Long Christmas night Poems
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Greeted by the multi-lit display
draped over the hedges
and the railing of our front porch,
the brilliant lit Christmas tree
winks at us, welcoming us home
from the Christmas Eve Mass.
You settle comfortably in your chair
as I walk into the dining room.
Sitting down, I light the lone candle
on the table and contemplate
its flame, dancing and whirling
in the darkened room.
The flame draws me
into its story.
Its bright yellow light
thinly framed in blue,
speaks to me about
many dark places
penetrated by its light:
caverns and street corners,
vast fields and mighty forests,
tall buildings and small homes,
and the darkest place of all
… the human heart.
The flame tells the story
of a long time ago,
of a world enveloped
in the darkest of nights.
Violence and cruelty,
poverty and pestilence
heaped upon a brutalized,
battered and lost humanity.
In a miserable stable,
its walls and floor painted
in manure and straw,
the dark dank smell of
wet hay, and its livestock denizens
filling the air, there lies
in a feed trough a light more brilliant
than the dancing flame.
The flame of that light
dances in the eyes
of his homeless parents,
his mother who birthed him,
and his proud, protective father.
The light is reflected
in the eyes of the animals
shuffling about in their stalls,
and in the eyes of the shepherds
and the travelers from afar.
My gaze, fixed on the flame,
widens as I detect
other shadowy shapes
around the table.
I sit in communion with
my father and my mother,
my sister and my brother,
their lives, like others,
lived in various degrees
of perfection and imperfection,
drawn to this light whilst alive,
and now in the life beyond,
join with me transfixed
by the light of the candle.
I smile to be once again
in their company, and,
with a nod and a parting glance
their shapes slip back
into the shadows of the room.
Once more alone with the light,
an image forms in my mind,
that eternal light birthed
in Bethlehem so long ago,
which danced in the eyes
of Mary and Joseph,
in the eyes and hearts
of many burdened by the weight
of scandal and shame,
poverty and despair,
which the world was unable
to crush and snuff out,
this light will always be there
to guide and to light me
through the dark corners
of my life yet to be,
to the eternal Christmas awaiting me.
Christmas roses are red, and violets are so very blue…
Dear Santa. We love our dear Dragon and hope you do, too.
Nightly, visions of colors dance round and round his big bed.
As delusions of grandeur… continuously dance in his head.
For him sugar plums dance swirling, in dreams oh… so… sweet.
As you know… that tomorrow will bring a new, disastrous treat.
But this is the nighttime, as he lays snuggly, sleeping in his bed.
Honestly don’t worry! For the moment, there’s nothing to dread.
See how he looks, like a sweet heart, innocent, while cozy in bed.
But to be truthful, to help Santa, This year like promised and said…
We gave Dragon… Just a few of those wee, little knockout drops.
Now Santa‘s coming, lickety split! We’re ready, here, like on a military op.
No fricasseed Santa, will happen this night, during Santa’s great yearly flight.
Last year was an accident, we swear! It was little Dragons 1st Christmas night.
When he's excited, he tends to throw fire, through the air, like a son of a gun!
We told you to run, not goo and make cutesy faces, after all he was only one!
And truth to be told, those strange faces on anyone would scare him, we fear!
To make matters more clear, we copied our book, on Dragon etiquette, Dear!
We sent it to the North Pole, and a fire retardant suit, in red, made just, for you.
Don’t lift the face plate, on top of the suit, hair singes fast, to blackened soot!
Suddenly, Santa’s sleigh on the rooftop did land, and he was there within a blink.
Last on his list, it was close to the morn, he wanted to meet Dragon, he thinks.
Entering the room, over a penguin he fell, and landed face down on Dragon.
Dragon woke up and gave Santa a hug, as a new story for Christmas was born.
Now all is well, after Santa was gone. For he got to meet the first Dragon child…
In a thousand years or more, and thankfully Dragon behaved as he smiled…
Two icons in life finally did meet, then they went off to Church and back again.
Now, don’t be surprised, such things can happen, on a day where miracles reign.
All had a great Christmas with reindeer, Santa, Trolls, penguins and Dragon.
Can’t ask for more, at Christmas time, where Jesus in our minds, shines on
So have some good cheer and like Dragon and Santa, together, lets celebrate…
You should know, by now, it’s never too late to participate…The End!
Our roots run deep into the Philadelphia bells of acoustical waves of your musical melodies, sound in my distant ear, the sailors storm on the wooden ferry I ride, into the depths, of a swamps crossing, saved by the mind, we traveled together with a song in a line, oceans wake we travel across to a hay ride wedding and chowder horns of blessings we dine.
Rings true to the bells of a flashing red nose of St. Nicholas flight we sit and fight occupied by the Christmas Night. Songs we would sing from an Old English Story carried on by our families from generations ago. A musical history of wooden winds along with an Indian Pipe we remember from back then, the long journey of the stalagmites of millions of years you shown to me. Nature we live to see, what's right in front of me, horses we gallop to the lake filled with trout, and into the rivers of the Chattanooga with a stripped root beer of truth in its colors are bound into a saltwater taffy candy entwined.
Built from the foundation, a brick and a pebble, we rise through the years of lessons we learned, the barrel of two guns and logs of fire on a cold night.
A loss so great grief long and hard two people so young and so soon they were gone. Torn apart into a new life and it begins with the truth that lies beneath. From the strength above we pulled through.
Snowy rooftops and a seasons leaf, roaring rapids and a bridge line of cobble, a Water Wheel and Indian Tales in a Grey Stone Prayer of a white candle lit. We move along through it all filled with adventure and love carrying the music within to find ourselves back to the oceans again deep in our hearts. The Tropics we know.
Constructing the intelligence broad waters rise and a house from the 20's you kept alive, hard as it was a paradise you built, home you always were where ever you went.
My heart sank when the news came, I never have thought of a day without you. Brave I was with all that you survived, I made it through, darkness came and they attacked with secrets people never knew, I almost died, but came through because of you.
As years went by then at last comes a son I thought who lives in the memory of you. Lessons we learned will carry on to him too. Bless our lives with many more of you. As I sit here today missing you, all I can do is carry on...and hope to make you proud as I am of you.
One December Night
(Continuation to the End)
All that year Santa had hoped and had tried to find a child's love that would strongly abide.
But month after month he was given the boot. It didn't matter whether he showed magic or
gave them some loot. Many children were selfish. Not one gave a hoot.
Until one cold blizzard night, in a stormy plight, the frog rang the doorbell and walked
right on in. In the warmth of the house, after ousting the mouse, four children accepted the
frog for his good. It was a happy sight for the frog there that night. Yes, they showed him
great kindness and genuine love, the
spirit of Christmas shown down from above. The purest of love without expectations turned
the frog into Santa who promptly gave each one hugs. “I'll be back with my sleigh to leave
gifts on Christmas night. Thank you dear children for your gifts of love tonight. Leave me
some cookies. I shall eat no more bugs! He laughed as he juggled three gifts in the air.
Then, soon disappeared out of sight by the moonlight.
The children, still laughing and squealing with joy, had broken a spell put on Santa
last spring. And the mean old witch that had made him a frog, sat sadly outside all alone on
the log. She had made him a frog with a croak, out of tune. She wanted his voice instead of
her own. Christmas carols she had heard bring so much joy. She could not carry a tune for
one single song. She had hoped she could sing if she stole Santa's voice. But the love from
the children left her no choice. The spell had been broken by love's sweetest choice.
But while they were happily playing about, they noticed the wand from the brown bag lay
out. So they went to the witch and gave her a voice. And taught her that goodness over bad
is a choice. So together they played with the now happy witch. Who gave up her evil and to
goodness did switch. The gift of pure love and light in the world is a gift to all who give
heaven a whirl. For even the wickedest of wicked have some goodness in them. So,
encourage the right and to evil say, “Take a flight!” (And let God be the judge…)
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009
Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes!
Sponsored by: Constance La France (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)
("" In order for the light to shine so brightly,
the darkness must be present"" -Francis Bacon)
Crossing That Siberian Desert Of Lost Souls
No joy, no peace, on that darken horrendous stroll
crossing that Siberian desert of lost souls
blazing sun hit by invisible arrows shot
wherein the weak die, left as carrion to rot
so many blinded by illusions that world sends
eyes shut, never seeing what world's ill wind portends!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
Once as a youth such an innocent soul was I
racing forward deluded thinking I could fly
until in too deep, heart cried out from burning heat
and the ill wind's angry flames licking my bare feet
Please a refuge, I pray Lord a refuge please send
Oasis, that this wilting body I may mend!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
As sky then chased away that fiery red-hot sun
ahead an oasis, quickly onward I run
away from lost and blinded journey through this hell
away from lingering doubts I could never quell
away from this world and its insidious pains
away from deep darkness and its decaying stains!
This soul left that black-world wherein hope slowly burns.
No dice, Fate and Death taking no more wicked turns.
Robert J. Lindley, 12 -21- 21
Rhyme, ( Truth That Darkness May Not Prevail )
Notes:
(1.) Inspiration and thanks given, for this poem was received from a comment made to my poem , titled, "I Looked To Heaven That Christmas Night"
Commented on 12/20/2021 5:43:00 PM by Jeannie Amos
("Not everyone makes it out of the Siberian desert of lost souls. Make the best of your blessing."
Thusly - I got this to stir my composing. - ** "" Siberian desert of lost souls. ""**
*******
(2.) Inspiring quotes from famous,
artists/thinkers/ philosophers/poets
(A.)
“Hope is being able to see there is light despite all of the darkness.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(B.)
“Differences are not intended to separate, to alienate. We are different precisely in order to realize our need of one another.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(C.)
"Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."
-- Carl Jung.
Do you remember that city by the bay?
With streets that shined like gold
even on a cold wind day?
although some would not recall or be so bold
Do you remember that city by the bay?
the sea would rise, with a rising tide
that even the fish had deep secrets to say
and the seagulls would fly with pride
Do you remember that city by the bay?
The lanes crowded with people
though sadly they had nothing to say
and the tallest building was not a steeple
Do you remember that city by the bay?
something wicked came around the bend
caused the people to speak and to pray
of their wealth none could help but spend
Do you remember that city by the bay?
it came upon that christmas night
of course mocking could never pay
the intensity and serenity of their fright
I do remember the city, with a sigh
gone it is now, faded with time
broke the pact, infected with malady
silence overtook, not even a rhyme
I do remember the city, with a sigh
the streets were cracked and dulled
filled with thousands of screams on high
and the great buildings were crushed and pulled
I do remember the city, with a sigh
no secrets told by fish again
no seagulls echoing cry
can ever be seen or regain
I do remember the city, with a sigh
it was the great ship that came to the bay
loaded with biscuits, brandy and pie
though no one had seen them, none could say
I do remember that city, with a sigh
the rightful owners retuned with a vengeance
taking them all day, to die
the great compass used for guidance
What is now the city by the bay?
its splendor was swindled by the old
of its former glory, none can say
that is at least what is told
What is now the city by the bay?
The streets lie empty, echoes are many
the roads of gold, now appear ashen gray
and the cracked gargoyles look angry
What is now the city by the bay
a hope, a purpose, a glory
a debt that must pay
a sin that was due, however friendly
What is now the city by the bay?
the rightful owner must be remembered
a reminder to all who build this day
or else face the wrath and angered
Form:
Outside my dorm window, the snow began to fall;
Everybody had gone home, but I didn’t have a car.
Christmas break started yesterday, they’re gonna throw me out;
I’ve got no place to go, I’ll just be wandering about.
Rubbing elbows with the rich kids on an academic ride,
But the tracks that I come from are from the other side.
No daddy who’s a lawyer; no mother with a doctorate degree,
No car keys to a new Porsche underneath a Christmas tree.
Threw some clothes in my backpack with the cafeteria food that I stole;
Borrowed my roommate’s comforter to protect me from the cold.
Found a shelter for the homeless on the other side of town;
With my First Year Contract Law book, I started to hunker down.
A little boy walked up beside me and stood beside my cot,
“Mister, would you like to share my candy, it’s the only thing I got.
I’ll give you half my candy cane if you read me a story from your book.”
How could I refuse this little boy and the longing in his look?
“You can keep your Christmas candy, but I will tell you a story,
About a newborn baby King and the star that signaled glory.”
As I told the story of Christmas, the best I could recall,
People gathered around the two of use as the snow outside did fall.
When my story was finally over, the little boy just smiled,
And put a smile on every other face that gathered in the crowd;
Then he looked at every one of us and said, so simply,
“Jesus Christ put that star of hope into all of you and me.”
Suddenly, my self-pity flew right out of my soul,
Becoming rich like all my schoolmates, no longer was my goal,
I closed up my text book and went outside into the snow,
Laying on our backs, making snow angels, we watched the stars aglow.
“The star of hope still shines brightly, each and every Christmas night,
With our faith in baby Jesus, everything will turn out all right.”
I returned back to the university and finished my degree,
Dedicating my life thereafter to helping others out of poverty.
Every Christmas Eve I go back to that shelter on the far side of town,
And retell the story of Christmas to whoever comes around.
The Kiss of a Christmas Elf
An elf, as one of Santa’s little Helpers,
is bringing presents to a family on Christmas Eve.
A little girl is sleeping close to the Christmas Tree
and to the chimney, too, so she will not miss Santa’s Visit tonight!
Cookies and Milk are well prepared.
The elf is taking his task very seriously,
and is making sure,
that nobody will see him doing his job.
But when the elf was placing
the last present under the Christmas Tree,
the little girl woke up, rubbing her eyes and whispered:
“Santa—is it YOU?”
“No,” said the elf, “but I am one of HIS Helpers.”
Then the little girl gave him a big smile,
and rushed over to him and gave him a big hug, and said:
“Thank you soooo much, that you came tonight!
I was waiting soooo long for a sign from Santa—
and now HE sent YOU!
I am soooo happy!”
The elf was surprised, he did not expect
that the little girl was totally happy with an elf
instead of Santa Claus himself,
but he was so deeply touched—
by seeing this pure joy on that little girl’s face.
So he smiled and gave her a big hug, too,
and placed a little kiss on her cheek
leaving a tiny glimmer of fairy dust there.
But tonight was Christmas Night,
with so much “Magic” and “Wonder” in the air!
And a kiss from an elf,
given in pure love and joy,
has magic in itself,
but on Christmas Eve—
it has a very special magic,
and an aura of enchantment too!
And so, that little girl
got a special gift on this Christmas Eve:
From now on, whenever she smiles,
and is looking at someone with pure joy,
there is a “real magic” in her smile,
and it lets each person around her
remember the message of Christmas Eve—
To bring love and light
To everyone on Earth: Hallelujah!
And Santa Claus later smiled at his little helper and said:
“Well done, my little elf, well done!”
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 19, 2018 (Narrative)
GENERAL WASHINGTON
Once in command, he boxed in the British
At Boston where he captured Dorchester Heights,
Overlooking the Brits at his mercy
As his men took aim with their cannon sites.
The British commander had but one choice,
To sail to New York to renew the fight.
Where the English had much greater forces,
Who soon chased Washington's men in full flight.
They continued on to Pennsylvania
After crossing the Hudson in retreat,
With the British forces in hot pursuit
It looked as though George was doomed to defeat.
When winter seemed to have stopped the fighting
That's when Washington crossed the Delaware.
On that Christmas night he captured Trenton
Where Hessians were surprised and unaware.
He whipped the British at Princeton,
Where in victory his men began to sing.
Washington then wintered at Morristown,
Training his troops for the combat of spring.
Washington fought bravely at Brandywine
And again at a place called Germantown,
But the British were the victorious ones
As the dead of both sides covered the ground.
Americans were blessed early that spring,
When the French entered the war on their side.
Though most suffered frostbite at Valley Forge,
With the help of the French they marched in stride.
The battles raged on, in the North and South
As the King’s soldiers laid waste to the land.
Washington himself was in great despair,
Pleading for aid for his weakened command.
His prayers were answered by 5000 troops,
And a French fleet who took Chesapeake Bay.
They bottled up Cornwallis at Yorktown,
Who surrendered to victory drums at play.
Yorktown was really the end of the war
Though not many quite realized that fact yet.
But the British soon grew tired of the fight
And the terms for its end were signed and set.
Washington yearned to retire at home,
But his country chose him first president.
Cheering crowds waved flags of love and support,
For they believed that "he," by God, was sent.
By Tom Zart
She is a wonderful baker…with magical baking skills she is endowed…
being able to make the perfect cookie has always made her proud.
If you ask her friends and family…as a baker they’d shay she’s a 10…
but even a perfect baker has an off day now and then.
She was making snow globe cookies for her church to be served on Christmas night…
but when it came to the last cookie…she couldn’t get the decorations right.
“His hat is wrong.” She lamented. “His eyes are too big and his nose has gone south…
His body isn’t smooth enough…and don’t get me started on his mouth.”
“Is that a scarf or a lobster claw? His arms are much too small…
This cookie,” she said dejectedly, “cannot be served at all.”
But she promised the church two dozen cookies and even thought it was not her best…
she didn’t have time to bake another…so she hid it under the rest.
She watched as children ate her cookies but as was to be her fate…
her ugly snow globe cookie was the last one on the plate.
As a mother handed this cookie to her daughter…the cookie she had botched…
the baker turned away…she was too embarrassed to watch.
“Thank you for the perfect cookie.” The mother told the baker…
The baker smiled thinking she was being kind…
until she saw the little girl with a crumb-filled smile sanding in front of her…
and realized…she was blind.
“Your cookie was delicious.” The young girl said as against her mother’s leg she leaned.
“It was the most beautiful cookie my hands have ever seen.
“His hat, his eyes…his nose…his scarf…his mouth…I could feel them all…
I love how you kept his body rough…did you mean to make his arms so small?”
I’m not sure how or why, you did it….the girl said enthusiastically
but it was as if that perfect cookie…you created just for me…
Now the baker always brings two batches of perfect cookies with her
and everyone understands
one half are for those who see them with their eyes…
The other half…for those who see them with their hands.