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Water Christmas Poems | Christmas Poems About Water

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

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.


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/


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.