Although there's nothing much that I could add
to all the Christmas wishes ever made,
I'll wish for you that traffic won't be bad
the day you shop and that you may get paid
some kind of Christmas bonus for a change,
and when beneath the mistletoe you stand,
I hope you're not approached by someone strange,
but rather by a stranger who is grand!
And should you be so childish (I mean bold)
to ice skate on a lake or board the snow,
I pray for you that you don't catch a cold
or break a leg as down some hill you go.
My wishes, like my gifts, are kind of cheap;
May faith in them require no giant leap!
(just posting today. I am running like crazy
trying to get Christmas projects done! But I hope
to be here tonight to read poems! OH, and to understand'
this sonnet more fully, you need to know what
"Bibelot" needs. An intereseting word I learned
when I took the challenge to use that word in a poem!
If you really want to know the word, you'll have to
look it up or ask me!!) Luv, Andrea
There never could have been a Christmas better-
that first one spent alone near firelight.
She gave him some cologne; a blue wool sweater
to match the hue his eyes shone with delight.
He tore the tissues red and green, and she
more delicately opened with a thrill
each gift he’d tied with ribbon clumsily.
And then he held one out, and she grew still,
for it was small, which had to mean one thing. . .
it had to be the best he’d saved for last!
She held her breath. Oh, could it be a ring?
The glitter of its gems was unsurpassed.
Each stone adorned an object most exquisite.
She looked it up and down; then asked, “What is it?”
The bride wore red - a Christmas berry red,
so pretty in its contrast with the white
of snow along the tree lined path which led
her to a place that streamed with morning light -
a clearing with an alter in the wood!
The day had grown quite mild! In winter’s sun
good friends and relatives in jackets stood
to see the happy couple joined as one.
Three colors decorated that bright day:
surrounding green of pines and white of snow
with roses red and white in bride’s bouquet,
and in her hair a sprig of mistletoe!
The groom’s adored had got her wish come true -
A Christmas wedding in each yuletide hue.
Written 12/3/13 for Shadow Hamilton's
Getting Married at Christmas (12 days of Christmas)Contest
Love share thoughts in this particle of time
"I adore your dress" "you are my groom on fire"
On the 29 of December we'll share: "you will be mine"
So we won't die of loneliness, depicted of desire!
And for love and sickness we'll walk through
Smiling and Sharing our dance at last
With no more moments of blues !
Its time, let's toast "to love" , "to all the guests!"
And here we are, embraced by beautiful flowers planted on the ground
This feels like Eden, sharing our ballroom song;
We are the one, just look around..
All tables made of marbles topped with laces that are strong!
Our vision, family members smiling, and yelling a ton...
"Caviar is served let's cheer the happiest Couple who has won!"
She wants me to kiss her under the snow
Feelings that are beneath the mistletoe
Brilliant the white snow comes on down tonight
Into my eyes that brings me inner sight
The Christmas tree expands my expression
There’s not a piece of empty oppression
I pucker up my lips for a grand show
A heartfelt elation with all I know
I hear sleigh bells in distance coming near
Is that Santa in the back, in the rear
The bells come from my girl’s every heartbeat
That comes from her tender soul on the seat
Now her whole self being was made to flow
So we can kiss under the mistletoe
Contest: any poem goes #6
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
“Ronald Gene Simmons” death’s synonymous,
This methodic demon murdered the lot!
The executioner, autonomous,
Not a family member aware of plot!
Grandchildren’s redemption, a rain barrel!
Murdered daughter, mother of his daughter,
Drowned in holy times of Christmas carol,
Autonomous plot, demonic slaughter.
Personas demonic beseeches void,
Murderous demons of the void darkness,
Illusion’s personas of minds deployed,
Lost deranged souls without love, are artless.
This deranged soul, mind illusion’s manure,
Dumped bodies in cesspit, then had a beer!!!
For: Tragedy is More Enjoyable Than Comedy
In Honor of; Dr Ram Mehta
Ronald Gene Simmons #131
Ronald Gene Simmons killed 14 members of his extended family in Russellville, Ark., over a
course of three days at Christmas 1987. Between the murders he drank beer and watched TV!
Ronald Gene Simmons was a retired Air Force Sergeant. Over the Christmas holidays in 1987,
he methodically executed 14 members of his family: 6 daughters, 3 sons, 2 grandsons, 1 son-
in-law, 1 daughter-in-law and his wife. (One of his daughters was also his granddaughter)
Two days later, he went into town and killed two others. Waived all appeals.
Come list' my dear to Christmas, 'tis the sound
of children's voices ringing soft and dear,
it calls to mind some hope may still be found
within a world that lives in constant fear.
Oh what a change the world's been going through
since first we met one winter Christmas eve,
and all I ever had, the gift of you,
is all I ever needed to believe
that peace on Earth would be all of our days
and now just hear these children sing along,
perhaps we judge them harshly, in some ways,
for don't they seem the picture of their song?
How could one think our children do not care,
when there's so much of Christmas they now share?
© ron wilson aa vee bdosa the doylestown poet
OUR CHRISTMAS CAROLERS
Come list my dear to Christmas, tis the sound
of childrens voices ringing soft and dear
it brings to mind that hope may still be found
within a world that lives in constant fear
oh what a change the world's been going through
since first we met one winters Christmas eve
and all I ever had, the gift of you
was all I ever needed to believe
that peace on earth would be all of our days
and now just hear these children sing along
perhaps we judge them harshly, in some ways
for don't they seem the picture of their song?
And as their sounds warm to the heart of me
I pray this is the way their world will be.
© Ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
this christmas started out just the same
as all thee other one's i mean mom
baking her famous fruit cake
while my two aunt argue back and forth
over my uncle paulie being late with the turkey again
spending hours on his famous meatball sauce
quite the ritual as everyone does their part
about midday thee sorting of christmas lights
awaiting aunt sister mary agnes to come
strolling in with a fresh cut tree
she finds every year at our lady of mount carmel
faithfully father carmine always picks the wreath
bringing a bottle of russo to enhance the mood
but what did i know soon pop rushes to the cellar
retrieving his state of thee art
phonographic record player way before our time
he would say struggling with the cords of an old rca
clutching his 78 record collection of frank sinatra
mario lanza nat king cole the andrew sisters lawrence welk
by now i had drifted into stage four of boredom
when the annual box of ornaments pass by
being carried by my clumbsy brother anthony
tangled in the cords of pop's record player again
he chuckles at the busy lad the song began to sound
my nona and uncle luigi start arranging the chairs
making a dance floor italian pastries are being served
with long belly laughs forcefully bringing them all to tears
year after year my aunts began to cry with happiness
pinching cheeks when everyone stop's what they were doing
to join in a tarantella dance pop catches me pouting
he began to sing along chanting his favorite song capturing
my smile with what's a matter you hey what are gonna say hey
don't you like a this place hey shut up a your face
It’s quite a mess with its bits of mish mosh,
No, nothing matches on my Christmas tree,
And no one will say that its skirt is posh,
But it’s dressed in love and our history.
His NASCAR racers chase my pink tea pots,
My plastic Santa winks at his Coke can,
Wooden toy soldiers drum up a peace plot,
Crocheted angels hatch a sweet Yuletide plan.
Now teddy bears rest on lower branches,
And some ornaments won’t come out this year,
One look at her, each glass ball just blanches,
A tot fills my glad heart with breakage fear.
Some homes just gleam with themed decorations,
~Mine has the charm of collaboration~
*By Cyndi MacMillan, Nov 6, 2011, for contest