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Holiday Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Holiday

These Holiday Narrative poems are examples of Narrative poems about Holiday. These are the best examples of Holiday Narrative poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative |

Christmas Miracle in the Ghetto (Co-written with John Moses Freeman)

Peering at the radiating faces of happy families
So much joy emanates from well-to-do children’s sparkling eyes
Wish I could replace the grief, put smiles on the faces of my sons
Without a glimmer of hope even promises of warm meals would be lies

In the brown eyes of my sons, the same eyes their mother, my wife
Sadness the sacrifice, a courageous mother giving life
So great a zest for life she sacrificed to give her sons life
But now greed hath put her seed in peril and my world in strife

No “Help Wanted” signs in the windows of Main Street’s bustling stores
The aroma of fresh bread wafts tauntingly from the bakery
With my hands in pockets, finding not even loose change
Overcome with hunger and jealousy, should I resort to thievery? 

Mind reeling, contemplating abating moral principals
Suddenly appear familiar brown eyes amid face so dear
The image of deceased wife, Spanish born eyes filled with tears
Speaking, "Abe, the Lord is gracious, walk until head is clear"

I follow the light in her warm eyes reflecting in glass windows
They lead me down the road to a park at the end of town
Dressed in ragged clothing, a man sits with a smile of peace
Breathing white puffs in frigid air, this gentle soul sees my frown

The message is plain, as my fears begin to clear
There is a greater depth in a soul of love well kept
The night is far spent; I kissed the hand of this gentle man
He smiled sweetly and said, "Lift up heavy head from dread"
 
I look up to see sun glistening on snow-laden pine boughs
It’s here, Christmas Day, and I’ve left my children alone all night
An ache in my heart compels me to race quickly back through town
Breathlessly, I reach my porch unprepared for a welcome sight
 
Hearing laughter within, I smell, yams, turkey and ham
I open my door, on the floor, presents piled high as well
Laughing with glee, sons kiss me, sparkle of brown eyes I see
Sparkling brown eyes, of Spanish descent, love is evident
 
“From where in the world did all this come,” I ask my sons
“Beautiful lady with Spanish brown eyes, stopped at our door
She said a strange thing, as on the floor our gifts were lain,
‘Tell Abe keep the faith; a mother's love is stronger than the grave.’
Her hugs and kisses, will be greatly missed!  Who was she, Daddy?"


Thank you, Moses, for joining me and guiding me in this write.  Merry Christmas, dear 
friends!


Details | Narrative |

October's Gift

It is October again, but I have another in mind
One long ago, and it brings tender memories
It wasn't the usual, of Halloween kind
Of parties and goblins, of which there were many

It was a year of some changes, our family had moved
I was ten years old...struggling and shy
A small little town, I'd been replanted and torn 
It was late in October...now uprooted and more...
A different school....a country lane....no close neighbors next door

On Halloween night, it rained and it poured
The end of the world...I was unhappy and bored
Leaving what had been home, familiar and sure
Where our old street had been filled
With Halloween thrills
Here in the country, ...no one came to the door

I was dressed to go out...but storms plagued the night
My mom understood....she saw my sad plight

She went up to her room, made up her face
She combed up her hair, until it stood on it's roots
Covered her face with black fireplace soot
She threw on her robe, and pulled on dad's boots
Crept out the back door, and to the front porch

When the doorbell rang....I jumped in delight!
Trick-or-treaters had come to our house this dark night!!
When I opened the door, at first I didn't see
It was mom, ...trying to hard, bring me some glee!
She grabbed me and laughed and pulled me to come
Out into the rainstorm....up the road we would run
We ran in the downpour, getting soaked to our skin
Laughing and yelling....such fun it had been!

Later that night, we warmed by the fire
She let me stay up....no one was tired
So cozy and warm...no longer so cold
With popcorn, and candy...and the ghost stories told
That one Halloween, on that night of the storm
Was the best Halloween....and reminds me of home.....
I'll never forget  when each Halloween comes
The gift of the fun....   all thanks to my mom.....


Details | Narrative |

Christmas Delivery

As December winds swirled the snow in drifts outside
   Lisa covered Mama, held her hand as she cried
“It’s my last Christmas, I know it in my heart, dear
   Send my prayers to God; deliver them with my tears”

“Hush, Mama, you can’t die; Tommy needs you so
   And his tour of duty still has six months to go”
Mama fell asleep, Lisa bowed her head in prayer
   Adding her own tears, she asked that Tommy be there

“Please let my brother see Mama just one more time
   When her eyes open, may it be her son she finds”
Tears fell on the floor as Lisa kept vigil
   Beside her cancer-stricken mother so fragile

Awakening to see Tommy standing nearby
   In uniform he appeared; Lisa exhaled a sigh
“God sent you home, I knew He would, our pleas were heard”
   Tommy stroked his sister’s hair, saying not one word

‘Twas then Lisa saw Mama standing behind him
   Aglow in heaven’s light were her mother and twin
“How blessed we’ll be – together on this Christmas Day!”
   Lisa exclaimed, just before they faded away

Confused, she saw her ashen mom so still in bed
   ‘Neath the door a telegram, Tommy too was dead
And though there were tears in Lisa’s blue eyes so bright
   Her loved ones would spend Christmas together in God’s sight

A smile came as candles flaming in the window grew
Lisa realized one Christmas she’d be with them too



*Rhyming narrative for Paula Swanson’s “Tear” contest


Details | Narrative |

Ewmer Fudd the Easter Gwinch and Dis WEALLY Buggs Me -

Pweeze wet me expwain, officer - 
I taught it was dat wascally wabbit agin...
buwwowing under my ewectric fence,
eating up my cawwots. wettece, my bwoccoli
and-and...even my woot-a-beggers!
He's a weal pest...constantwee hawassing me,
destwoying, wandom wooting, wuining my cwop...
din waughing at me! (Dere outta be a waw)

Wha...awwest me?...Dis is an outwage!
I am a waw-abiding citizen!...Wead me my wights!
I demand pwoper mis-wepwesentation!
I am going diwectly to your superwior office, pwivate!
Bewieve it my fwiend, you will wive to wegwet this...
Ow! Must you be so fweekin WUFF?...Dat hoits!
I have woomatism you know! Powice bwutality! Po...
Aw scwew it...Wes! Wes! I moidered da widdle bum!

(Wunning awound dwessed wike dat
distwibuting doze siwwie cowoured eggs
Embawassing widdle cweature...
It's a downwight disgwace I tell you)

2/26/2013



Details | Narrative |

VISITING OUR LAND DOWNUNDER

written 28th June 2013


The place downunder, I'm happy to call my home
 if you plan on a visit, here's somethings you do "need" to know

Kakadu is a place 'you' need to take the time to see
 such magic you will never won't to leave

But...if your arms "outside" the boat...
It...WILL end up down, a crocodiles throat

 Ayres rock...is a must place to have on your list, simply this you can not miss
As the sun descends watch it's colours change, you'll be mesmerised by 'pure' bliss

Coober Pedy...for those slightly intrigued with the underground
 for it is here, a quiet town where all there house's are found

Ballarat...you can still find gold
Well... so I've been told

I recommend...."you" don't swim in the oceans at the top end..
 surrounded by oceans.... the rest, feel free to  jump in

"BUT" if you happen to see a 'fin' I highly 'recommend' you swim

With nights call..'when' offered pull up a chair, grab a beer and relax
 there's just....'one small' catch 

Don't ever be the 'first' to fall "asleep"
 Aussie's find 'extensive' pleasure in an innocent prank when asleep

Enjoy your stay....and from the Land downunder we 'all' say "G'day"
 and look forward to seeing you again, we know you had a great stay


Details | Narrative |

LUNCH BOX

LUNCH BOX

The sandwich was probably only two days old
School had let out for Christmas vacation on the 23rd
And now    on Christmas Eve    Sam had found it -        
     lunchbox and all -  in an alley behind Clarke’s Super
The kid had taken a couple of bites of the apple – now
     gone brown- but left the roast beef sandwich whole
“Too damn much mayo!” Sam frowned
“But boy am I hungry!”

Licorice    the cat – so named by the neighborhood kids –
     was hungry too    and let Sam know it with his most
     plaintiff cry
Sam was street-wise    an old cardboard box dweller who
     had tenanted many boxes   many alleys    in his time
Yet    this was no “Hello puss    whose puss are you?”
     animal summons for attention
The yowl had a bone-rattle desperation Sam hadn’t heard
     before

Licorice blended with the night
But stood out even against the gloom
She was pressed against an empty oil barrel    back arched
     on the tips of her paws    so almost skeletal
Sam couldn’t help but sigh
It was Christmas Eve    and despite the location – a forlorn
     back alley – a string of lights (from somewhere) were
     blinking
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
The red-green-gold shown against Licorice’s satin fur
Charmed the (already charmed) night
Charmed Sam the Box Man
“Well I’ll be damned!” he gulped
Then threw half the sandwich to the starving kitty
“Merry Christmas old beggar.” Sam smiled

  



                      
 
 


Details | Narrative |

The Christmas Kiss

I was sitting in the crowded train station with time to waste, waiting on the train to take me home on Christmas Eve.  A very pretty, young lady, carrying a full backpack headed for one of the only open seats across the aisle from me next to a rather dirty and disheveled older man.

As she removed her backpack to sit down he glared up at her; she smiled a beautiful bright smile and said to him, “Merry Christmas”.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas”, he barked up at her.

“Yeah?  Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy on the day that I celebrate Christmas.  And I hope the day is merry for you as well.”

“What is there to be merry about”, he moaned, “A bunch of hypocritical religious zealots pretending to be nice to one another while the world goes to hell in a hand basket.”

“Well, at least for that one day, most of us believe the hypocrisy, and even for just a few hours, we practice the morals that our religion tries to instill in us.  At least on that one day, for us religious zealots, there is a glimmer of hope that we can save the world from going to hell and, I, for one, believe that is reason to be merry.”

“Terrific!  And, what does that get me,” he whimpered.
	
“Well, what you get is this one time of year, when a twenty-two year old college girl is not afraid to sit next to you; smile at you; and, wish you a Merry Christmas.  And, if you just say, ‘Thank you’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ back to her, she just may give you the biggest and best kiss you have ever experienced.”

She stood back up and started to put her backpack back on as he simply stared up at her.  Once she was situated and ready to move on towards her train, she stopped; smiled at him again; and, said, “Merry Christmas.”

It seems I was not the only stranger that was witnessing this exchange.  All of those around me were perched on the edge of their seats waiting to see what might happen.  The old man cracked a little smile.  A glimmer came to his eyes, and he said, “Thank you.  And, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

The girl leaned down and planted a kiss right on his lips for what seemed like ten minutes.  Smiles lit up the faces of all the men, women and children watching this take place.  When the girl finally pulled back, the old man was frozen in place with a big ole smile on his face.  She adjusted her backpack and started heading towards the tracks.  All the men she passed on her way who witnessed this exchange anxiously yelled, “Merry Christmas” as she passed, hoping for a kiss as well.

I looked back at the old man who was still in a dream.  Suddenly he caught me looking at him and barked, “What are you staring at?”

I just shook my head back and forth and said, “Merry Christmas”.

“Yeah!  Well Merry Christmas to you, too” he shouted.


Details | Narrative |

The "Journey Through Christmas"

In my hometown of Hillsboro
A humble, small suburb
There stood a church that was more humble still
In that cozy congregation
We'd teach and learn the Word
And try each day to do the Father's will

But our little congregation
Each year at Christmastime
Would execute a miraculous feat!
The whole town would come out in droves
To view what we'd present
A Christmas pageant right next to the street!

The first vignette was of a home
A modern family
Telling of that first Christmas long ago
The next scene showed the palaces
Of Herod on his throne
When his grim proclaimation he bestowed

Each onlooker could walk or drive
From scene to sacred scene
But either way, observers saw the worth
For every stop would reenact
The story of God's love
From Herod to the blessed Savior's birth

The community seemed hungry
To hear the wondrous news
Of the Messiah, born to die for us
And like them, we were richly blessed
To share with all who came
The spectacle-- a Journey Through Christmas!







*This is a true story that I've presented in poetry form for Carolyn Devonshire's "Christmas 
in Your Town" Contest


Details | Narrative |

The Sugar Cube House

Love is a season
And holidays mark the seasons, 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 void with color
The block was filled with a hundred black windows
And the blackness somehow seemed more appropriate  
There was no Christmas tree in our house this 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...
It was Perry Como, I think....somehow I remember how he sang "Ava Maria"...

My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week
He had helped 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, 
                                 getting ready for the sun to shine on Christmas morning...

I started to head for bed, but 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 little box that kept the sugar cube house
It was one 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 Ladies' Home Journal....surrounding it with little trees, and 
people skating on a mirror for a pond, things we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store
Carefully packed away last year, on Mom's last Christmas....

Throughout the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the 
fireplace mantel....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.
He held me and we cried together.
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 Constance La France's contest "Your Saddest Christmas Ever"
Carrie Richards


Details | Narrative |

Ghetto Santa

Upon our roof top did he arrived, two reindeers short and blood shot eyes.  With his gray 
and black beard with bits of food inside…I thought it was suppose to be white?  They also 
told me he had a cute button nose…his nose was big and by no means cute. He attempted 
to enter thru the chimney top, only to discover that it was a false smoke top. So he being 
Old Nick, I could hear him as he fumbled with some keys as he did huff in discuss.  His 
belt did seem a little bit too big for his gut and his and butt was as big as my dad’s big old 
butt. From behind the big chair were I did hide by the tree, I could smell the aroma of 
cheap alcohol coming off his breath as he bent over by the Christmas tree to deposit our 
gifts. To despite the fact that he had been to plenty of houses before ours that had real 
chimneys, his red suit was not covered with one drop single drop of soot! No not even one 
dirt spot and the boots that he had on look like my dad's old work boots! I chuckled to 
myself… and said maybe it’s made of some special stuff? As I he place the last gift in 
place up under the tree, he then reach his hands to the sky and then grabbed his lower 
back, I thought he was suppose to be jolly and all that stuff? The whole time he was here, 
I could almost be certain that I could hear him cursimg from up under his breath… but to 
my surprise he eat the cookies and milk that my mom had left, but the damndest thing 
happen as he flung his back pack over his back and proceed to leave, but instead of going 
back out the front door, he made a sudden turn toward the stairs and went up and into my 
parents room and never left? I final said I had seen enough, I just chucked it up to 
another year in the Ghetto and my first real sighting of legendary Ghetto Santa and one 
which I hope would be my last!


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