boy
Before he gets his silver wings.
©Walter William Safar
In eternity past, the Father asks the Son to go down.
Having equal Love for humans the "Yes" comes fast.
When Creation leads to time, the world waits for 4 BC
Marking the start of the end of Satan's long rule at last.
Did Satan laugh at the poor setting for Jesus' birth here?
A cry in a cave for animals pierces the night, changing all.
Shepherds worship; later wise kings give precious gifts.
Mary and Joseph marvel, yet Herod's rage soon gives a call.
A call to leave quickly to Egypt where they'll live as refugees.
Sparing the Christ child a merciless death of those under three.
When Herod finally dies, Jesus' parents head back to Israel.
Still not fully safe from mad rule, Nazareth is their destiny.
Here the child will grow to be a man, following His parents rule.
Surprising the Pharisees with His wisdom at 12, at 30 riling them.
Preaching with authority, healing the incurable, loving the humble.
Women weep repenting at his feet; one's healed by touching his hem.
Zacchaeus risks going into a tree and finds Jesus' salvation so free.
Nicodemus comes at night to ask and ends amazed he's met God's Son
The Woman at the Well gets far more vital water than the usual kind.
And many healed can't but tell others of the miracle God has done.
The babe in the manger now stills the storm and his disciples believe
Even seeing the dead arise, like Lazarus in the tomb for four days.
Foretelling a greater rising coming but not before immense suffering.
The sword Mary was told would pierce her heart is soon on its way.
For most religious leaders cannot tolerate Jesus' lack of respect for them.
Calling them whitewashed tombs and pointing pride out to Pharisees.
Not endearing Himself with the establishment, but following God's way.
Knowing soon He'd be betrayed, arrested, tried and tortured brutally.
Still, he calmly feeds them body bread and blood wine in a final feast.
Tells them the Spirit comes, and prays they'd be one like Father and Son.
Heads to the Garden, prays to His Father for another way if possible.
Your will be done ends and the soldiers come and with Judas kiss it's done.
The most pure, innocent Man who's ever lived is now in hostile hands.
A trial by dark without witness or any rights – and off to Pontius Pilate.
Then Herod then back to Pilate whose wife dreamed Jesus was innocent.
But the people's cries to crucify win over – Jesus caught in intrigue's net.
The child of Bethlehem now hung on a Cross between two criminals.
The Light of the World by darkness and our sins is being slowly slain.
Feeling forsaken by God, but then "Into Your hands I commit my spirit."
Reunited and soon to show the world that this Child was no ordinary one.
Risen as Jesus predicted, for how can death conquer everlasting, perfect life?
From childhood to adult not one sin, not once yielding to Satan's temptations.
Proving we can have life eternal if we confess and believe in Jesus as our Savior.
Calling His followers in risen form to await the Spirit and share Christ to the nations
The perfect gift
Is often a myth
It's clearly out of reach
You're already gone
Never to respawn
But listen to me preach
The best gift of all
Is hearing your call
And having you back with me
It's been too long
I wrote us a song
I wish you were here to see
Christmas is about love
The innocence of a dove
But also family
Grandpa that's you
We all know it's true
I fall right under your tree
You are my gift
That one wish
I'll glance up at the moon
I'll blow you a kiss
It'll never miss
Grandpa I'll see you soon
I do not know?
Merry Christmas up in heaven.
How special it must be,
to celebrate our Savior’s birth
with Him there personally.
I’ll bet there is no Santa Claus,
or stories of reindeer,
but angel’s joyfully singing
about Christ as He stands near.
I miss you most at Christmas time
and know you miss me too.
The Holidays are lonely
and I long to be with you.
But I know the time will time
when we're together again.
I Patiently await that day.
Merry Christmas until then.
The whole world loves to hear of the Babe who came to earth,
and will often pause to sigh at the wonder of his birth.
They marvel at the young Lad who sat in the temple that day,
astonishing the great teachers with the words he had to say.
They are pleased with Jesus turning water into wine,
healing all who came to him, feeding thousands at a time.
They see him walk on water, his power the waves to still,
his boldness, cleansing the temple, and it gives their hearts a thrill.
They hail him as a teacher and claim him as a prophet
but ignore the things he taught. Just what is it they all scoff at?
It is easy and safe to worship a tiny babe in a manger,
but the man hanging on a cross, to the world is but a stranger.
Is it birth or death we think of, when at Bethlehem our thoughts lie?
The real meaning of Christmas is that Jesus came to die.
I cannot believe what I see before my eyes,
speechless as I read...
too familiar is this scene,
repeating once again, surreal as if I'm back in time...
I once was near when the unthinkable happened,
Columbine, flowering youths cut down in teen prime.
I watched in horror as two souls entered, repeated over and over
the media; what a circus, as stories began to break...
I witnessed in my own back yard, as innocent lives vanished
'Why? What is the purpose, I did not know', I wept for each and every soul. And cried aloud "How can you be?"
trying to avoid the repetitive media, over and over again...
a christian channel offered me hope, and asked one simple thing.
Fall to my knees, and ask HIM into my life, to do with what he will,
surrender to his Grace and Mercy,
My life changed that day, so many years ago Columbine Columbine....
we thought you were the last.
As many of my peers in education stood, in terror, disbelief and anger of having no control. "Why? What is the purpose?" our innocent's, so young, so sweet, so worshiped by their families, so unforgivable this one unthinkable act .
One woman weeping, I ask if she's alright...
She looked at me and said, Someone's Christmas present is underneath a tree; it won't be opened on Christmas eve.
Another walked up, and clobbered my arm..."What the hell is going on?"
It's alright, if its what they need to do. God saved me, and humbled me...oh Columbine why? I can not say, nor will I try, for only God knows the master plan.
But like with me that somber day, back in Columbine. I pray that someone far from God, was softened just enough...
to fall to their knees and ask "God Please"
enter my life tonight....
Let an awakening occur...one united universal voice ring out.
No more bloodshed, no more death. Our children our the innocents and our future in them rests...
To utter the words "I'm sorry" or "you're in my prayers' seems so hollow right now. By faith alone, I can only say...let the heavens open and radiant light shine down, on the simple all American place called Newtown..
For the last two Christmases, I have grieved.
But in 2012 my friend gave me the best Christmas present that I've ever received.
She gave me a ride to Sneedville so that I could spend Christmas with Mom and Dad.
I was a very fortunate person but sadly, just several months later I lost what I had.
I had no idea that within a matter of months that both Mom and Dad would both be dead.
I spent the last Christmas with my parents, there would be no Christmases ahead.
If Tammy hadn't given me that ride, I wouldn't have been able to be with Mom and Dad on Christmas.
This time of the year is no longer easy for me because what happened filled my heart with darkness.
I do not know?
As christmas mounts decembers passing
we huddle in your absence.
Our eyes earthbound in aversion
of the stinging words etched upon the marble.
A solitary magpie skipping over the crystallised blades
highlights my purpose at your graveside.
Your first christmas misspent in the depths of the earths
are my thoughts as my eyes thaw the ground beneath.
I do not know?
Late at night, my eyes are burning
as I try not to cry.
I hold my breath and wonder
why you had to die.
I try so hard to fight the tears
as I lay around and dream.
Memories of younger years...
I choke instead of scream.
You battled many problems
and overcame many things...
and you were only a child,
No, an angel without wings.
You never had the most attention,
but you never seemed to complain.
But suddenly everyone’s in tears,
just whispering your name.
You won't get to live the life
you very much deserved.
No job, no kids, just shattered dreams
because you've left this earth.
You were only sixteen.
Its not right that you're gone.
Your heart quit beating,
but didn't quit loving.
Your spirit will live on.
My heavy heart is filled with regret.
I didn't say I love you, or goodbye.
And with memories I'll never forget,
you taught me how to fly.
Sometimes I wish I could turn back time,
if only for a day.
After all, God answers prayers,
but this one is thrown away.
My vision is blurred with tears,
I miss you so bad.
But I close my eyes and see you clear
and don't feel quite as sad.
Pretty soon I'll be grown up
but you'll still be sixteen.
but like you said,
God has a plan,
and in the end I'll see.
Jeramiah Jay Cook, my cousin, "buba" and friend passed away Christmas of 2004 at a party.
Rumors fly about what it really was. Alcohol, pills.. it had only been 2 months since his own
mothers death (mine had died in 96') and so he got his Christmas wish.. to spend it with his
Mom. He has been having a really hard time with with substance abuse, but it was far from
what I expected when my Aunt called Christmas morning.. Someone I had always looked up
to, and grown up with.
Earlier I asked Mommy when Daddy would return,
And she simply smiled, "Soon, Little Bird."
But when I left the room, I could hear Mommy crying,
Then fell to her knees and prayed to the higher world.
No one will tell me why Daddy hasn't come back yet,
Won't he be back here for Christmas Eve?
I walked back down and peered around the corner,
Watching as Mommy cried and turned to leave.
Why won't they tell me anything, I'm desperate to know,
I don't know if I can open any gifts without my Daddy there.
Taking pictures to savour the memories, he was always present,
But as I drift off tonight, I wonder why he isn't here.
The next day, Mommy held a note in her hand,
"The funeral is scheduled for December twenty-first."
I went up and asked Mommy "What is that for?"
But I was not prepared for the worst.
Now, he will not talk to me anymore,
He won't be here for Christmas another year.
Now, he is on my list to Santa,
But I know something that dear
Can't come back.
I miss you Daddy.
A monastery grows from the songs of its strange crew,
Monastery painted with blue of unique Voronezh blue
And a new comer, blond icicle, bare footed, gnarled
Deaf and mute -it is said -singing “Have mercy, God!”
Stalactite and stalagmite in their cells, monks and nuns
Some of them so innocent like the sober day that runs;
Hanged from the heaven of their great expectations held
From the glass dawn to noon singing:“Have mercy, God!”
The others in their rusty autumn or white winter,
All calling the Promised Land that started to glitter
In their heart and from this light the sky seems fired
And the forest`s echo repeated: “Have mercy, God!”
In the twilight mist two monks try to cut down
The evergreen tree to bring it for kids in the town;
Children glide on sleigh and even tired go later to bed.
They learnt carols and angels sing “Have mercy, God!”
Two tragedies made a man bitter and hard.
Life became intolerable after he was scarred.
On Christmas Day his granddaughter fell in his pool and drowned.
Because of that terrible accident, that poor girl is no longer around.
When he found her dead body, he was horrified by what he saw.
Just six months earlier, he also lost his daughter and son-in-law.
Now he hates Christmas more than he would a plague.
Just the mention of Christmas fills this man with rage.
This man became so bitter that his heart is now as black as coal.
Those tragedies destroyed his life, they sure did take their toll.
His granddaughter was taken far too soon, she was only five.
Ten Christmases have passed since but he still mourns because they didn't survive.
(This is a fictional poem)
Life on a hitchhike
A cool drool drip slid to the corner of a slit shut
mouth. Eyes that once FLASHED reared back and humbled
into occular armpits, no explanation. Hands that once
felt warmth and high hopes slowly tremmored twitching
careless as unmatter of fact. I watch the
flesh depart, skin crawling with old breakfast
sausage patty indifference. Postage due----Royal flesh
does not win. Careful. External refuse
hidden bonds confide in mass abuse of internal
bliss like factory worker, paydayholiday Friday. Say
goodbye like used coffee grounds At last gasp I
set sockets against a blank ceiling scanning with
eyes aglee and a wave in omnidirectional fervor.
Too finite? Numb and neutral with nothing at stake
I praise a restless content over a form boring of
less than glib compose and promote a position of
erectile tissue and ooooze about time , space
swaying to and fro for this invisible temptation
dave collins, "Yes", 1/89, Wash D.C.
dressin' turned out fine
gotta stop thinkin'
gonna loose my mind.
Presents neath the tree
that boy is one big smile.
Ain't gonna start cryin
hold on for awhile.
God I miss you honey
each and every day.
Christimas time don't make no sense
since you gone to stay.
Sure miss you carvin'
that laughter filled with glee.
Can't get no Christmas spirit
when you ain't with me.
May the Lord bless you
keep you safe and sound
We just havin' Christmas
done here on the ground.
Happy Birthday Jesus
take care o' my ol' man
and we'll be doin' your party
just the best we can.
Merry Christmas darlin'
where ever you may be ....
"Whatcha got there boy?
A present for me ...... "
The phantom dressed in black, hovered by the fireplace
Year of our Lord 2030 was closing out at last
Closing with the shop with New Year’s business
My friends are here with me for festivities and champagne
The spirit intruded our conversations and celebration
Took me rudely with a skeletal hand with no excuses
Abruptly pinched my wrist and spirited me through the window
I told him I’m in my 80’s, too old to fly, too young to die
He flew me any way, to the local cemetery plot in sad disgrace
My name was etched upon the cold rock face before me
I smiled, though knowing that was wrong to do
Since firing all my employees, with no word, no reason
To send them out to freeze at Christmas season
Is the reason I am here, in this awful mess
I smiled because the name upon the tombstone was not exactly mine
They misspelled my name, which is not a crime, but
That makes them idiots without a doubt
I guess I have one more year to live, correct?
Or until the end of time before I die to make things right
Since the government makes all tombstones in the region
We know how incompetent they can be
The spirit of Christmas future will have to find another job
He might start by learning how to spell
Along with government officials, before they send me off to hell
Created on 12/15/14 for – “Christmas Past, Present or Future” Poetry Contest
Theme - "Christmas Future"
If people ask me if my Christmas will be merry,
My answer to them will be "Not very."
The last Christmas when you were still alive was back in 2012.
My brother and I no longer have you and it's hard on ourselves.
I would give anything if I could spend another Christmas with you.
I know that you'd also love to spend another Christmas with me too.
My life would never be the same on the day when you were dead and buried.
I wish you a Merry Christmas, Mom but sadly, my Christmas won't be merry.
[Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013.]
As the nation weeps today for the twenty
Angels which were taken away
We also weep for their families and friends
For this pain will never end.
Sitting in their classrooms with thoughts
And hopes and dreams of the holidays
In came a sick person to wipe their dreams away.
We will never know what went thru his mind that day
To take away innocent lives in such a brutal way.
It is true that god has given us free will
But why go to a school and these children he kills.
Let us not forget the adults also who gave
Their lives trying to protect the children
On this day -For them also we do pray.
Tears fill my eyes and pains fill my heart
And their names , ages, or genders
We may not know or remember
But to them our hearts and love
We do surrender.
So fly my little cherubs, and take the angels hands
For you are going to gods promised land
Where there is no suffering, wars or pain
And gods love is the what remains.
I do not know?
I sit still in a house of tranquillity,
Thinking of times long past.
Remembrances of a child,
Of childish delights and pleasures.
Of times spent with my grandparents,
Of Feelings of love and wellbeing.
Of family and Christmas spent together.
No longer do I hear the sound of their laughter,
Nor feel the comfort of their presence .
They have abandoned this world,
And have left a hole in my heart
A void that can never be filled.
Childish joy’s no longer fill my soul,
Life has stripped away the illusions of youth,
Laying bare the true futility of life
To be and then to be no more.
The endless cycle of life and death.
Ah! Then the miracle of Christmas arrives
Renewing, filling my soul once more.,
And the visions of childhood stream back,
They race through my mind
A torrent of Images, feelings, love.
Of family and joyful times spent together,
I am again a child.
And dwell in the love of those now gone.
Imagine how sad December would seem
if Christmas didn't exist; only the chill
and wind would be felt through the frozen bones,
nobody would live in these northern, frigid zones.
What was the true purpose of Jesus's birth?
Some even would say that it never occurred,
and why would the Magi travel long days
and nights to pay homage to the humblest of Kings?
It was prophesied by Isaiah in the Old testament and the Wise Men believed him,
following with awe the biggest and brightest star that they had ever seen;
and didn't it seem strange that God would choose those simple shepherds
to be the first to hear that message sung by a thousands of angels?
Wouldn't you be happy when a child cries out and enters life?
Wouldn't you celebrate that event with overwhelming joy and grace?
The same way Jesus entered this world to suffer and die,
and if Christmas didn't exist, who would remember who He was?
Wouldn't that envious angel, whom God expelled from Heaven with haste,
laugh loudly, knowing that we don't worship Him in spirit and faith?
Fallen Angels are the eternal enemies of this Child, who atoned our sins
by paying with His precious blood...to vindicate the Devil's astute lies!
If Christmas didn't exist, some unbelievers would shout and rejoice,
happy to erase Christ's redemptive message from the earth's surface...
contradicting the Scriptures themselves and the Divinity behind it!
Didn't Herod the Great hate Jesus, fearing He would have become the new King?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I do not know?
T'was the night before Christmas
And all through the house not a single noise could
For, you see, the only one up
Had practise of being quiet
even when she's screaming inside
With hand over mouth,
and tears streaming down her face
She silently sobbed the night away
The only festive colour running from her wrists
The only thing she wanted for Christmas
Was to be dead.
I have long since lost Hope,
because my paths are so endlessly long and aimless,
as if sculpted out of my restless spirit
in the long nights of reverie.
You know, Lord... I used to have my Hope.
It was so nice to stand next to the Christmas tree
with my mother,
and look at its proud top,
where our silver star shone,
my favorite Hope.
To me, a child who never decorated his own tree,
it was the biggest Christmas tree in the world,
and the brightest star beyond the heavenly dome.
Each night before Christmas we would return to the same place
with the same desire and faith,
until our terrible companions, the long, cold nights
have invoked death
and stolen my mother.
I am motionlessly standing and staring into this dark, cold night,
like an avenger yearning for revenge,
and a thin woman in rags is passing me by,
whispering warm words into a child's frozen ear.
The child is looking up with the same gaze
like I did when my mother used to show me the silver star,
whispering into my frozen ear
that someday I shall touch that silver star too,
silvering all the orphanages of this dark world.
Her warm words are still crossing my mind:
„Son, always stand on your toes and look up...
and you shall touch your star!“
My eyes have long since stopped sparkling
and they don't look up.
They used to be the big, bright eyes of a child,
that shone in the dark,
like two young embers that were just set afire,
but now... oh, now my eyes are but burnt out embers
in the squeezing fist of the cold world.
You know, Lord, how much I wanted to stand on my toes
and look up,
but life always threw me back to my knees.
I admit that I haven't been standing on my toes for a long time,
but I am not kneeling, either,
I am only looking down
into the dark reflections of people's characters,
and my Hope is once again so far away,
as if it's afraid of my faithful squire,
which is standing at the bottom of the silky net,
not like a flym
but like a master of many a fly big and small,
because Death has that justified purpose
to come for its flies regardless of their size.
I am not looking at death like a fugitive,
but a penitent man,
who wants just another chance.
How strange it is, Lord,
that even a man abandoned by Hope wants his chance.
Yes, Lord, I admit
that I would like to stand on my toes once more,
below the biggest Christmas tree in the world,
and touch our silver star.
©Walter William Safar
Last Christmas was great because I was able to spend it with you.
But I'll be spending this Christmas alone and it makes me feel so blue.
We each thought the world of one another.
I'm very proud that you were my mother.
You were sweet, smart and so very wise.
I've been devastated because of your demise.
You always said that you loved me and was proud of me but nobody tells me that anymore.
I didn't know just how great you were until I lost you and it makes me feel so sad and poor.
It brought me joy when I called you each day.
But sadly, that pleasure has been taken away.
While you were on Earth, I was so blessed.
Merry Christmas Mom, you were truly the best.
[Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away March 6, 2013.]
It annoys me
I hate you
I don't like that gift
Take it back
You know what he wants
But you don't know I i want
You spend all your money on him
And spend only ten bucks on me
I gave up on Christmas
Because Santa wasn't real
We look up to him like a god
And that I don't accept
I don't believe in religion
Or in creations of Disney
I do not believe that Santa will show up
I don't believe god will show up
All these stories told by mankind
That's the end of Christmas
How about we live in real life
Instead of living in a fantasy
Candles burning sure and bright,
Shining through the Christmas tree.
Santa's coming 'round tonight,
Bringing presents here for me.
I sent a letter some time ago,
I asked for things I'd need.
For these are things for Mum and me,
It certainly wasn't greed.
For I am thirteen years of age,
I asked, "please bring Dad back".
I miss him; Mum is so upset,
Since he died inside Iraq.
I cry myself to sleep some nights,
I can hear Mums sobbing heart.
He's the only present we will need,
"Don't keep us all apart".
Dear Santa, no more toys or clothes,
No gifts from that Christmas sack.
The only thing that we all want,
Is to have my Daddy back.
It's Christmas Eve; we're all at home,
While you're in bed you're not alone,
And though we're here and not with you,
We've thought decisions ten times through.
The phone line rings, we get the news,
Oceans away you're close to lose.
7:56, our watches say,
You may not live another day.
So now we cry and soothe and pack,
And Christmas colours all turn black.
We know we cannot find a flight,
So now we're staying up all night.
I write this verse as others cry,
And though I can't, I say goodbye.
Take shallow breaths until the dawn,
Going, going, going,
On this cold winter night
A horror unfurls
As they leave their trenches
Under the Bagpipes skirl
It's Christmas Eve
In World War One
Over the top they leave
The killing has begun
Knee deep in mud
Barbed wire and bodies
The piper laments
Their bravery embodied
To march into battle
With their weapon of pipes
Whilst bullets and bombs
Leave the theatre in strife
Onward they march
Turning men into hero's
The battle of the Somme
Last centuries ground zero
What makes such a man
To enter a war
His weapon of music
That they follow him for
Amongst the men that fall
Others pick up their guns
When the piper falls
Their is no one
On this cold Christmas Day
The horrors have been unfurled
As one looks over the trenches
To a different world
But the very next day
In the distance you will hear
The sound of the Scottish Bagpipes
Leaving their enemy in fear
In memory to all who fell at Christmas time, and especially to the pipers
who used music as their weapon, we will remember them, as all will be remembered
Nine months is not very long...although
it seems forever, since you've been gone.
I still remember that knock at the door, two
strangers, I recognized, by the uniforms they wore.
Disbelief in the words, I heard them say...killed in
action, on Christmas Day.
When you left me, for a land far away...I ask Jesus
to keep you safe.
I have been so alone, with just my memories of you,
but today your Christmas Present arrived, and he is
He came into this world, giving me back my life,
someone I can hold , all through the night.
Merry Christmas, my sweet soldier...the words
I never got to say, you gave me a gift so perfect,
in every way.
Even though you are not here, to hold your son,
I promise, he will always know his father, and the
good you have done.
We will decorate our tree in Red- White- and Blue...
"This year, and always, in remembrance of you."
Merry Christmas from us both, your wife, and baby son,
we will all be together one day....when our work is done.
"Please, pray for our soldiers."
It’s been ‘bout thirty years now, to this Christmas day
And I can still hear those wise words that Dad did say:
“Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay—
When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way.”
I wish that I could swear I’ve lived up to his words,
But like the truth sometimes, they’ve flown off with the birds.
It’s not to say I’ve tired, and mostly I’ve been true—
But if I could do things over, there’s some I’d undo.
Well, I’m still balin’ hay and my word I always keep,
I’ve got a good woman and I sing the kids to sleep.
We keep the ranch a goin’ and we’re doin’ just fine,
But I regret sellin’ Dad’s saddle back in ninety-nine.
Times were tough and we scraped every cent that year—
At a Christmas eve auction sold some cows, a steer—
Then it came down to Dad’s saddle and some ol’ tack—
‘Course that saddle brought the most cash and that’s a fact.
Couldn’t figure out who bought it—never seen ‘em before—
When he bought that saddle, he was quick out the door.
One year later, there came a knock on Christmas day—
There stood the stranger with Dad’s saddle and he did say:
“Fixed it up and brought it back—this is where it should be—
Your Dad, me and Zack, used to cowboy and they told me
A man shouldn’t sell his saddle, so here it is again—
Think of it as a gift from someone who was a friend.”
Why Do We Take Christ Out of Christmas?
Christmas is the only holiday we often don’t call by name.
We often forget about the true reason that Christ came.
It’s the only holiday that we often call “a holiday.”
It’s true meaning, is often, taken away!
It’s more than the tree and all of the glittering lights…
It’s time to think about the Bethlehem star so bright!
It’s more than going shopping at the malls…
More than, “Jingle Bells,” or “Deck the Halls!”
It’s more than seeing how many people we can buy for.
Or that clearance sale,
you’re willing “to die for!”
It’s more than buying the “newest in entertainment.”
Or receiving a gift that may
“cause an embarrassment.”
Beyond all of the presents and all we truly believe in.
Let’s all come to Christ Jesus and receive him!
Let’s think about his birth, and his
death on the cross!
Without HIM… The true meaning of Christmas is lost!
He brings the hope, joy and cheer that’s needed!
Won’t you listen to his voice? That often goes unheeded?
Christ is what’s important! And shouldn’t be left out!
He’s what matters! And is what
Christmas is all about!
Let’s be joyful! It was for all of us that he came!
And take this time to bring honor and glory to his name!
By Jim Pemberton
Christmas is a busy time,
Commercialized therefore I am skint,
Cant afford to feed myself,
So its soggy sandwiches and mints.
The big day is one week away,
Yet I seem not to be excited,
For I cant wait to see the back of this year,
New Years I'll be delighted.
So many great people have been lost,
So many great people have been found,
But the pain etched in my memories,
Are for the ones laid to rest in the ground.
So all alone I wait for Christmas,
No hat upon my head,
What cheer it is, spread through the year,
None for me, as my friends are all dead.
dressin' turned out fine,
gotta stop thinkin'
gonna loose my mind.
Presents neath the tree
and our boy is one big smile,
ain't gonna start cryin'
hold on for awhile.
God I miss you honey
each and every day,
Christmas time don't make no sense
since you've gone away.
Sure miss you carvin'
your laughter filled with glee,
can't get the Christmas spirit
when you're not here with me.
May the Lord bless you,
keep you safe and sound,
while we're havin' His day
down here on the ground.
Happy Birthday, Jesus
take care of my ol' man.
We'll be doing Your party
just the best we can.
Merry Christmas my love,
that you shall always be.
"Well, my goodness ...
watcha got there son, a present for me?"
Sly had him no love for Christmas,
It was just another day—
When the devout celebrated
And weak-willed cowpokes did pray.
Old Sly, he weren’t all that bad—
No, by gosh, he sure was not—
He never did shoot him a man
That he didn’t think need shot.
Sly Stern was just an old drover
Who outlived his friends and time—
That was headed nowhere that day
Without a care or a dime.
So it was Christmas that morning
As he crossed the Mummy Range—
Heading higher and still higher,
When he felt a little strange.
He’d crossed these old mountains before,
But never on Christmas day—
Yet now he felt a bit confused
And he couldn’t find his way.
The wind and the cold grew fiercer—
Snow hit his face with hard slaps,
Sly knew he needed some shelter
As one hand froze to his chaps.
But all he could find was a ledge,
A wind break with icy sage.
He unsaddled his horse gently—
For the first time felt his age.
Quickly, Sly gathered up damp wood—
Built a fire to heat his soul—
Christ seemed nothing in a blizzard
As the snow soon took its toll.
Hours passed and so did the fire
As white snow whirled and then screamed—
For a moment he saw a face
Or so that old drover dreamed.
The blizzard grew stronger that day,
The worst in thirty odd years—
Covering the whole Mummy Range:
A Christmas with joy and tears.
With numb hands and ice-cased whiskers,
Sly took bullets from his belt,
Gently arranged them in the snow
To spell out just how he felt.
For in those final dear moments,
One face appeared in the snow—
The face of the Lord of this earth,
A face that he would now know.
Two months later his friend found it,
Next to his rock-frozen hoss—
The old drover’s bullets laid out
In the rough shape of the cross.
Though his saddle and gun remained,
There was no trace of old Sly—
It was as if he’d been taken
Away, far up, in the sky.
It had been over ten years since Dad passed away—
Stood lookin’ at the stranger, didn’t know what to say.
Dad never told us much ‘bout his life out on the range,
But he did mention his best pard, a man called Bob Strange.
We thanked Bob and asked him to join our Christmas feast,
He said no need for thanks, that this was just the least
He could do to help out the boy of his ol’ pal
And that he had to get back to the North Corral.
I was awful glad to see my Dad’s saddle back,
When a few weeks later I came across ol’ Zack.
Out of the blue I asked if he heard of Bob Strange—
He nodded and said yes, then his smile began to change.
He wondered why I asked ‘bout someone I never met—
I told him ‘bout Dad’s saddle and he began to fret.
“Ya understand,” Zack said, “Bob’s been dead twenty year.”
That’s when I turned grim and my smile did disappear.
“But I just talked to him,” I said, “back on Christmas day!”
“You’re wrong,” Zack said, “but I ‘member what he used to say:
Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay—
When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way!”
The saddest story I’ve ever read, I read on Christmas day.
About a man who’s hurt, would not go away.
He was from the wrong side of the tracks but that didn’t make him any less a man,
He had a wife and a little girl and he provided as best he can.
He had worked hard all year long piecing together a bicycle from pieces that were salvaged
from here and there.
But when he was through it was a piece of art, every piece polished and painted with love
And that Christmas eve night, when all were asleep, he placed it under the tree,
He was so excited he couldn’t wait for his little girl to see.
And that morning her little eyes were fixed on that beautiful bicycle that shined so bright.
She stammered as she tried to talk, for she was so filled with delight.
She hugged momma and poppa and said this was the best day she had ever known,
It was a gift of love and that was the look his daughter had truly shown.
He took it outside so she could ride and ride,
But what happened next in the story is where I cried and cried.
A neighborhood gang banger was cruising the streets and feeling real mean,
When he decided to scare the little girl with his car, the rest is such a horrible scene.
She had never played chicken and didn’t know what to do,
When he swerved, she did too.
Her little bicycle was no match for the car that tore a happy home apart.
And from the father that day was taken the light of his heart.
They say it was just too much and he just went away,
But the legend says she still rides her pretty new bike each and every Christmas day.
this baby that is born on christmas day
why is he here
why did he live
this baby was born to take our sins
yet we feast and party christmas
we don't bless this child
we don't care that he is born
we don't care that he died on the cross
we don't understand what he was for
this baby born on christmas day
A frenzy, a chaos of
celebration all around.
Togetherness and ritual imposed while
inside of me a splintering
No respite, no escape from
faces eager to connect
to share, to love.
Grief is a mongrel here;
an agony of burden on
the righteous shoulders of joy
I can only run, crying out,
in frantic search of
This tree, this breeze that
gives me permission
gives me space
Its tapestry of lace against
a grey ocean of sky
shrouds me from expectation,
defending my right
A cold December day,
Jennifer is home
in her bed.
suffering from cancer,
by her family,
fading in and out of
For the first time
she could embrace Cindy,
her three-year old
When Jennifer was in the hospital,
Cindy had been extremely
fearful of all the machines
next to her Grandmother.
Cindy gently ascended
onto her bed,
and they shared one precious
before she fell back into
she opened her eyes,
and her hands fervently reached upwards
towards the corner of the room.
With a faint whisper,
she said, " My mother is here,
she looks so radiant."
The family thought
she was hallucinating.
"Grandma where is she?
I can't see her."
" you won't be able to see her,
she is here for me, not you."
Jennifer glanced over to her
and asked Michael, her husband, to
get her diary.
With her hands tightly clutched
around her diary,
she said," this is my Christmas gift
to my mother."
Jennifer then closed
and passed on.
It was Christmas Eve.
Don’t cry my very own little ones
I assure you I’ll be alright
For tonight I’m gone to visit Jesus
For Upon you I shall shine a light
Maybe within the big bright sun
Or maybe the twinkling of a star
But may you find the comfort in light
Of knowing from you I’m never far.
I’m on the glistening green grass
Within the bright morning dew
I’m in the warm breeze a blowing
Blowing my kisses right to you.
I’m in the soft gentle rain
That falls upon your face
I’m in those pure white blankets of snow
Holding you in my embrace.
I’m in the moon that shines so bright
On your darkest nights
I’m always in that great big blue sky
To show you your guiding light.
So never feel you are all alone
Or you never have a friend
Because I’ll always be right beside you
From now and all throughout the end.
I’m everywhere you go
And in everything you do
I’m in your heart and in your soul
For my love will always follows you.
The little girl watched with boundless tears
As her angel slowly faded away
“Merry Christmas Momma,” the little girl said
“I’ll see you on Christmas day.”
As we gather around at this time of the year
It makes us wish even more that you were here
We will never grow accustom to life without you
We know that you are peaceful now
Walking streets of gold
Holding hands with the angels
And never growing old
That doesn’t change the void we feel
Opening up the presents
And sitting down for a meal
With each light on the tree that twinkles
We feel that you are close
Wishing we had the time to say that we loved you the most
Now we will share each moment in memory of you
Merry Christmas to Heaven
Merry Christmas to You
Merry Christmas, Dad
by Amy Swanson
I always think of you
but holidays like this
can make it a little harder.
I hear the Christmas songs of cheer
see the lights up in the square
the busy murmurs of people
shopping for their loved ones...
It seems almost perfect.
The tree, the lights,
the songs and plays
joyful vacation days;
but something's missing.
The voice that rang throughout the house
singing triumphantly, beautifullly
"O Holy Night"
I still can't listen to that song
your strong voice
in my ears.
The hands that wiped my tears,
wrapped my Christmas presents
made his special "banana pudding recipe"
left me letters from Santa.
Oh dad... how I miss you.
I know they say time heals
and life goes on
and all those other wonderful cliches
that people always tell you
simply because they don't know what else to say.
I will never forget you - my hero, my protector.
I speak of you often
to my own little girl
want her to know
the grandpa she can't meet yet...
the grandpa who would love her so.
Dad, you are always in our hearts and minds,
I never got to say thank you...
for helping me to be
the woman I am today.
I look at my reflection in the mirror - I can also see you.
I sing my songs - and I can also hear you.
I laugh... and sometimes I can hear your laughter too.
My daughter smiles at me... and you are in her smile.
I wish that you could know how much
you've always meant to me
and all the things that you have done
to shape my life, so positively...
But all that I can say,
Merry Christmas, Dad.
I love you.
In a small, quiet town
eleven days before Christmas,
twenty-six people were shot
they will surely be missed.
A gunman took it upon himself
to break into a school,
the classrooms were filled with children
he was being such a fool.
My heart was sinking hard
when I was sitting, watching the news,
how can someone be this cruel?
I was happy, now feeling so blue.
In Newtown, Connecticut
six beloved adults were shot,
protecting their little Angels
hatred to the school, the gunman brought.
Twenty Christmas Angels being sent to God
didn't deserve to die this way,
my heart goes out to their parents
hard to feel joy, with this coming Christmas day.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
In Newtown, Connecticut today, a gunman broke inside a school, took it upon himself to shoot and kill twenty-six children and teachers. Twenty of those innocent lives, were babies, aged, 5-10 years old. Let's pray for their souls and make sure we keep them all in our hearts, this Christmas Day. My heart goes out to those families, that have lost their loved ones, so close to Christmas. <3 :O'( <3
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…
"You're not afraid- are you, Stacey?" She giggled. "Don't you think you
ought to slow down?" I mustered. "We'll be alright," she said with a grin and kept
on trucking, but when we parked, I almost responded as the Pope does when he
deplanes. However, that would have been too cynical; yet, when the Christmas
holidays rolled around, I left the driving to Greyhound.
While at home, my Christmas was very merry, and New Year's Day
was happy, until I received "the" call. It was Chrissy's roommate,
Belinda. "Stacey." She paused. "Chrissy died yesterday." "What-?!" I exclaimed
softly, uncertain of what I had just heard. "The weather was bad on her way to
church, and her truck hydroplaned into oncoming traffic," she responded. "But
they say she died instantly." Then we silenced.
As I clutched the Christmas card Chrissy had made for me, my heart
bled with grief. Although I felt a great sense of loss, I never blamed God or
Chrissy's driving for the fatality. Neither did my eyes shed a tear, not because I
repressed my emotions, but for the reason I shared at the BSU memorial service
held in her honor. "This is not a time to mourn, but a time of joy to celebrate
Chrissy's homecoming, as she would have wanted us to. And we know where
she is, where her heart has always been, home with Jesus." Yet alive here,
Chrissy is in my heart and commemorated in books throughout this country
through the following poem I wrote with her in mind
When Special Moments Come Again
Moments come and go,
But special moments come again,
When the thoughts of you with me
Seem they never have an end;
As a touch brings back sensation
And a song triggers emotion,
A smell brings back the memories,
As a taste triggers the notion
That we'll always be together;
What we shared will never end,
And I know that you're right here
When special moments come again.
I do not know?
(This is a fictional poem)
Most people love Christmas but I don't.
People tell me that I should learn to love Christmas again but I won't.
Something tragic happened on Christmas day.
My life was ruined when my family was violently taken away.
Three robbers broke in my house and killed my wife and daughter.
A gun was aimed at my head while I watched them get slaughtered.
They stole our valuables and then shot me with one of their guns.
They left right after shooting me and I called 911.
I was rushed to the hospital and I'm still alive.
But my heart is broken because my family didn't survive.
My life was destroyed and I live in hell because of this nightmare.
They finally caught those men and I hope they get the chair.
I have something to say and I'm sure that you'll agree.
If you have a family, you're better off than me.
The day my momma died,
I knelt down by her side.
I held her body close to me,
Knowing this was the final caress you see.
I never knew I could hurt this bad,
And thinking back to that day still makes me sad.
She was always there and took my side,
I wonder at how many tears for me this lady cried?
This is the second Christmas she won’t be here,
To share with us our Christmas cheer.
In her Bible the day she died,
I found a note stuck deep inside.
Giving to the Lord her only son which is me,
Lord please forgive him, he is good sir, someday you’ll see!
Back in the seventies she wrote this note to the Lord for me.
I was wild and blind and refused to see.
But age is wisdom and wisdom is age,
And hopefully we learn with each new page.
Thank you Momma for all you have done,
I’m signing it with love from your only son.
We miss you very much but I’m sure you know,
You’re always in our hearts and mind where ever we go.
Love You !
I do not know?
Christmas time is here. How do I make
it through without you here.
This is the first Christmas I have had to
spend without you. It's going to be so
hard without you and not only do I have
to spend Christmas without you,
I do not get to spend it with my
little one either.
You and my little one are the only
ones I had who would never turn
your backs on me.
But now I have to spend Christmas
without you two, thanks to Mom, who
turned her back on me. You are the only
one I had to count on matter what.
Daddy, how will I go on without you?
I pray everyday that you could come
back and see me for just one day
(Christmas Day), so I could let you
know what you meant and still mean
to me. I know you will be by my side
on Christmas, but I only wish I
could see you so much. I still
bought you some wolves for Christmas
to set beside your ashes. So, please
let me know in some way you're here
beside me on Christmas. Don't forget
we love and miss you so...