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Poverty Christmas Poems | Poverty Poems About Christmas

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

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Details | Narrative | |

That Spark of Hope

A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…

Copyright © Carol Eastman

Details | Prose | |

Black Christmas

                                         Black Christmas
Black Christmas, is not a time with little children hanging out their stockings
Or about Santa coming down the chimney pot and delivering presents
Nor Rudolph and the reindeers pulling Santa's sled it goes deeper than that
To the darker side of Christmas, it is a story of the homeless and poverty stricken
The people who have nothing to look forward to at Christmas time, no Santa,
A time were young and old people can't take life any more and tell themselves
It is time to move on to another world and they commit suicide as their only release
Yes this is society today, which was created by Governments and very rich people
Who are really serving the Devil, by being selfish and greedy and turning their backs
On society, they forever increase charges on bills and utility services, making people 
Go without electricity to cook with, and foreclosing mortgages on people's houses
Leaving families homeless and destitute, young woman, men and children are living
On sidewalks, railway stations and park benches, with no real place to live.
Yes this is Christmas, Black Christmas we are now experiencing, so no matter were
You live there is no escape from this sub standard way of life for these people.
The rich enjoy their life and could not care less as the governments grease their palms
for re-election pledges as they both support each other for the better life ahead.
While they are having a turkey banquet, some poor soul is freezing to death 
That have very little clothing or a place to keep warm, yes this is indeed a Black Christmas.

Copyright © John Ginesi

Details | Free verse | |

Christmas at Christchurch

        I feel translucent 
	a man of marble skin 
	as if dreaming my motions 
	every step a tread in water
	each reach of my hand 
	a ghost grip touches 
	but nothing holds and yet 
	I clutch these stones and 
	iron spear barricades 
	as a sea-snail would the bedrock 
	for this is my folly 
	to hug close the masonry of charity 

	I feel nothing 
	no remorse runs down my arms 
	to my useless wrists 
	no rage 
	twists my mouth into rabid snarl 
	no pleasure lifts my face 
	from the footfalls 
	of those celestial beings 
	bustling above

	not even a soaked black wall 
	on which I am a shadow 
	penetrates my deadened hide 

	I feel grotesque 
	I am a gargoyle of flesh and bone 
	sown into the fabric of these 
	towers with closed doorways 
	that form broken arch homes 
	for broken things 

	no longer am I broken 
	I have embraced 
	the cold and hunger 
	of my mouth and my soul 
	I am free of this place 


	here I am still 
	here for you to see 
	if you can stomach 
	to see me 

Copyright © Steve Downes

Details | Narrative | |

A Christmas Memory

A Christmas memory
By Curtis Johnson

To this small community, my wife and I had come in 1974 to pioneer a church.
Our resources were meager, but we wanted to touch the lives of  about 50 families.
Contacting a generous grocer, we secured a discount of a vital product for any home.
On Christmas morning, we gave small packs of washing detergent to delighted families.

11212015 Curtis Johnson, for the contest, A Christmas Memory, sponsor, Broken Wings

Copyright © curtis johnson

Details | Quatrain | |

Christmas Passed

What if Jesus were born in these
modern times, on heated grates
where cold concrete works overtime
when welfare checks are running late.

Modern times on heated grates
where icy air the breath abates
and infant lungs fail to fill up,
young mothers holding beggar cups.

Where cold concrete works overtime
Holiness bought for just a dime
bag down Enlightenment's Alley
crowded subliminal rally.

When welfare checks are running late
Christmas is just another date,
cold pots in Felony Flats
Sinner, Sinner, no chicken dinner! 

(A French Retourne)

Copyright © Catie Lindsey