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Prose Poetry Holiday Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Holiday

These Prose Poetry Holiday poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Holiday. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Holiday 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 | |

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 favorite 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 asks...then proceeds to take the first bite..
Everyone fills their plate, till it can’t hold no more...
Yet some 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 “ favorite time of the year....
When you mention "MY" name, everyone gives a cheer !!!
So without  further adieu  ...Grandpa picks up the knife...
As I am the “ MAJORITY CALL “ and receive the first slice....





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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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".
          










Details | Prose Poetry | |

Easter Egg Thrice

This is mye Easter Sunday. This is the LORD Jesus Christ is Risen day and EGG day and 
Bunny day all rolled into a dry mourning in the homeless sack. A religious holiday day. 
Today eye found the secret of creation there is color added just to stones the rocks around 
us there is JESUS shades of blood permeating the stratus zones around us. Some quartz 
near eye today was strangley coloured in the mourning light some almost purple some dark 
red some a lighter almost white but gray slate is almost pink in early desert light. Perhaps it 
was just a fancy for eye was looking for delight in such a small desert spaced out place a 
mosaic there of the SON of GOD uncovered now for all the world to read about in EGGPoem 
thrice. Happy Easter Ewe on this wonderful Easter Sunday Sunrise penned in Notebook for 
Easter Egg Thrice.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mary's Tribulation

Mary’s Tribulation

She wept from the depths of her bowels
For the child she brought into fruition.
Not knowing in her love,
She would witness the greatest of all sacrifices.
Tortured nerves washed with vinegar.
Nails driven through meridians to increase the pain.
PAIN, oh so great, oh so long,
That a Mother would die herself...
Beneath the cross

She wept and her heart broke in angst,
His purpose to teach mankind.
Her witness to His Love.
So great, the task, His life
His walk, so brief on earth.
Yet thousands of years, the story retold
Eternal salvation unfolds.
That a Mother would die herself...
Beneath the cross.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

FRIEND ON THE FLIGHT

 (Dedicated to Dana Rugina)


On that very cool and refulgent evening
Flying from Europe to Africa
Luck placed me beside you
How beautiful it was to look at your pretty face
How wonderful to know you are from Romania
How pleasant it was to have a seat beside you
How glad I was to know you are a mathematician
Though accented, paid kin attention to listen to me
I had a smooth and sweet flight
Not because it was an Egypt Airline nor that I sat in business class
But because you keep my company
“Is your final destination Egypt?” ignited our conversation
“A man that keeps quite will die” will I always remember
Because they are words of wisdom
I believe I’ll see you again
Friend on the flight
Where and when, that I cannot say. 

(c) 2011


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fred the legend A costume was found part 4

A costume was found.

it was that of a clown…

could it be they asked..

the one from our town..

where the little red headed kid disappeared..

on a cold windy night back twenty-two years..

It was found in a field not far from here..

By a farmer of pumpkins...the best far and near..

And each year a winner at the state fair…

This farmer named Pete was very proud of his ware..

It was he that made sure every porch was supplied..

With a pumpkin that showed the towns sorrowful side…

Celebrating the spirits and their one nights’ ride

will go down through the years…even when I am older…

For this special cold night at the end of October…


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Forking River Dam, Illinois

Forking River Dam, Illinois

Forking River 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
Forking Dam 
 
Forking,Ill. 
 
189 

John M went camping and took his friend Timmy. Off they went to the Forking River Dam. They 
went to the Forking Campground near the Forking Dam. They decided to visit the Forking City. 
They had to go to the Forking Market. It was near the Forking Gas Station closer to the
furcating 
Forking River bending near the Forking swamp turning into the Forking Quicksanding place 
there where they turned off the Main Forking Road. They turned Forking right there. There
is a 
Forking left turn as well but they had to get to the Forking Store. They bought some
Forking Beer 
made in the Forking Brewery. They were still in Illinois. Forking, Ill. Ill is the
abbreviation for 
Illinois, so we aer all Forking, Ill. For now. The men were Forking camping so they bought
some 
Forking beans made at the Forking beanery. The Forking Meat CO. provided. The Olympic 
branch of the Mount Olympus Water CO. Donated the Forking Water. They went to the Forking 
River Motel to steal the soap and the towels. They paid for the room and took two Forking Dam 
showers. They kept the Forking Dam Ashtray. It has a picture of the Forking Dam River. The 
Forking Dam Police were searching for the Forking Dam Campground to arrest the Forking 
men. They were not from Forking at all but just out of townies they had come to Forking
Dam to 
Fish for Forking Fish. They went to the Forking Boat Dock and rented a Forking Boat the
Indian 
Man in charge of the Forking Boat Dock said you out of townies speak with Forking tongue. But 
money green in Forking Dam. Good to see you Forking men. The Men in Forking Dam City are 
Forking gay. The Forking City Future Club is Oddfellows Hall. 
Eye am Forking, Ill. From all that Forking Fish they gave to me the nibbles and the bites
the love 
all tied up in Forking Ville. They said that visit day is FrYdaY at the Forking Prison
Institution they 
have a Forking Fish fry for religion they want me to go to Forking, Ill. And visit.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Sing of Turtle Doves

I am painting pictures of things unseen,and of places I have never been. I am painting masterpieces with my pen,and I sing of Turtle Doves.I Sing songs of things I know not of...Bellowing words of love. Gleeful greetings,I send out, of things which I know not about. To someones heart long ago an Englishman aimed his love... So I sing of Turtle Doves,and leaping lords.
 I have never seen a Partridge nor do I have a pear tree. Yet I Sing the words every year Wholeheartedly.Two Turtle Doves. Three french hens ...and a Partridge in a Pear tree. I even sing of the"Swimming Swans."My favorite part is when you get to hold that note."Five Golden Rings." Then you start  again...               
                         
End Poem


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Random Thoughts on a Chlly Afternoon Pt. 1

     Thanksgiving’s just a few days away.  Yet, I feel the sudden need to write down these 
random thoughts about Christmas!  The weather today brings to life memories of the 
season!  My favorite holiday season of the year! This chill in the air, the earth-tone autumn 
leaves like kites flying so high, tripping over each other as if in a race, the beautiful giant 
oaks and elms, with their branches shivering in the cold wind…. Already, I’m picturing a 
wonderful, fantasy-like landscape of snow; the whitest fluffy, snow drifts!  Catching glimpses 
of old bushy tail digging out some buried food, from some time ago.  The rising smoke from 
chimneys reaching for gray skies, snow-covered roof tops, the unforgettable smell of 
homemade bread, baking in Mama’s oven! Then, at close of day come, the brightest 
twinkling stars, glistening like diamonds on velvet throw of mid-night blue!  And when the 
moon shines so bright, you would think it was day... so clear you could see Jupiter if you 
look closely!  And I imagine how absolutely beautiful God must be!! The most beautiful spirit 
there is! A view to die for because such beauty man's heart can not behold and remain in 
this flesh!!!  For who else would create all this magnificent beauty around us? From the 
genuine smile which graces the face of an innocent child emanating from the purest of 
hearts, to the single blade of green grass that leans into the wind, daring to stand against 
such mighty force which threatens to break huge branches off trees!

Cont'd


Details | Prose Poetry | |

EggPoemIIToo

Eye came unhurriedly into the Ronstadt center walking unhurriedly for it is a Sunday 
Schedule on the Bus Sun Tran couple this with Easter and a holiday to boot upon the land of 
this renewed AmeriCa, may GOD in Jesus help mee eye forgive her; When to mye surprise 
delight a happy Easter eye surprised the EGG just laying there forlorn and forgotten from the 
Basket on a ledge where bus patrons sit and Gather dust just waiting for the buss there it 
was boiled and purple colored Easter Egg with White left interspaced and looking closely eye 
discovered some spattered mottley colors there none of them a primary some EGG childe 
artiste had created this created creation just for eye to find so eye peeled it carefully of shell 
but some color still remained on EGG transporting me back home to MOTHER and to Yard 
again while eating EGG a man now eye took half of it away with just one bite while eyeing 
yellow yolk inside a smile then one more bite egg was gone a swallow a lifetime 
remembered happy childhood was revisited all in one short moment of an Easter Sunday 
Suntran Bus day. On this mye Easter Sunday. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DeadSeaScrollingbyeCharlaX

Who is Edgar Rice Cakes? What does HE have to do with John Burroughs. Jesus Crisis. a 
google search What is this? A novella nuevo bye charlaxandroidoneseven. CA17. Short for 
Para Cayce. I have read the DeadSeaScrolling. On the PDF machine. Let me inform on my 
brothers in the LORD there is seldom any evidenced.  These fragments of Aromaic Archaic 
would cause language EXPERTS in the field years of Formatting on a Word Processing 
machine. Butt Doctor Caycey has Decided it somehow pertains to Jesus.? Oye Vey.  I 
admitted in a Court Room of lawyers I have not studied all his problems yet I must admit I 
cannot read those fragments of isometric triangular wordage. You must admit these people 
did preserve it as iff it were a GOSPEL message. crisischronicles dot com A cave a bunch of 
yearns placed near the Monestary Remains to find considering the way Climatic Changes 
occur the evelation of the Earth is never level Seas rise where desert climes once failed to 
thrive. Perhaps a sub culture of Future Post Apolyptic Snow Men; all white and hairy like the 
Yeti. Abominable in every way with patches of glowing purple hair where the radiation has 
burned some of the fur away to reveal faults underneath no clothing there. They find a 
pristene City walk into the Revolving Door and fall back out until Discovering when to exit 
one. What fun. The lobby generator comes on. The Computor Hums. One Yeti moves the 
mouse Experimentally they gape at Windows song. Not one of them Yeti can get the 
Computor to do anything they are all just too old. A Robot walks up to the terminal. May I 
help you SIRS? and /or Madames? They step back agape at this hairless ape a tinsel steel 
replica of charlaxandroidoneseven. He types in poetrypoem dot com charlax7 Let me show 
you my website boys? Do you like poetry as prose? As they fall about the place guffawing 
they come out rolling the first time I ever saw a bunch of Yeti lawghing. So here we pause. 
As DeadSeaScrollingbyeCharlaX grows cold. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

EasterEggOne

 EasterEggOne 
EasterEggOne 
 
TheFalconeEGGPoemI 
  
For EWE Easter Sunday 
IN a series of three egg poems it stormed. It rained ICE into the desert there is still ICE 
there on the hill side in mye distance the stuff pelted my covers all night forcing me into a 
fighting crouch to stay alive eye resembled nothing lest except a baby falcone inside her egg 
before She hatches eye waited for the daylight coming trying to accept the fate of all 
homeless people when then the sun arose all around me long enought to let me dry mye 
things before putting toys away when the falcone come she sat her distance preening drying 
feathers twisting head just giving me theye theye theye she turns her head this way and that 
sort of drinking eye with heart and sight so nice it was to see mye falcone scrye. It cleaned 
mye heart of hate and once again renewed eye faced this Easter Sunday day. Iff this were 
not enought an added ancedoted ed.note.ed see charlaxfabels the falcon cry fable number 
one then continue on to egg poem too and thence to number three or egg poem thrice. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

118

 118 
118 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
AprilFooley 
 
 Is tomorrow the end of March or the beginning of April April one or March 32 the 
way to approach the online scenario is to make it seem to be true. Associated 
Press AP: The Government in a brief memo enacted a new presidential law 
bringing the March 32 a new day into the light of day. The President of the United 
States declared leap year over null and voided. Here is the words of the transcript 
from the Whitehouse: This is President Bush talking "Eye am certain all we ever 
had to do was add a day on the end of a month when we need to in the year they 
used to all call leap year year. March now has the end of the month the April 
starts after the March 32 has come." End of quotation. The Democrats in Georgia 
have declared WAR upon the United States "we believe it to be wrong to take 
away leap year is bad enough but to add a day to MARCH is madness." The 
press corp at the Whitehouse is for once speechless. The day of the end of 
March will be celebrated all over the nation with the observnace of the Marching 
Bands of America. Send money via PayPal to Box 666 Mountain Verne 
Washingtonia, D.C. For the hearing impaired we have prepared a phonetic 
version of this message. March 32. Mahrrch Thirtee Twuu. In DRY counties of 
Arkansas this day will fall on April 1, 2008. The subdivisions housing in the 
Indian Reservations in Oklahoma will be left out. No one in Central Asia may 
observe it. Lets go LIVE to the White house to ask a question of Mrs. Bush. What 
will you do Barbara? The First Lady is unavaliable for comment. This is highly 
unusual. We remain speechless. The new day falls on a Tuesday this year and 
April 1, 2008 is on this Wednesday. All of you are April fools.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DeadSeaScrollingbyeCharlaX

Who is Edgar Rice Cakes? What does HE have to do with John Burroughs. Jesus Crisis. a 
google search What is this? A novella nuevo bye charlaxandroidoneseven. CA17. Short for 
Para Cayce. I have read the DeadSeaScrolling. On the PDF machine. Let me inform on my 
brothers in the LORD there is seldom any evidenced.  These fragments of Aromaic Archaic 
would cause language EXPERTS in the field years of Formatting on a Word Processing 
machine. Butt Doctor Caycey has Decided it somehow pertains to Jesus.? Oye Vey.  I 
admitted in a Court Room of lawyers I have not studied all his problems yet I must admit I 
cannot read those fragments of isometric triangular wordage. You must admit these people 
did preserve it as iff it were a GOSPEL message. crisischronicles dot com A cave a bunch of 
yearns placed near the Monestary Remains to find considering the way Climatic Changes 
occur the evelation of the Earth is never level Seas rise where desert climes once failed to 
thrive. Perhaps a sub culture of Future Post Apolyptic Snow Men; all white and hairy like the 
Yeti. Abominable in every way with patches of glowing purple hair where the radiation has 
burned some of the fur away to reveal faults underneath no clothing there. They find a 
pristene City walk into the Revolving Door and fall back out until Discovering when to exit 
one. What fun. The lobby generator comes on. The Computor Hums. One Yeti moves the 
mouse Experimentally they gape at Windows song. Not one of them Yeti can get the 
Computor to do anything they are all just too old. A Robot walks up to the terminal. May I 
help you SIRS? and /or Madames? They step back agape at this hairless ape a tinsel steel 
replica of charlaxandroidoneseven. He types in poetrypoem dot com charlax7 Let me show 
you my website boys? Do you like poetry as prose? As they fall about the place guffawing 
they come out rolling the first time I ever saw a bunch of Yeti lawghing. So here we pause. 
As DeadSeaScrollingbyeCharlaX grows cold. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ELF

ELF
Santa had an ELF only one ELF
He never had more then one ELF
The ELF made all the toys
upon the shelf
the Stores are full of ELF toys because of ELF DO NOT PASS GO was ELF created all the games was ELF related just ELF was rich toys used to be so nice  but ELF turned poor they toys now come from China made of recycled paper and plastics ELF is old older and poorer now toys are much less numerous and getting much harder to find found games have no memory unless you play them online ELF has a playing card deck has only one card in the deck Play the ELF to win everytime ELF is the only ELF all the time ELF is too busy this time of year do not call his cell phone to send him some cheer leave ELF alone until sometime next year
ELF


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To All My Soupmates

Have a wonderful holiday.  Happy Thanksgiving!!!  Remember, the best things at 
the table are your family.   Tom


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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.

 


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each toe i wear out

each toe i wear out; 
i'm proud to uncover.
and the color of your face,
let's me know.
..
.
Is It Poetry


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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


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CITY BRIGHT LIGHTS

its is to protex
we will get
 a street set
the lights up the night
its willbwe out sight
these 
CITY BRIGHT LIGHTS


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Count Dracula's Blushing Maiden of London

Count Dracula’s Blushing Maiden of London 
Her long curly auburn hair spilled over her bare shoulders and brushed against her bare pink 
breasts as she released her loose braid from the tortoise shell comb.  She curiously gazed at 
her nude curvy figure in the reflection of the gilded mirror.  Her blooming image looked 
much different than the night when the Count of Transylvania last woke her weeks ago in the 
dead of night as she slept peacefully.

Already she could feel the burning and twisting seed of a restless blood thirsty beast growing 
inside of her body.  Each day she glowed with a ravishing rose blush, captivating the alluring 
eyes of male pedestrians in the busy cobblestone streets of London who crossed her path.

Her mind raced and her heart fluttered when she mentally recounted his last visit. Very soon 
she knew he would come for her in the mid of night when the blood orange harvest moon 
was full, exactly when he was thirsty for more of her red wine.  Her anticipation and hunger 
for him grew.


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HIGH ROLLER

they love money
its there honey
they like the race track
thats a fact
and a money stack
the win with a grim
and a money folder
those
HIGH ROLLER


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Without The Box

So, there you are
Returned from fighting another mans war
Heard you’re quite the hero
Good for you my friend
Twenty years young
Couldn’t wait
To kick some terrorist ass
And so you did
So very well indeed I hear
Now you’re back
Nothing more to kick
What are you to do with yourself
Lying there as you are
Look at all of us here
To welcome you back
Can you not hear the joy
Can you not see the happiness
Or is it all hidden behind the tears
So here you are returned
In a flawless uniform
Lying there all smug and confident
With a peaceful look
Here you are returned
Fresh off the plane
In a nice tight package
Here you are returned
To never leave again
Good to have you back my friend
Only wish it could have been
Without the box


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HOLIDAY BLOW OUT SALE

its that time again
sale begain
get  in
blend
be apart of the wails
for the 
HOLIDAY BLOWOUT SALE


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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


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Thanksliving 2014

THANKSLIVING 2014
"Let us be thankful" Hebrews 12:28

Times are tough this year,
Seems we should cry.
Many lost their jobs,
Please Lord, tell me why.

The pain will not go away,
Doctors tried for months.
What can we do now,
We don't have many wants.

Foreigners flood our land,
The the few jobs that remain.
Want everything for free,
Bring us peace again.

Our leaders do not care,
Destroy our given rights.
Christians persecuted everywhere,
We are to weak for fights.

Sodom and Gomorrah,
The ancient days of Rome.
Lifestyles that destroyed these nations,
Now legal in our home.

One Nation Under God,
You gave this land to be.
Those elected do not believe in you,
We live in misery.

Help us find our way,
Top return to One God.
Then we will have Thanks-living,
Where your faithful ones once trod.

RAYMOND V. MORGAN


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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


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2008

In 2008, we hope for world peace and wars to cease.
We will take hold of possibilities and cast away the impossibilities.
Embrace a new future to learn and nurture.
Remember new friends we have made along the way
and keep ever-close old friends to heart.

Let us never forget the losses we suffered 
as individuals or as nations.
Encouraging those whom serve us
protecting our freedom.

Let our words mimic our actions
Let us speak uplifting and 
Inspiring word verses.
Let the thoughts of the poets be
engraved in the inspiration
we set forth let us help
carve new truths for all.



In 2008 a Year of new beginnings.

Have a Happy New Years Soupers and thank you for allowing me to become a part of this
community in 2007.



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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.


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Forever Free

In the land
Where brave men die
Stories are told
Where these men lie
Of how they fought
And what they sought
Glory not for themselves
But freedom to die
As they chose
So they did
And gave their all
So those that follow
Might know free will
Brave men in troubled times
Who lived not to count
Rich men’s dimes
Lived lives full
Rather facing death
Than to live as slaves
Men of honor who drank their fill
Feasted on life
Till filled with hope
Riding into battle already won
Free to feel the sun
With the wind in their hair
Free to choose their day to die
Oh to be so free
May we always be
To always remember the legend
Of a man and men
Who so believed in integrity and honor
In the face of challenge and strife
Rode off to face death
To put their lives to the test
For a greater cause
That we might live
Forever free


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The Diwali Tree

Magnificent lights adorn the biggest Christmas Tree in the world,

It glows with Indian colours and flair,

Passers-by stop and stare,

Surrounded by ritzy shops and blocks of ice,

Skaters showing their expert talents with all their
might,

A Diwali Tree sure to ascertain International revelrie,

brightens up New York City,

It brings glee to all around,

Its exuberance overflows and astounds,

A beautiful tree that will bring moments of the Holidays
to everyone that sees it,

Whether rich, poor, happy or sad, such a spectacular sight
makes everything seem alright.



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Take A Moment

So many times we fail to see
Why we’re able to live free
We take for granted it’s the way
It’s supposed to be
Oh but there’s millions of reasons why
Lying in the bloodied ground
We walk the backwoods
And open fields of our hometown
Never thinking about the price
Of our feet walking on the grass and dirt
Paid for in blood of the millions
Who long ago passed this way
Just so on this very day
We can walk where we please
As free as ever man has been
We look around us
But mostly see our own gripes
We act as though
Everything is owed us
The world revolves around our needs
Only one thing matters
Just what we feel 
We deserve today
But buried in the ground
We think we own
Are the stories told in blood
Of why we’re able to make our claim
And walk as free men
Through the backwoods and open fields
Of our hometown
So take a moment to kiss the ground
Thank the millions
Who came before us
Just so on this very day
We can walk 
Where we please


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GOING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

The train makes its way
Over the trestle bridge.
Fast as a missile.
its whistle blows loud and long.
People wrestle with luggage.
I say to myself..hurry, hurry!
Can't be late. 
through the gate others and I  go.
Nothing can compare.
To going home...
For CHRISTMAS.


Copyright 2011 JohnnyPaul Davis


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No Frills Santa

This year Santa has decided to be thrifty,
after forecasts regarding the economy,
He's shopping at sales and going to Flea
Markets,
Trying to get the kids quality presents at a 
bargain,
He has even resorted to creativity,
making all the decorations for the North Pole's
Christmas Tree,
The reindeers have stayed afloat,
because they all invested in oats,
So far, he's saved tons of pennies!
Maybe he'll buy lots of dollies,
The elves are feeling the crunch,
therefore they all decided to brown bag 
their lunches,
All their good times at Chez Misletoe,
will be rejuvenated once more,
for their Christmas Gala, "Rock Around
the Willow",
What wonderful treats Santa will leave on
everyones' pillows!


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BIG CITY MIDNIGHT BALL DROP

its at top
waiting to rock
watch the clock
its going fall
from that wall
watch at the parking lot
BIG CITY MIDNIGHT BALL DROP


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The Day After Your Brithday

THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY,
YOU LOOK IN THE MIRROR TO SEE:
A) YOU'VE GOT A ZIT FROM EATING ALL THAT CAKE;
B) YOUR LOVE HANDLES HAVE EXPANDED A HALF INCH;
C) YOU SINGED YOUR EYEBROWS BLOWING OUT THE CANDLES.
THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY,
A) YOU REQUIRE SIX EXTRA HOURS OF SLEEP;
B) YOU CAN'T FIND YOUR LIVING ROOM UNDER THE BIRTHDAY DEBRIS;
C) YOU WONDER HOW YOU COULD POSSIBLY HAVE DONE THAT.
THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY, IT'S TIME TO:
A) RETURN SOME GIFTS (WHAT IS THAT, ANYWAY?);
B) CALL YOUR FRIENDS AND APOLOGIZE FOR YESTERDAY;
C) GET OUT OF THE COUNTRY, FAST.
THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY...
WE SHOULD ALL LOOK SO GREAT
AND HAVE IT SO GOOD!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
APPRECIATE YOURSELF AND YOUR LIFE!



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CITY TIME SQUARE BASH

the ball was on the wall
about to fall
lights blinking
my eyes was winking
i we drink
we i think
tis was a new  eva
a cool breeds
but was a splash
at the
CITY TIME SQUARE BASH


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SOON BE SPRING

its that time
you see signs
see a smile
theyer gods child
so much it brings
and flower and other things
it'll
SOON BE SPRING


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NEEDED CHILD

theyer here and there
time to share
not just stare
and look down
apon them like a clown
give a toy
help them enjoy
the christmas sprit
with a smil
help a 
NEEDED CHILD


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Walk Humbly With God

WALK HUMBLY WITH GOD
 (Micah 6:8)

Holidays come and go,
The memories just fly by.
Is there a reason to celebrate,
At times I wonder why.

Christmas will soon be here,
Peace, Love, Joy and all that stuff.
Pretty lights, decorations too,
Is it truly enough?

People are different at Christmas time,
Something gets into their soul.
The grouchy boss all through the year,
Suddenly becomes whole.

The neighbor you disliked this year,
Today has a smile.
Perhaps he's not all that bad,
It just may take a while.

What message have we given,
Each day throughout the year?
Did it make someone feel special,
Maybe a little tear.

Parents in the next booth,
A prayer with head bowed.
Not often seen in a restaurant,
Many have forgotten how.

Their children were delightful,
Well mannered and polite.
I'll not forget this evening,
It is a special night.

When we walk humbly with God,
We look for good in all.
In this hectic world we live in,
Answer Our Father's call.

RAYMOND V. MORGAN


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CALL TO SAY

am down town
lot people around
some dress like clown
watches the wall
look up at the ball
waiting for it  fall
am dress  as a bear
happy new year
today
that what i
CALL TO SAY


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CHRISTMAS GET TOGETHER

we  come in  bunch
for lunch
at work
everyones alert
of course some or jerks
by drinking and stinking
its cold weather
we do this
CHRISTMAS TIME GET TOGETHER


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3Fabel5 Part Two

Color While color is a matter of personal preference, there are reasons why you 
may choose one color over another. Bright, neon-like colors are good only in 
search-and-rescue situations because the blinding material will stand out 
against the snow or the green and brown of the woods or the sand in the desert. 
Since most camping involves designated sites, this situation rarely arises. It is 
more common among mountain climbers or others who find themselves in this 
situation having traveled in remote areas. For the very reason bright colors are 
effective in emergency situations as described above, these colors can be 
annoying to other campers, causing a visual disturbance in what is supposed to 
be a natural, outdoors experience. There is no substitute for charity and dull 
green and brown hide very well let no one knoe when you are around but if you 
have to be in the snow then make the cover white. Winter Survival id this Fabel 
number thirty five in the Book of CharlaxFabels. 


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The Initiation of the Werewolf

The pale moon shone brightly through the naked branches of Briarwood Cemetery. It, being 
an odd time to go in and pay respects, due to work and other obligations, this became the 
only available time. Thank goodness for that moon and the light it cast, as I could actually 
see better, almost clearer in the moonlight. The only thing I didn’t see was that dog that 
greeted me fiercely when I approached the gate. It took a bite, but ran off before I could 
even swat at it. Funny, the blood seems to have stopped flowing and my hearing, too, has 
become more acute. I remembered where her headstone was and what turns needed to be 
made to get there, but for some reason I didn’t make it there with the flowers and prayers. 
In fact, what had happened next can not be remembered, but there was this smell. It’s hard 
to describe, but this smell was putrid yet so tempting. I remember feeling like I had to find 
the source of the smell, but it seemed to be moving. Wait, there was a face and there, too, 
was screaming, but the smell, I can’t place. Wait! Blood. That’s it, the smell was blood and it 
was fresh. Then after that all became hazy as I watched the moon transform into sharpened 
focus. Now, I’ve just awakened near to my car. There’s dry blood on my face, but I do not 
feel hurt or injured and my clothes, well they’re tattered and torn. I hear sirens in the 
distance and can’t figure out if I should run or stay, but my gut feeling, almost like an animal 
instinct tells me to run and hide, perhaps to return later. 


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CARTMEL TO KESWICK

Buttemere to Ulla pike,our walk more ramble than hike.Up and down,rain or 
snow,two teenage daughters in tow.Haystacks,Loweswater overlooking the 
lake,now locked in memory's keepsake.Up Skiddaw and Wythrop beck,much 
much longer than our usual trek.Through the wood onto Dodds crag,both the 
girls now starting o flag.Down the slope to Underseer stopping to buy a small 
souvenir.Out on the fell with spongy moss,Wainwright in hand as the paths 
cross-cross.Along the beck in a tree lined walk,watching the antics of a hovering 
hawk.Deer grazing 'neath woodland trees,Cartmel to Keswick,just the place to 
take one's ease.lunch-time picnics on grassy banks,vacations now recalled with 
much thanks.