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Prose Poetry Christmas Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Christmas

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Desert near Ajo, AZ

The Desert near Ajo, AZ
Funky town.  Got to go. Drive up a road--couple a blocks from the Plaza. Road curves becomes dirt. Hard dirt—eroded dirt. Not a pleasant place for a car. Out in the desert as fast as walking through a door. Saguaros poked up everywhere. Three types of Chollas threaten. Jumping, Teddy Bear and the tame Cane. The Teddy Bear amused Zelda. She had batches of spines in her mouth and all four feet. I grabbed a rock and knocked them off. I pulled the barbs out accompanied by soft yips. She went bounding away to the next mess of spines. I woke just before dawn everything was rugged, but the sun was not blocked except by the horizon. Warthogs, those instruments of war—were still plying the sky, but they were high, high and could not be heard. Only the birds. Nothing else. Not a thing. My relations with the others are awkward at best. Harry was no problem, but I had a feeling, he was miffed. I know his wife was, as was mine. Something about talking with no concern for others.  “You just go on and on and on. You don’t listen! You are a complete asshole,” Sue said.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wish

Wish

Seven years I’ve been waiting for
A Christmas with you I wish for
Just like the other years that passed by
My wish for Christmas never gone by

A thought bothered my mind
How do you feel fine?
How do I feel fine?
If it breaks your soul it breaks mine.

Everything you have to sacrifice
A tear drops in your eyes
I wish I could make it dry
But I too can’t stop myself to cry

I hope he will grant my wish
If not now, maybe next year
I would still be waiting here
The same wish that I wished.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A CHRISTMAS GIFT by Anna Lo PH

Holiday Season is almost near
Christmas rush which you can hear
Beautiful lights seen everywhere
It can be felt in the air anywhere..

But still I don't have a Xmas gift for you
I'm not sure if you wanted it too
How I wish I know what to give
Something that you will be appreciative.

I wish I have the magic powers
To make the reindeers run thereafter
As the elves too busy packing
What Santa may carry for you and bring.

I wish I can put Lapland in a box
A place where the Snow Queen rocks
And where Santa and the elves live
Even those reindeers, I wish I can give.

But they're an impossible wish
A wish I hope I can accomplish
A gift I want to give to make you smile
Even just a little and only for a while.

Merry Christmas to you my dear
And A Happy New Year too.. Cheers!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christ Child

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I won't be Home For Xmas

I won't be home
not For Christmas
nor for funerals
not for birthdays
Wanted to never see you
on those days so hard to get through.

When you abandoned the sweetness
and chased your dream into the alley
When you thought it best to see me cry

When your mind changed with the direction of the wind 
I stood there with spit on my finger tips...
holding my hand in the air,Waiting for the winds of hope
to blow your love and loyalty in my direction

Home is a strange city
where no one knows me.
where no one will invite me to sit across the table
and try to smile as I play with my stuffing on china with flowers
As I remember the children laughing and opening gifts.
I remember the long silent ride back to our house.

I think back when I got on my knees
before climbing into our cold bed 
The prayers just uttered coming back void.
Ask God to just let you touch me again
I needed your body-heat to keep warm.
I needed your support to continue on 
for the sake of the commitment.

For the sake of waiting for love to remind you
Even if pity could hold you there..
I would not be ashamed of what you sacrificed
When love had given birth to pity-
I would have held on without pride.

Now I never want to come back to that town.
Where no one cares that you don't love me.
I am in remission.
Alone but it's OK.
Please tell our future to visit me. 
On the seashores. 
The sun warms me in
my new home 
where no one knows me.
All my old friends are 
dead and dying.So...

I won't be home
not For Christmas
nor for funerals
not for birthdays
Wanted to never see you
on those days so hard to get through.

Just my spirit and the ocean.
and one day tell our grandchildren
Grandma will be here walking;
With one finger in the air moistened with spit.
to see which way the wind blows.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Things To Give Away

Tarny was a little bear 
A teddy bear he be 
Coat was as white as snow 
To this we all agree 
. 
Tarny was a Christmas gift 
Given to a lady fair 
Was sent by her Tarnished Knight 
How she wished that he was there 
. 
Tarny wore a little coat 
Where pinned upon his sleeve 
A note from her Tarnished Knight 
Said "will you read me please " 
. 
"Sorry I can't be with you 
On this Christmas day 
I know its very hard for you 
That I'm so far away" 
. 
"So I am sending Tarny 
For you to now embrace 
I will be there very soon 
Then I will take his place" 
. 
"Tarny has a special gift 
He'll make your dreams come true 
Just close your eyes and make a wish 
You will see what he can do" 
. 
Tears now flowed from her eyes 
Squeezing Tarny oh so tight 
Closed her eyes and made wish 
To dream of the Tarnished one tonight 
. 
That was some time ago 
In another Christmas past 
Once there was hopes and dreams 
Somehow they didn't last 
. 
Tarny now is put away 
Never sees the light of day 
Shares a space with odds and ends 
In box of " things to give away" 
. 
Fleece once of snow flake white 
Now has stains of crimson red 
Came from a broken heart 
Oh! how Tarny bled 
. 
So if you find a little bear 
Slightly stained in red 
May not be a teddy 
But this Tarnished Knight instead 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

HOLIDAYS IS EVERDAY WHEN AM WITH YOU

your my pride
your my guild
ineed you world wide
without you am so blue
i love you too
HOLIDAY IS EVERDAY
WHEN AM WITH YOU


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Spirit of Christmas

John and Bath, short for Bathsheba Adams, were quite a pair.  Nothing ever got them down, except maybe an occasional cold.  Even then she would take hers out into the cold winter day of the back parking lot of the slum tenement building.  Where, there, she would nudge three of the fifteen cats trying to climb her double tattered blue jeans, out of the way, in order to stand and offer her cold up to God, seeing that it was all she had to offer Him and really she would be grateful, as well as giving up her only possession.   She often asked God why He didn’t seem inclined to come and keep them company, because she believed in Him heart, body and soul and talked to him constantly because John just got tired of listening.  She and John loved each other and no other.  She hadn’t worked steadily in Lord knows when.  John on the other hand got hurt on the job just before he was vested in company rights and the pitiful settlement he received was long gone.  He was left as barely good company for Bath, telling her over and over to just wait ‘til “he gets back on his feet” literally.  But that is not an option any longer, so Bath feels the need to keep him company. They really only had what you might call one vice.  That being because you might say they were wasting good money for no good reason.  They religiously bought two, one dollar lottery tickets every day that passed.  Well, there it was, the day before Christmas and Bath didn’t have money but for one ticket.  Well, she hotfooted down through Chinatown because there were still barbers there who would buy hair and she wanted to give John a special lottery ticket for Christmas.  The deal done she was cold as the mischief and begging God not to let her sinus get worse as she headed through the light rain for those lottery tickets.  John, meanwhile was hobbling down to get his ticket.  She always insisted that he walk to the corner himself so if he won he would feel like he had bought the ticket.  The rascal stopped and sold his crutch.  Can you belive, for $1 he sold his crutch.  Well, to cut to the chase, some friends carried him home after he bought the ticket.  Beth came in and after a bowl of soup, they had a prayer and wished each other merry Christmas and exchanged the two tickets which were the gifts.  Well, my story ends here.  I'm not going to tell you one or both won the lottery.  But in the spirit of Christmas I will say they lived quite long, and they were very happy while they lived. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

SANTA'S SURPRISE

SANTA'S   SURPRISE   

Santa Claus stripped off his beard and red suit 
And left the show in the officers’ mess
Pulling the last tiny pieces of cotton wool from his stubbled chin
As he ran to his position 

At the end of the starboard bow catapult of the Carl Vinson
Eighty feet above the stormy grey Arabian Sea     
He watched as far off down the flight deck 
The final touches manoeuvred the F22 into the cradle
  
Its ordnance today a hundred kilogram fragmentation device 
For a rebel bunker in Afghanistan an hour’s flying time away
A surprise delivery for them;
The salt wind whipped the last cotton from his face.

Then his thumb pressed the green all-clear button  
Engine screamed to maximum and the catapult released
The flying load into the grey sky. Another successful delivery.
He checked his area of the mechanism after the aircraft blurred past

And hurried back inside to finish his Christmas dinner
Merry Christmas Santa, they all yelled as he came in again.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Silver Sixpence

On a cold frosty night the moon hung in the dark sky like a silver sixpence,
Waiting for a bus that seemed to be hours late, wind dried my face I was cold,
While leaning on the stop sign I could see into rooms through lighted windows,
All seemed warm and cosy Christmas Trees glowed and fairy lights went on and off.

Decorations hung from ceilings they were all colours gold, silver, reds and blue,
Black and white televisions told everyone about cold weather outside on the news,
People walked past windows wearing short sleeved jumpers, children smiled happily,
It was Christmas Eve, and somewhere in the background I could hear Slade singing.

In house windows and on mantle pieces hyacinths blossomed the mingled with the tree,
There were crocuses and Dutch and Florentine tulips adding to the splendor of a room,
Best tables were on show piled with egg-nogg and bottles of cream soda and lemonade,
Stockings full of chocolate, crunchies, buttons and a white milky bar hung on walls.

Open fires roared fed by copper coal scuttles mum and dad celebrated with a Babycham,
A glass of Sandymans Port sipped by the grand parents all laughing enjoying themselves,
Then in the cold night air I could hear an engine struggling up a hill to my bus stop,
A green double decker windows glowing stopped and I got on, I silently wished my window
Friends a happy Christmas.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dear Sarah and Samantha

Dear Sarah and Samantha, 


It’s been a while I know * since I happened by your house in the Christmas snow.

I used to drop off presents on wintry Christmas Eve, * scoff a sherry and mince pie then 
hurriedly we’d leave. * We wouldn’t want to get espied by chigglers such as you * and any 
way the night was long with lots of work to do. * How I miss those mince pies from you guys 
and gals, * and carrots for Old Rudolph and all his reindeer pals.

But children do get older and sometimes even doubt * Santa Claus’ existence. “There’s no 
such thing” they’ll shout; *  and in truth I do confess to you assistance I enlist * from miles 
and miles of mums and dads to purchase all your gifts. *

But all I wished to say to you now that you are grown * is I’d be glad to help you when 
you’ve chigglers of your own.

Feel free to write on their behalf, Sarah and Samantha. * I’m always here to give my help. 

Merry Christmas, 


Santa.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Christmas Poem (For Lyn, et al)

...Have occasioned
I think to have been decor-
rating The Tree, it's 
 
piney quills & tines   
dressing in glassy festoons
weightless baubles of 
 
tins-led Christmas-candy
colors, like porcelain 
fragile-fine, hooked canes
 
& dangled barber-pole-paean
peppermint-stick Memories
of savored hangon 
 
trinkets & heirlooms
looming like a twinkling 
tapestry 'round 
 
wreaths of snowy popped-corn
dangling - "No, darlings, that's not 
for eating..."  Yes, I 
 
have occasioned the 
rows of bubbling light-tubes 
like glowing chains of 
 
warm caterpillars 
inching-on toward the Manger's 
Star of a chrysalis 
 
Christmas Joy to Light-
Up the World!  Oh Yes, I have 
occasioned The Tree 
 
Breathing in Ecstasy...
And the Wonder, of this from
a Guy whose Imprimatur 
 
might have been
"Tannenbaum!"
 
                         H.e.m.
                         12.8.MMvi.  
                         Noel. 


"And so, as Tiny Tim observed, G-D bless Us, Every One!" 
(" A Christmas Carol").  And...

A "...Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night!" 
(Clement Clarke Moore, "Twas The Night Before Christmas").
 
Amen.

 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christmas

CHRISTMAS

Christmas trees eight feet tall,
Some bigger still.
Colored bulbs to warm the heart,
It gives the child a thrill.

Trees on both sides of the altar,
When altars were marbled art.
The tabernacle in the center,
Crosses not far apart.

Church ceilings were painted then,
A beauty to behold.
Angels, clouds and cherubim,
The holy story told.

Sometimes I'd sneak inside,
Lay down by the first pew.
The magnificence of a small town church,
Ceilings and walls with a view.

When the organ played and people sang,
A new world opened here.
This is truly Christmas,
I was so proud to be near.

No jeans or shorts or T Shirts,
Even children dressed the part.
Celebrating the Christmas season,
Amidst magnificent art.

Ladies wore pretty dresses,
Men with a suit and tie.
Praising God dressed in their finest,
Christmas music could make one cry.

Alas, it's but a memory,
Of small towns so long ago.
We still love you dear Lord Jesus,
But why it changed we do not know.

RAYMOND V. MORGAN


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Poem for Christmas

December, look outside and watch the young they believe in Father Christmas,
Clear sharp, bright days brace the nerves, standing under mistletoe and holly,
A feeling of pleasure lives in our heart our lungs some go for a sleigh ride
Splendid heavens, stars, full moons in the distance ring the bells of St. Mary

Snow falls in abundance frost makes the world so quiet on a white Christmas,
Magnificence ice bound rivers they come to life with sliders and sleigh riders,
Farmers with all his corn in his work done his cattle sleep in heavenly peace,
He calls his friends and have jolly dinners all sing a song about three kings.

Sounds of the flail is his music in the market there is a little drummer boy,
He sees his sheep are well tended they walk over the fields they jingle bells,
The animal family of the farmyard, are well tended in this winter wonderland,
All are busy cutting hay, chopping straw and children make frosty the snowman.

Friends meet and shake hands and tell each other to have a very merry Christmas,
As the people in the village go to bed they say goodnight wish all peace on earth,
As Christmas gets nearer we all agree it is the most wonderful time of the year,
Snow falls then hardened by a thick frost the animals sleep on this silent night.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christmas Long Time Past

Father Christmas in the night sky his sleigh and reindeer a silhouette in the moonlight,
He has traveled all over the world to lavish his presents to small sleeping children,
The family has retired and left a mince pie and some sherry, the little ones dreaming,
Mr. Christmas climes up and down chimneys leaving special gifts it is a magical time.

Earlier on this Christmas Eve, many excited little children on their little tippy toes,
Straining to place their stocking high on the front room wall away from nosy grey rats,
Some scarcely reach higher than these rats frantic that sweets will have bites in them
Older brothers and sisters unhook the stockings and pin them higher up, out of the way 

Mother has sat them round a table and coaxed them off to their beds earlier than usual,
Told them all about the story of Christmas and why it is such an important special day,
They sat there wide eyed listening to every word the very young not understanding it all,
There faces rosy from the heat of a yule log burning in the hearth and everything quiet.

They understand that Father Christmas only visits very good well and behaved children,
And the children feel guilty as they cast their mind back over the last very long year,
The children find it hard to hold their tongues hoping Father Christmas won't ride past,
And that if they go to bed without any moaning and go to sleep early he will be very kind.

Laying in their beds can they hear the the sound of whistles, penny-trumpets and drums?
They squeeze their eyes shut tight, just in case it is Father Christmas flying nearby,
A wind blows the downstairs door could that be the reindeer's and the sleigh flying past,
Gradually they tire and one by one drop into a deep sleep the sort only known by children. 

In their sweetest dreams they hear the cries of dolls, singing wooden birds, gold ribbons,
The ticking of pewter watches looked at by the raggy dolls, toy soldiers guarding oranges,
They are asleep and so very happy the emblems of innocence, at peace on this Christmas Eve,
And when the morning finally comes they are loaded with beautiful gifts it's Christmas Day.

25th December 2012 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christmas is Real



When we consider the losses and grief,
if we arrived at the manger.
Then Christmas is real...

If one nation is relieved by another,
even if we bury our dead.
If we arrive at the manger then
Christmas is real.

If in prayers, we bond with the hurting
world on a global basis.
Erases the fears and arrives at the
manger.
Then Christmas is real.


Christmas is real when each of
mankind reaches out with love
to another.
The reflection of his eyes will
show from the manger.



God Bless all the troops serving this Christmas.
"
350th Mobile Public Affairs Detachment

AR RAMADI, Iraq - "I'll be home for Christmas" are the final words I said to my mother as
I made my final call to her last spring while I was on my way to Iraq. We agreed never to
say "goodbye." I stated a similar claim to my wife. "Goodbye" has a finalization connotation.

"I'll be home" is a statement of confidence.

Five unexpected extensions later and we're still here. It's Christmas in the desert for us.

Military bases during the holidays are loathsome.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christmas with You



I remember going out and chopping
the old big green spruce years ago.
You’re frosting cookies they were the best
and not jest coz ya was my Grandma.

I remember the antique bulbs all glass and
sparkling too.
How Grandpa let me hang the angel one year
and I fell into the tree.

My spirit is not so free this Christmas 
as' it was in the past.
not a little girl no more Grandma.

And this is the first time you will celebrate
it in your new home.
With The Lord and angels, I just know you
will have the best Christmas of all.

You finally will spend it with Grandpa once
again and that’s so nice.
For me this Christmas I am going to spend
it with you like years long ago.
Even if only in my heart.

Merry Christmas Both of you.

Peggy Jo


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Death in a Parking Lot

Parking lots are creepy and desolate in the dark,
without fluorescent lights, 
no one can remember where they parked,
A person may roam around for hours or click 
on their alarm.
At Christmas time parking lots are synonymous
to Christmas Tree Farms,
A death can easily happen in the midle of the maze,
when attendants are not looking,
People can sneak in and out of the gates,
rummaging for all sorts of goodies to take,
If someone is unaware they can 
overpower him/her in a choke hold,
strangling the person until they are
stone cold,
In the twinkling of an eye a family 
can suffer a loss,
The owners and corporations may try
to cover up the heinous crime,
by slinging mud and slime,
But in due time unsolved mysteries
eventually shine.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The magic of Christmas

So colorful and festive
that Christmas brings to us;
preparations abound elsewhere –
with gifts, kind thoughts and generosity.

Young and old alike share
what Christmas means to them.
A celebration of faith, an act of life
shown with love and loyalty to God.

Mammoth crowds emerge on the horizons
shoppers found in malls, post offices
and other retail stores.
Like a magic, they meet in different places.

It’s a season suffused with life
pregnant with meaning
and significance.
Like a magic that draws us to reflect
Christmas means for all ages.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Unless Jesus Is In Christmas...

Why all the hustle and bustle
and dashing through the snow?
Why bother writing greeting cards
or kiss under a mistletoe?

Why chop down a pine tree
and dress it with tinsel and lights?
What is the purpose of gift giving,
or days that are merry and bright?

Unless we keep Jesus in Christmas,
it isn't Christmas at all.
Unless we celebrate The Virgin Birth,
nothing has meaning or worth!

Christmas isn't the Holly and Ivy,
little toy trains or Santa Kissing Mommy.
Christmas isn't packages tied with string,
a red nosed reindeer,
or listening to sleigh bells ring.

Christmas isn't baking pies, turkey, and ham,
or lying awake till midnight,
to see a jolly ol' man.

Unless we keep Jesus in Christmas,
it isn't Christmas at all.
Unless we celebrate The Virgin Birth, 
nothing has meaning or worth?

No nothing has meaning worth!


Milton L. Delgado
December 26, 2006


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Victorian Christmas

Father Christmas is in the night sky his sleigh and reindeer a silhouette in the moonlight,
He has traveled all over the world to lavish his presents to small sleeping children,
A family has retired and left a mince pie and some sherry, the little ones dreaming,
Mr. Christmas climes up and down chimneys leaving special gifts it is a magical time.

Earlier on this Christmas Eve, many excited little children on their little tippy toes,
Straining to place their stocking high on the front room wall away from nosy grey rats,
Some scarcely reach higher than these rats, frantic that sweets will have bites in them
Older brothers and sisters unhook the stockings and pin them higher up, out of the way

Mother has sat them round a table and coaxed them off to their beds earlier than usual,
Told them all about the story of Christmas and why it is such an important special day,
They sat there wide eyed listening to every word the very young not understanding it all,
There faces rosy from the heat of a yule log burning in the hearth and everything quiet.

They understand that Father Christmas only visits very good and well behaved children,
And the children feel guilty as they cast their mind back over the last very long year,
The children find it hard to hold their tongues hoping Father Christmas won't ride past,
And that if they go to bed without any moaning and go to sleep early he will be very kind.

Laying in their beds can they hear the the sound of whistles, penny-trumpets and drums,
They squeeze their eyes shut tight, just in case it is Father Christmas flying nearby,
A wind blows the downstairs door could that be the reindeer's and the sleigh flying past,
Gradually they tire and one by one drop into a deep sleep the sort only known by children.

In their sweetest dreams they hear the cries of dolls, singing wooden birds, gold ribbons,
The ticking of pewter watches looked at by the rag dolls, toy soldiers guarding oranges,
They are asleep and so very happy the emblems of innocence, at peace on this Christmas Eve,
And when the morning finally comes they are loaded with beautiful gifts it's Christmas Day.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

GIFT FROM ABOVE

your are astar
where ever you are
to me am free
you see
this is real love
your a
GIFT FROM ABOVE


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christmas Past

Jingle Bells were ringing in the air.
Carolers were singing the First Noel
and Silver Bells in the street.
Houses trimmed in Holly announcing, 
Yule Tide greetings with joyful care
could be seen.

Then the moment of magic in every 
child's mind is the site of Santa with his,
hair of snow white and dressed in crimson
red.

I remember Christmas past as a child
how I was small as a sprite and would
watch wiping a spot in the windowpane
with a smile like gold.

Just to capture the beauty and magic of
being a child at Christmas time.
Shows that memory shines like silver
still today.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Take me Back to the Time

Take me back to a time when have a Pepsi was for merry people at Christmas,
When General Electric fairy lights hung on real trees and pine needles fell,
Father Christmas smoked Pall Mall cigarettes because they were the smoothest,
A present of Tupperware for your mum was the very best present in the world.

Back to a time when Lional train sets made a man of a boy and a boy of a man,
Sammy Davis took Alka Seltzer as it eased his holiday headaches making him well,
Where Tide washing powder made every husband the most smartest man in every town,
And another happy chubby Father Christmas drank Coca Cola because it was the best.

A time when lorries slowly drove along roads selling wood for Christmas real fires,
A new Hoover would take care of any mess that was caused by the most crowded party,
Carlings Red Cap beer was the perfect drink for the perfect party with no hang overs,
And Crushed Rose Lipstick and transformed every woman from a house wife to a princess.

Woman should gain weight stop being skinny and tired with a plan that made you fat,
But the best of all were cock-eyed, cross-eyed glasses that made your eyes look normal,
And Woolworth's was the shop to buy all your Christmas presents to delight your family,
But for a young boy the best present he could ever get in his life was a new bicycle.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

St Nicholas

Every ones heart is open happy and glad that's if they have a heart,
Every ones purse is opened wide whether they have much money or not,
This is the sunny good side of Christmas and he is a jolly old fellow,
St Nicholas can dry up most tears quieten sighs, clear up any storms.

He piles the yule-log high upon the hearth and beckons his brother's,
But there are tears that surge upwards from a source too deep to dry,
Clouds too dense to drive away and deeper sighs too sorrowful to bare,
He finds he cannot banish all pain so he begins to sympathize with it.

He has a gentle hand to lay upon a troubled heart he can weep and feel,
He also feels for the unfortunate and help bear the burden of the weary,
He also listens to the thoughtful retrospect its return awakens the mind,
He hopes on this one day every year people show they care for each other.

After the feast happiness ensues a season of deep reflection and good will,
Many last night enjoyed a dance, dance cards full struggling with admirers,
Some were under the kissing bush or picking trinkets from the Christmas Tree,
Playing games like blind man's buff and reveling in the best time of the year.