Best Crèche Poems
Mist in the distance, heart quickens to gooseflesh
Whisky Jacks perch silent, they've seen me before
Brother Wolf has been by, his scat is still fresh
Ancient eyes follow me, née jinn shapes of lore
Small clearing before me, my own private crèche
Hidden falls dance and play, their ions restore
Spray glitters like diamonds, the Sun leads the band
As time disappears, my soul breathes a free land
Like a shaft I fly,
a beam of glorious luminance,
I travel right into your bedroom
at the break of dawn.
"Wake up my friend,
my brothers are coming
to illuminate your day."
Minute follows minute
my duties I perform,
I peep through gaps
of a Venetian blind,
as someone on a bed
lies lazily supine.
I am his wake up call,
dazzle straight
into his heavy sleepy eyes.
"Get up my friend,
work beckons."
'Tis busy at the crèche
Where babies bare their hearts.
I breathe some warmth
upon their frail frames,
paint rosy their cheeks
in the faint hope
that some kind beings
would adopt
these poor unsettled souls.
Through a windowpane,
glass stained with holy men,
I filter hopefully and in stealth,
on a cold spotlight on a marble slab
of someone long forgotten
in an unfrequented church.
Would you consider night
as my immortal enemy?
Oh no, my friend, oh no,
for in the darkness of the gloom,
over choppy and rough seas
I travel happily over peril
and show the way to safety
to mariners lost at sea,
I am a beacon of hope.
Age can never erase memories of yore,
For there's an old but lovely song still rambling
In my head as I love to go a wandering
Along the vales or up the mountain sides,
Fetching flora, photographing fauna and sampling
Wildflowers, collecting leaves fancy or plain.
Study trees, evergreen or autumnal bare.
How I loved to stop near some clear rill.
There would be daffodils I’m sure up on some hill.
Checked which song birds choose to build their cosy nests,
Birds picking up small or curvy twigs with care.
Even today I ramble along the vast countryside,
Sometimes I rest, imbibing the air so fresh,
Watch some little children playing joyfully
With young nuns in front the impoverished crèche.
Bells ring from a chapel calling for prayer,
I join trusting my sins the good Lord would spare.
The night was dark the moon in hiding, squeals and giggles around the streets
All the children dressed in costume begging sweets on trick or treat.
None dared to go to Lonely Street, no treat could entice them there
The legend of the cloaked man with a staff still lingered in the air.
The riches of the gilded street does not welcome Halloween footfall
Lonely Street would remain so, this year none would call.
The legend said the cloak-ed man glides along the street
None heard footfall, as he followed those indulging in trick or treat.
A blood curdling scream assaulted the ears, followed by another
Children ran and scattered, screams and tears they could not smother.
Along Lonely Street the cloak-ed man was heard to give a laugh
“Why scream my little ones?” in his hand he raised a staff.
“You are here to celebrate the waking, and walking of the dead
Come hither my little ones this is what tradition has said.
You dress as ghosts and spirits long gone, begging for some treats
But then when somebody refuses you, you trick them, that is weak.”
To do this on the night that we, the dead awake
You should surely know its time for us to teach you your fate…
I am here to collect all your souls, you will join us in the flesh
You celebrate and dress to please now you will visit the devils crèche.
He raised his staff high, his cloak opened wide
With a howling wind the children were blown inside
His cloak was full of all the souls of the young
Their screams were heard, to the night they clung.
No more was there a Halloween night in that area or surrounding
The souls on Lonely streets stay in and still their hearts are pounding.
The Cloak-ed man is waiting; he is waiting each year on Lonely Street
For the sound of children laughing as they dress as ghosts on trick or treat…
© 29/08/2012.
Mistletoe and Christmas go hand in hand
The mistletoe and its beautiful cherries
Christmas carols and bells, bright stars and pine trees
With light snowfall can create a winter wonderland.
What a spectacle of lights and divine beauty
The whole world celebrates awesomely
The birthday of Jesus Christ born in Africa
What a shock for the entire Diaspora!
Baby Jesus was different, that’s why
From the crèche they wanted to sacrifice and crucify
Him, their goal was to kill Him like a goat
Which they did, but He returned. It’s time to gloat.
The Messiah can be a subject of controversies
Deceptions, propaganda, polemics and inconsistencies
Oh! This is Noël, let’s rejoice and enjoy the feasts
At least and at last in this joyous season, let’s live in peace.
Copyright © December 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
It’s Christmas Eve and we will travel
a long way on a cold night
thinking of the twinkling lights,
the golden bulbs, the heirloom crèche,
the smell of sweets and spice.
A hardy greeting at the door!
The family, friends in velvet clothes
of red and black and gold with bows.
The hugs, the kiss, the Christmas wreath.
In we’ll go, and sing and glow
and eat our ham and beef.
We’ll join loud fun as one by one
we find our gifts beneath the tree.
We’ll toast and tease before the hearth,
kick off our heels, amused and warm—
embraced, enwrapped in Christmas charm.
Now we arrive, and all is hushed.
The place is cold. We see our breath.
The cow and pig have not been killed.
There’re lambs and goats alive as well.
The place is full of foreign folk,
battered guests and tattered hosts.
The floor is dirt. There is no tree.
No one has offered food or drink.
We’ve traveled far but cannot sit.
We see a light and just one Gift.
Is this one Gift for all to share?
This scene is death to Christmas cheer.
I stood and thought of all I’d missed—
until I knelt before the Gift.
The bright star I saw
Love’s inner crèche prepared
Ready for Jesus!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
28 November 2016
" No child should feel uncared, unloved, thrown away"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was a time when mothers were not working
Mother would be with kids taking care, instilling good values
Children felt loved and secure
Now a days most women are working
Kids are left at crèche or home,
Their parents have no time for them
What will be the value system of such children?
What will be the future of nation if children without moral values run it?
Such kids learn all bad habits, no one to correct to them.
They roam about in search of love, they are depressed
This is one of the main cause of growing violence, suicides,
selfish humans who don't know what it is to love and care
Why give birth to a child when you have no time?
Why spoil a child's life?
27th February 2021
Inspired by :
Contest Name : Vanishing" old or new for a prize
Sponsor : Carolyn Devonshire
2nd position
Our hearts and our souls
In Jesus' crèche are born,
Infinite God's love!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
21 December 2016
5-7-5
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Viewing a crèche on the fireplace mantel, flames below kissing the air leave shadow-play that brings the figures to life. Jesus smiles at me and a donkey lies down beside the mangered child. I could see the glow from angel haloes; a star and the flames produce more light-beings. Christmas magic is found within the natural realm; flames like Christ’s, light, fuel the soul and warm the heart.
Nature is magic
Elements all interact;
Create miracles.
October 1 is here again
But this time, my darling country Nigeria
Clocked 57, what an era....... !
We celebrate with imaginary loud trumpets
With our minds, we imagine Joy and merry
No heart felt big smiles and hugs amongst Nigerians
But still we jubilate with our leaders whom we hate
They smile at us but continually create that which make us hurt
It's safe to say we have the most poorly living '57 years old humans'
here in Nigeria my country, incidentally she's 57 today, October 1, 2017.
Numerous God given brilliant feasible ideas now in cemetery
Most of our future leaders back bones are broken by our present leaders
Now she's staggering and I could tell she needs a walking stick ,only at 57.
Leaves me to wonder what she would need to walk at 67 ......
The old-fools ( Àgbà-ìyà ) that call themselves leaders of today
Loot immensely, talk deceptively, walk freely and still hope to make heaven
Lo and behold she's getting old but still in crèche in her state of mind
But why feeling old when there are nations over 500 years of age
It's not up to a Century for us as Nigerians yet but we glow in Penury
Yet we are colossally blessed with natural nutrients and man-power
Corruption and Greed could be mistaken for our 'motto' as a nation
Which keeps eating deep into our beings and our unformed embryo,
as we youths watch-on and learn subconsciously the trend of
Greed and Corruption...!!!
barely-Happy Independence Day Nigeria
Are you truly independent ???
1/10/2017
Her hip goes turbulent like an air plane
As she carries her heap on her hip
She swings it like a crèche swing
She bounces her two girls like a bouncing castle
The beauty that shone in her eyes made it difficult for ugliness to lay its siege.
This beauty was made in heaven
Her figure was configured and shaped into an hour glass
Her dazzling figure caused a stare like a movie premier in silver bird
Her elegance and beauty produces an expression of the parnassien art
She is drop dead gorgeous par excellence
Her admirers would lend their two cents to behold this beauty.
She leaves her footprint in the pigment of their imagination
Blue velvet blanket mantel dresses
Satin lace trim daintily caresses
On border, golden twine tresses
Azure light-display luminesces
In background, silver candelabra recesses
In foreground, satin Lilies rimmed with lush cresses
Overarching, marble angel with copper harp blesses
Underpinning, tidy Spruce wreath butresses
Footstool, bronze crèche a penitent tone expresses
RHYME TIME III - CHRISTMAS
The unique shape of each frosty snowflake,
tapping on the window, as cookies bake.
I can smell the buttery sugar and Winter break,
Grandma’s batter creamed with sunny yolks.
Old-fashioned buggies arrive carrying folks.
The horses shake with bells and ladies’ cloaks,
as snow thickens on branches of old-timer oaks.
Broad smiling and busy hands, carrying platters -
turkey, ham, and fixings with holiday clatter.
Such a peaceful time where only love matters.
Blissful, ruddy faces with winsome chatter.
Kids tugging on Santa’s whiskers to test
if he is daddy or Uncle John. So blessed
by a red velvet bag, gifting the best,
and yet there in the crèche- a beloved guest.
All bow their heads for the thanksgiving prayer,
remembering the spirit of one so rare.
A star that led shepherds and magi to share
a moment with the savior, who created with care
the unique shape of each frosty snowflake.
12/12/2017
Laura Loo’s Rhyme Time III Contest
My love crèche refreshes the niche
Where stacks of bliss
Vie to dish
Out the kind of love fleece
That my love nourishes and brandishes
Clear avenues
Where sorrow finishes
Blues disseminated in news and views
Expected to chart the way forward
In matters of the heart
That reward
The start
To an enriched setting
Enmeshed in prisms of happiness
Waiting
To displace an episode featuring unhappiness
Which sometimes creeps
Into nooks and crannies
In a berth that keeps
No faith in pennies
Counted once in a lifetime
In need of a dose of affection
Genuine to bless a life for all the time
When attention
Needed to bless a union
Is never in short supply
But given a standing ovation
To dry
Unshed tears
To grace a salutary coupling
Bereft of beers
With no inkling
To derange the range
In which love lubricates
Gears to arrange
Happiness states
In which bliss thrives
Heartbeats breathe well
Sweet love derives
Love feelings that swell and spell a love scale.