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Holiday Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Holiday

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

The ' Hoppy Ban '


So sad..Hopping in and Out of one' s life....

It's Peter Rabbit for Pete's" sake...

He comes by each and every year...

For this they say we should fear ?

Just to share a Spring holiday ?...

He's a horrid creature, so they say...

He has big ears and a cotton tail...

And sometimes he even carries a pail..

Full of candy, and colorful decorated eggs...

This day is between Valentine hearts , and Green Beer kegs....

He's rarely ever seen...

And has never ever been mean...

So why are all these American States...

Having all these holiday debates ?..

I await my basket filled with a chocolate kiss..

I only hope his picture does not end up on...

The Post Office " 10 most wanted list "...





Details | Prose Poetry |

Paying the High Price of Gas

I feel a blockage has occurred...
It must have been all that stuffing and Turkey bird...
The gurgles, the rumbling, the passing of gas...
It’s beyond my control ,Oh dear, please let this pass...
We have guests you see...
So I don’t have the privilege to just get up and flee...
No one should ever be in this state...
And I should never have put so much on my plate... 
Cause now I’m paying and to my demise ...
The rite of passage has been denied...
I feel like I may blow up and explode...
It’s times like this when you miss the commode...


Details | Prose Poetry |

An Irish Redemption

An Irish Redemption

Downtown lights glimmer off in the beckoning distance
I watch them twinkle a dewiness as I lie
Safe and sweet in the fresh softness of the Irish linen
Watch them lights reflect starry halos off the deep dark bay tonight

This harbor a mirror to my soul
Glittering black, like a miner’s coal

Wood carved cherry oak, plush vinyl, rain battered glass, a setting
To remember I insist
Their voices hovering, yet their songs I am forgetting…
To know I cannot resist

Ebbing tide retreats, a salty mistiness on my skin
I see his wings caress as they unfold. I see his prey.
A quick dive to catch, and then…
He and I fly away.










Details | Prose Poetry |

Thanksgiving an Ode to the Orange Gourd

It’s that time of year again...
When family and friends gather together..
To share and give thanks for all that they treasure..
The young and the old, the tall and the small..
The Vegans and the Carnivores, come one come all...
There are dishes of tradition, like Turkey and stuffing..
Mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry muffins..
Green Bean casserole, and corn soufflé...
Are just some of the dishes of the day....
And of course a relish tray to take off the edge...
With that awesome Spinach dip in Pumpernickel bread...
So many desserts at this time of year...
But the favourite of all , synonymous of the Fall..
Is that Jack’O ‘Lantern, orange Gourd.....
 known as Pumpkin Pie...
As the children play a game of touch football...
Something that is 24-7 on this day in  Fall..
As Grandpa sits in the afternoon sun...
Remembering back ..when he was young...
Then the words of “ Let’s eat “ fills the air...
And everyone sits down in their chair..
Who wants the first slice ? Dark meat or White ?
Grandpa said...then he proceeded to taste the first bite..
Everyone fills their plate, till it can’t hold no more...
Yet still some of them go back, for more and more....
Finally everyone is full...can’t eat another bite..
Till the smell of fresh coffee brings on a plight...
Aahh  dessert ..and the best part of all....
“ PUMPKIN PIE “ !!!! ....It appears was a majority call...
This is “ my “ favourite time of the year....
When you mention my name, everyone gives a cheer
So without  further adieu  ...she picks up the knife...
As I am the “ MAJORITY CALL “ and received the first slice.....

Happy Thanksgiving to All !!!!!!




Details | Prose Poetry |

Glistening Silver

Glistening Silver

Glistening silver on water’s edge like thousands of diamonds for my hair - 
Snow covered mountains hide summer flowers of purple, pink and gold
while black bear and deer search for left over apples from October’s harvest.
Ellijay is crisp and cleaned to perfection by nature’s wind and cold - 
The cows hide inside the old, red barn up the hill.
Hickory trees barren of fruit, yet a lone woodpecker flits back and forth looking -
searching for substance from the thick bark only it can penetrate. 
My prayer for snow covered mountains has been answered.
Seventeen years of Florida sun has scorched my throat and mind.
I wanted to see New York snow in North West Georgia -
One full Sunday of snow falling for my eyes to fill
 in the glorious beauty of winter’s wonder.


Details | Prose Poetry |

CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR MODEST POETS



Charlotte, the imagist, I give you a dream, one that leaves you stunned upon the waking, for this is your poetry. Your stanzas dance with meanings, symbols in cymbals, the red in what’s read. How your lines spin, fly and fall. Sleep, now, and experience the rationalized fantastical that you pen. Come, wonder-wander in the missed-mist, soon.

Elizabeth, the young of heart, I give to you an extra hour a day. Poet and painter, stretching each minute dawn to dusk, you capture romantic renderings in watercolor and rhyme. Darling lady, how you outwit time! Your hands are never still nor is your imaginative, active mind. Lizzy, the sun should yield to you. How bright you live.

Gwendolen, the kind, I give you a fairy ring where anything may happen. What whimsy you bring, that and a quiet harmony. Your poetry shifts from funny to thoughtful, tender always, never rough. When we are shadowed, when the dark rumbles, you are the will o’ wisp that tickles. The ethereal deserves the magical. Go, then secrets reveal!

Joann, the all seeing, I give you a frame that you may use however you wish. You ink words sparingly, precisely, to capture your view(s). Your lines need no thick border, no gold embossing. Simplicity is art, this you know, so all I offer is an appreciative casing, a mosaic of global glass, which like your verse, only clarifies what it magnifies. 

Kathryn, the humble, I give you a candle, wide and tall. It’s wax is unlike your poetry, miniatures that breathe  sighs. Readers immediately recognize honesty, their natural beauty. The candle is for a window sill or whatever table rebirths those memories. May it glow like you do, illuminating all those daily joys, tears, glimmers, flickers and all.





*Poets, Charlotte Puddifoot, Elizabeth Wesley, Gwendolen Rix, Joann Grisetti and Kathryn Collins are those quiet(er) souls who move amongst those of us who are loud, tankard slamming, wordy misfits. Their poetry is special. Each has a strong voice, a style recognizable. Bless you Modest Poets, and Merry Christmas to each of you!


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 |

Trick or Treat - Nightmare comedy

In my armchair
By the fire
I drifted off to sleep
Down and down and down I fell
Into a well so deep
While outside the shadows
Of the night began to creep
Along the ground
Among the leaves
That swirled and twirled and leaped

Then - suddenly
I was awakened
By a rap tapping on my door
And woke up so bewildered
In a place 
I had never been before
As monsters seeped
Out through the cracks
Across the hardwood floor
I screamed and screamed
Until I lost my voice -
 And then I
Screamed some more

I watched in horror
From the ceiling
Where from a rope I hung
From a chandelier
Above their jagged teeth
And drooling tongues
Then I saw one slither
Up the stairs
And through the rungs
And when he finally
Grabbed me
I felt my last breath
Leave my lungs.


I saw myself
Below me
When the monster
Threw me to the floor
Where upon
They all joined in
To eat a feast
Of human smorgasbord
On legs and arms and torso
They gorged and gorged and gorged
Leaving just my head
Insanely grinning
Like a pumpkin gourd

An then I heard a rap a tap
A rap a tapping at the door
And woke up screaming
In a daze
Just where I was before
And through the window
I could see them
Behind those faces
That they wore
 Monsters - screaming! Trick or treat
It’s Halloween once more


Happy Halloween!
Watch out for the ghosts and goblins.


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 |

Thanks Giving

                                                   THANKS GIVING
                                             
     Walking backward Ill prepared I face things head on, but not the bitter wind. I turn my 
back as I face my goodbyes , walking away I wave to my old problems: With a snarling 
bite,the cold wind leaves me pierced and belittle.     
      Walking backwards I dare not face whats in store for me. Until this wind subsides and 
treats me fairly, I will walk backwards slowly less I stumble.  After my bones are chilled to 
the core. I reach my abode, devastated and delighted, the fireplace lit and flickering.  Still 
afraid I wonder "what if" and I blame God,discounting the rescues; Then with every melting 
bone and every thawing toe, I thank him/her, then realizing how awesome man is and how 
far we have come. Annoyed I say begrudgingly "Thank you God " for this fire,and for 
bringing us out of the cold wilderness. I say this hoping not to entertain the "What If's" again.
       
      Forces, forcing me to open my eyes and realize that at any moment I could walk 
backwards again, backward in the cold with nowhere to run, without relief; I can't think of 
anything worse. So how can I or anyone come out of the cold ,and sit by the fire, while the 
frost filled Ohio wind rolls off the Erie lake. Passing desperate people I want to collect them to 
come and sit by the fire with me. I must love my neighbor,and share the warmth,the 
fire ,the food,my home.   In the old days we could, I cant live like this,,,,sitting a by the fire 
alone,  I think to my self "What If".
          










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