Best Nutcrackers Poems
The Real Christmas
From Black Friday to Christmas Eve,
presents to purchase and wrap.
Office and family parties, visits to relatives
platters of food and gallons of alcohol.
Trees dressed to the nines in dangling baubles
and twinkling lights.
Continuous Christmas carols blaring from radios
and loud speakers.
Wreaths and decorations to adorn tables,
night stands, credenzas, book shelves.
Lights hung in strings so large that rows
of houses look like runways for planes.
Inflatable Santas, snowmen, reindeer and nutcrackers
compete for space in yards.
Nativities, pageants, plays special music
consume congregations.
Is this the real Christmas?
Or perhaps it is-
A silent night, two thousand years ago
in a dimly lit cave.
A babe wrapped in woolen clothes
lying in a sheep’s feeding trough.
Only shepherds and loving parents
in attendance.
An infant destined to change history.
The future savior of the world.
poinsettias blooming
on someone else’s mantel -
clearly I see them
guarded by two nutcrackers
and cheered on by crackling fire
Gifts love-packed
Glass-balls gleam around
Plastic-bells compact
Move to and fro without sound
Amidst wreaths, and nutcrackers
Wool-stuffed Santa Claus
Waves his hands like backpackers
Gives a smiling solemn silent pose
Stockings and reindeers
Occupy their spaces as though it's their right
Snowmen on snowglobes with no fears
Mock at the Gnome that resembles a skeleton knight
Nativity Figures and Sets change the zeitgeist
Cardinals, finches, and redpolls rhythm-set
All cumulate their concentration on Christ
Has Emmanuel, in the hearts of humanity, been born yet…?
I loved Christmas. Every year
Bach’s oratorio filled the church,
the boys’ voices soaring skyward. We drank
mulled wine at the market, lighted
candles on the wooden pyramids,
carefully set up mom’s collection of nutcrackers, carved
by hand in small villages in the ore mountains.
We baked Grandma’s cookies,
smelled the incense in the wooden smokermen,
and sang the old carols, mom at the piano,
we all perfectly harmonizing. Gathered
around the big table, extended to fit everybody,
we shared meals and love.
All this is decades
and an ocean away. Now Christmas
means loneliness
in a land that is still
foreign, when the homesickness,
held at bay during the year,
flares
and distance bites
like a bitter wind.
Date: 11/18/2018
Contest: CHRISTMAS MOURNING
Sponsor: PS Awtry
WHAT?
Thanksgiving’s on the way
This had crossed my mind
But what?
While shopping the mall yesterday I came on this display –
Who could miss it? –
Shelves and shelves full of teddy bears nutcrackers
dolls delicate ornaments and then!
this big open square rimmed with the most perfect
synthetic trees one might imagine – silver trees green
trees blue trees even a red tree
all decorated magnificently
In the middle exactly in the middle of the square – a stage
an empty throne and this short white slat-fence
enclosing the whole
I shook my head
What happened to Thanksgiving?
Who the hell is thinking about Thanksgiving?
certainly not the merchants!
Well I wandered down the aisle toward the food court
and guess what?
I come across a pen with a real live turkey strutting around
Seems I was wrong about the merchants
So? To top it off – in the food court at one of the tables
there sits a man in suspenders white tee shirt red
trousers red coat draped across the back of the chair a
phony white beard red cap lying on the table
He is one ugly bony faced misshapen human being
Santa’s on lunch break gravy and partly chewed food
spilled down his chin bald head red as a beet
I can’t help staring at him totally freaked
He looks my way smiles
“Gobble gobble” says St. Nick
Dance
I have been dancing
since I was young.
Point,
Flex.
From Ballet class
to tap.
Shuffle
Hop
Step,
Point,
Flex.
Moving to NYC,
and starting hip hop.
Pop it,
Lock it,
Shuffle
Hop
Step,
Point,
Flex.
Then, the grand style,
Broadway, like the show girls (just for 8+ year olds)
High
Kick,
Pop it,
Lock it,
Shuffle
Hop
Step,
Point,
Flex.
Back to ballet,
suck in your stomach for the Nutcrackers.
Suck
In,
High
Kick,
Pop It,
Lock it,
Shuffle
Hop
Step,
Point,
Flex.
-Millie Cooper
My seven-month-old daughter, beside herself
with swirling fascination, has unfolded
her tiny arm a bridge for Christmas elves’
safe passage, unconcerned she’s being scolded
by Papa Grinch - who’s clacking away at this.
From my perspective on the less-festive couch,
I cannot see her sparkling eyes witness
magical animation, but I’ll vouch
something’s ‘bout to go down, based on a smile
and ding-a-ling giggles; her angelic face
lit up as though nutcrackers march awhile
icicles melt the seams of man-made space
where a dad’s unaware this innocent time
(just for me) gift wraps Naomi’s holiday crime.
11/30/2018
we strolled midtown for awhile
hints of sun followed us beneath the
bavarian alps i was taken by
the snow capped mountains creating
a brilliant show of diamond crystals
calmly reflecting from storefront windows
holiday displays of santa klaus at his best
i would say we continued past rows of homes
collected like doll house's just to the left a tiny
bike shop i rushed in grabbing the new basket
to fill with fresh granny smiths from thee upcoming
market in view just to the right african violets lined
the the entrance way leading
to the hidden park
a quiet nook in the middle of town square i thought
masculine most of all quite charming face to face with
the subtle statue of thomas mann my form changed
i was abruptly aroused by his daringness fine liturature
art and playwright mann consumed me with folklores
gothic tales the infamous lounging of salzsburg crest
instantly a brisk chill blew over my foundation dazed i was
walking upon frauenkirch
our lady of munich doting downward to my tiny existence
i gathered myself in a very suspicious haste walking backwards
staight into the kneeling black horse knightless his back emptied
a daunting task for the bishop beyond my fascination
of castles christmas past nutcrackers wooden trains walking dolls
springs bolts screws and coo coo clocks sounding off at midday
displaying the woodcutters the milking maids in german town
Marionette soup comes in a midnight bowl
Filled to the brim with mushroom tumbling
Under the golden moon dolls cut their strings
Nutcrackers on crash diets sink saltines
Welcomed to float inside awhile
But not included in the price of dining
Russian dolls introduced to soup dive in
One after another dropped into darkness
Each one becomes smaller and smaller
Within themselves only they know why
Perhaps pretty painted faces need flavor
To appreciate the human race
There is no soup for you!
Forget about spoons at this hour
Two dainty fingers made of wood
Hold the bowl sides in balance for taste
Preparing to slurp what is inside
But marionettes are dignified. They don’t slurp
Discerning humans understand this part
It is an art
They have come to eat you and your soul
Assuming you have one worth consumption
I lost the sticks
To play my drum
Missing a fist
So, yes a thumb
Still have a head
Though am real flawed
With a bent lever
That moved my jaw
Missing those things
Is a pet peeve
Since was stepped on
Last Christmas Eve
My friends have faults
Like missing poles
That used to fit
Their hands with holes
Some lost a shoe
And therefore feet
But stand there tall
To meet and greet
The team player
In red gym shorts
Though with no ball
Still’s a good sport
The fireman’s hose
Is short a spout
But he’s ok
And doesn’t pout
A nutcracker’s job
Is standing tall
Even when broke
From alcohol
Which all began
Last Christmas Eve
When drinks were poured
By Grace and Steve
And someone said
Let’s break some nuts
Which was the launch
For those wingnuts
Coz Leo barked
Hey look up there
High on the shelf
I’ll grab a chair
Grace yelled get down
They’re for display
They don’t crack nuts
Steve joined the fray
Nutcrackers fell
Into a clump
Followed by two
Half tipsy chumps
Steve landed on
His coconut
Yet Leo got
His broken nuts
There was no activity at all in the prairie on this marvelous day.
Peaburger was happy to be off on his journey, on his sweet way.
Had a knapsack on his back, and warm ideas in his adventurous heart.
He could hardly wait to get away from his ex-wife and make a new start.
Ex-wife had moved back in with her new husband and their kids five.
He did not care if he ever again saw any of these prairie dogs alive.
His ex-wife came to the mouth of the hole and yelled “happy be!”
He rolled his eyes, not caring about her, or her new husband Gree.
I am just too generous, too giving, the always-will-finish-last kind of guy,
He lamented as he walked, talking himself into being meaner with try.
Around noon he got out a peanut, and started to eat with his crackers.
He was promptly surrounded by five hungry spotted nutcrackers.
He rolled his eyes to the sky and asked “Why God? Why me?”
He had given those nutcrackers all his food by a quarter until three.
I'm doomed to always be that kind of guy he lamented to angels above.
Young frisky prairie dog who had been watching promptly fell in love.
On the fireplace floor spread
One wooden tree Santa and deer
The top of the mantel stands
Four nutcrackers one very tall
Two are the same height short
Lights placed on the bottom lit4e
A Christmas tree decorated
From top to bottom
With lights red and white
then red and green balls
Two red bids are hung
Followed by white beads
strung
Then the gnome is placed on
top
you have to eat a peck-of-dirt
three little rag-a-muffins
sit, heads bent busy,
at a small wooden table
plunked down there
in Shadey Anderson’s hay field
dragged from the house
to that special spot for tea
fine chiana
a Christmas doll set
placed ever so carefully
by grubby play worn fingers
an ancient hickory shades
promises nuts for the table
later, in the fall,
when we sit together
among the roots
borrowed nutcrackers and picks
busy preparing a feast
for now tea is up
the delicately flowered pot
carefully filled with “tea”
from a puddle beneath the table.
The nutcracker stockings could not resist the urge to play
They sat silent without moving the entire long day
But at night when the lights went out,
They began to whirl twirl, twist and shout
We are the nutsies, the mighty mighty nutcrackers!
These silly humans are crazy, completely polly-wackers!
The humans heard, and two ran down the stairs.
But the stockings were fast, and they hung and gave them stares.
The humans went back up and the nutcrackers sang a song.
Footsteps on the stairs, they knew it would not be long.
The humans were bamboozled, confused, did not know what to do.
Nutcracker stockings kept them on their toes until a quarter after two.
Branches frosted in ice
Wonderland magic waiting in awe to thaw
Pink blossoms ready to surpass hibernation
Spring in their timeless steps
Candle wax waned
The Little Drummer boy back in his box
Wrapped in kind tinsel for resurrection
Illumination darkened
Nutcrackers remain
Shells of Christmas foreshadow and abandoned
Reality calls for beating another lonely retreat
Granny back at the nursing home
Outsourced happiness
Spoon fed dribbles ooze onto parched kerchiefs
The turnings of life confined to a wheel chair
Business fast as usual
Reindeers on holiday
Santa's temporary visa faded and expired
An immigrant nurse from foreign shores
Gives love and caresses
Crossroads once more
New Year is dawning to the spin of the earth
The token Jesus nailed and forgotten leaves
A silhouette on the wall
Another chance wasted
Forgotten resolve scripted in blood and in vain
Soldiers will march again for irreverent fortune
Guns frosted in ice
27th December 2019