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Christmas Water Poems | Christmas Poems About Water

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

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Details | Kyrielle | |

Welcome to my Home

Special welcome friend, come right in to my place of quiet serene. 
Welcome to my Holiday home at this special time of year.
Of Master’s love and your’s my friend  of wisdom’s grace may I glean,
 As we dismiss St Nicholas myth this Christmas season’s cheer.

Three water pots filled of water be ready, heart, soul and mind.
Welcome to my Holiday home at this special time of year.
Welcome is thy mouth,  of abundant life spout, pour in new wine.
We shall drink and be merry, wine of Sharon, on midnight clear.

Bright eyed of Christ mass, humbled children, these special gifts I would, 
welcome to my Holiday home at this special time of year.
I would this season of bliss would kiss, as the brotherhood should.
Often blossoms love and kindness in this blessed season cheer.

My humble dwelling my log cabin near lively stream of life,
welcome to my Holiday home at this special time of year.
Where the Lamb and Lion lie together having not any strife.
By  the virgin void my home serene came on a midnight clear!

Come fish with me in narrow strait beneath arch of heaven’s gate!
Welcome to my Holiday home at this special time of year,
my friends of late let us cleans the slate by dip in narrow strait.
A dip in peaceful river serene clears all the concept’s fear.

Corner stone, concepts rejection the same is heart protected.
Welcome to my Holiday home at this special time of year,
`Tis faith, love material erected, though minds rejected. 
Welcome! My eternal Christmas home, of paranormal cheer!

For contest: Holiday Home
Sponsored by Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.C.

Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

December Rain

It is the middle of an unusually warm Connecticut December
dark drizzly deep afternoon.

Drizzly wait,
not long before her hungry needy kids return from school,
she props herself against back porch wall,
knees up,
peering out 
listens to wonder how her life is the same,
and different,
compared to this river flowing surely and widely
but silently south behind their backyard,
while the river of cars in front
shuttle up and down the state highway's over-fueled Advent traffic,
punctuated with violent horn blasts,
or perhaps warmly intended "Hello"s, "I'm passing by...."

Passing.
Water toward the south Sound,
carbon-eaters to her back,
across the front yard Advent
of early evening's commercial family business,
industry,
institutions for competing commodification
flowing stealthily and syncopatedly impatient toward,
and then by-passing away.

By-passing,
messiah's mass faltering
to sing in her faithful
but worn thin heart and air,
hoping her river loves co-redemptive Sounding ocean
even more than busy motors 
surging through more urgent toxic time
invest to completely commercialize
this Birthing Wonder's self-purgative sacred flow
into co-therapeutic nature.

Flow,
transubstantiating home and families
into consumer markets
float down her river of mid-December's discontent
with waiting.

Discontent,
gloaming river fog
spreads miraculously radiant around one uninvited yellow street light,
waits for her family's bus
to deliver this December night's transforming birth.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

celsius

Fallen snow will remind of me/ it is snowing ... 
Slowly as in the dream/ 
Boy word-beads/ with signs on his spine/ 
He kisses fine/ 
Your eyelids /

And it snows ... It snows /so slow/
It does/ and you're thinking of me/ 
'Coz it's warm/ it's better to stay in warmth/ 
Waiting for summer dim/ 
It is snowing/ slowly like in the dream/ 
Flakes/ go round/ playing the music theme/ 
You've been looking for rescue/ 
You searched in wine/ 
But it's in me/ 
all the rescues are mine/ 
It is snowing/ the snow is fluffy and white/ 
If you see darkness/ I'm deaf and blind/ 
there's the cast of time/ on the arm/ 
But I discern the light/ 
Dreams/ upon your eyelids tips/ 
Prepare you for winter drowse/ 
And it snows/ 

Fallen snow/ will remind of spring /
it will crumble and crackle in vain/ 
It will snow / fluffy /white/ and slow/ 
And you'll become whole/

Copyright © Ilya Emelin | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

Dark Christmas

3 am.
The alarm clock in my head wakes me with a 
silent clanging.
Outside, the rain is falling so hard. It sounds like someone's
trying to break into my room.
Jesus.
It's Christmas Day.
It might as well be August 25th because the conversation in my head has not changed
since then. "You are a piece of shit."
I think of things I need to worry about, things I've worried about since August 25th and way before that.
My anxiety runs through my veins like hot chemo.
I stagger to the living room and stare at the half-decorated Christmas tree ...
gold balls weighing down one side. Empty green takes up the other. Oh, there are two figurines of kittens that I bought at a garage sale in Staten Island in 1998.
God. 3:10 am.
A whole day to spend by myself.
Not a fake friend in sight today, with their banal conversations about picking up their laundry or meeting at the gym at whatever time to do arms or back.
Just as well; I get a blank stare from them when I want to talk about chasing happiness or being childless at 53.
The TV is my savior. It pulls me out of myself.
Bing Crosby comes on singing "White Christmas." He's dancing
with those two impossibly shiny bleached blondes. And they all have those white, almost blue American teeth -- not one out of place.
12 pm.
I wake up on the couch and "White Christmas" is still playing; it must be a marathon.
Outside, the rain has turned to snow and there are two messages on my phone -- from Christian friends inviting me to their houses for the day.
It's tough being a Buddhist on Christmas. OK, so I know, as the Buddhists say, everything is OK as long as I let it be OK.
But this is one day of the year I don't want to "be."
I consider whether to shower. It takes 10 minutes to decide. I let the hot water run down my back, and I don't know if it's burning from the water or my nerve endings.
I don't want to face Christmas - but I have decided to join life and go to Cory's to see his kids, stare at the tree and eat some turkey.
I decide to take a Xanax, and I stick one in my pocket as assurance.
Maybe some of this gloom will yet lift from my heart.

Copyright © don munro | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Living Water

Sore feet, long lists
Lost time, large bills
Just to find the perfect gift
That will probably break or be lost too soon
Christmas parties, gift exchanges
Choir concerts, ballet recitals
Is this all that Christmas is?
Or have we perhaps lost our focus?
And in the hours spent at the mall
Maybe we've forgotten why we celebrate
And maybe if we'd open our eyes 
To what the songs are saying
We might realize 
That the perfect gift
Doesn't come from a shopping mall
But is rather a lifelong impact
To provide Living Water
And save a life

Copyright © Victoria Elisha | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry | |

what christmas means to you

 Even though at this time of year it is supposed
to be a time forpeace and goodwill with happiness
and goodcheer is that really
something we see clear.

People may do their best to forget the troubled
times with their pain and distress,
to join in the festive fun and enjoy the
dinner well-done.

Should it be just once a year that we
make a special time to share with
our loved ones so dear.
Ofcourse we can do this through-out the year
make it a time to get together and build
on our relationships with others as we
strenghthen the bonds with sisters,Fathers
Brothers and our Mothers.

December 25th is not the birth of Christ it
is just a Mere Myth so why people 
celebrate this certain date is something
for others to think and contemplate.


Times are increasingly more difficult and
understandingly we want to enjoy ourselves
only natrual but this season seems to give
people an excuse in which they reason 
to over-eat, and drink to excess to
 drown their sorrows they express
as the Special day ends their lives return
back to normal tomorrow. 

It can be a lonely time for many in this
December month as some are alone
during this holiday and that can be
sad for some while it seems the rest of the world
 are having a goodtime and lots of fun.

There are many through-out the world who
are still suffering  from lack of food and sanitation
no water which causes severe de-hydration don't
you think it is only right to spare a thought for such
ones going through a terrible time of starvation it kills
slowly and affects many atribe and nation.

Thousands may donate to these ones to give hope
they can revive many in order to help them
survive, but many loose their battle as it is
too great to cure as so many struggle to 
endure the distress of hunger pangs .

The moral of this poem is to encourage people
to think of the world and not just for a split second then
blink. Take time to count your blessings and be
thankful for what we have and also about the peace
and security we wish to possess in the world will
we really see a world full of peace well 
in the Bible it gives us a promise and hope
that soon God is going to take action and intervene
in human affairs and this will be our release, to prove to us that he deeply
and truly cares and that is a promise bestowed
to us beyond comapare. 
It gives much comfortto know there is a brighter
future for all who wish to take 
lifes water free God will do this
a promise we will soon see.

Copyright © Leanne Perks | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Christmas in Perspective

The rooster crows early in the Zambian morning.

With subtle sunlight starting to appear on the Horizon, ten year old Dikembe begins 
has journey to gather water for the family from the Luapula River.

With water buckets balanced on the ends of a bamboo stick he carries across his 
shoulders, Dikembe returns to find his Mother starting a fire to fix a sparse 
breakfast for her three children.  The morning sun already beats down on the dusty 
village now alive with life.  The ever present flies are already pestering Dikembe and 
the sores on his limbs.

Dikembe sees the white man on the horizon entering the village by foot, carrying his 
bag of medicines.

Women and children start to form a line at the small hut he will use as his office on 
this day.  For hours, the white man examines one patient after another, 
administering what little medicine he has and offering healthcare advice that he 
knows is not understood and/or will go unheeded.

Dikembe sits in the corner of the hut, watching it all with curiosity.

At the end of the long day, the white man packs up his bag, walks over to Dikembe 
and hands him a piece of gum.  Dikembe smiles and mumbles, “Thank you” in broken 
English.

As he puts the piece of gum into his mouth, Dikembe remembers the stories one
 white man once read to him from a book called the bible, and he thinks, “I love,
 Christmas.  I hope it is this nice again next year.”

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010