Long Inspirationalchristmas Poems
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My mind oft digresses to a passed time and day
And in thought I see a manger so far, far away.
I visualize the first Christmas gift swaddled and fair
No fancy gift-wrapping and few that would care.
Millenniums are now spent and yet silently I pause
Remembering this event, predating Santa Claus;
I contemplate at length, why so few seem to care
Demonstrating not angst for their soul and it's fare.
Being overly preoccupied in the spirit of the season
Oft captures my thoughts, from Jesus, the reason.
At times I'm Immersed with seasonal things to do
But to this gift of Christmas I will never bid adieu.
So with Christmas upon us let the message thus be
About a child named Jesus, whose mission was Calvary.
Give the gift that keeps giving, one born in a stable
For He did for mankind that which no other was able.
Happy Birthday Jesus!
Merry Christmas Everyone
&
Jesus Loves You
Few years back I use to make Paintings
Mostly of landscapes
And sometimes, abstracts or portraits
The oil paintings which I use to make were such,
That anyone would have
Found them to possess and love
It was a season of Christmas and I was
Strolling, when I saw two beautiful poetry books
One on the season of Autumn and other on Christmas
It had a bunch of adorable world of poetry
So beautiful and so lovely
Printed with beautiful photos and scenes
The photo of Jesus was so enchanting
With His loving eyes spreading
The message of peace, love and humanity
One day when I was trying to draw a sketch
My brush started making on its own
A beautiful picture of Jesus
One evening, when that portrait of Jesus
Was almost complete
A Christian friend of mine saw that picture fine
He was overwhelmed with joy and love
And hugged me as if I was someone very fine
He asked me? If I can gift that portrait to a Church divine
I had felt a joy in making that beautiful portrait
But giving it for a place of shrine
Was the most wonderful feeling, one can cherish in his life time
He asked me to come with that portrait of Jesus Christ
And give that gift to his Church on Christmas Day
In the Church, where he was going to prey
I can never forget that Christmas day
While seeing that lovely portrait of Jesus
The priest blessed me with love, while tears in his eyes
I am not a Christian, but still I love Jesus
For all the kindness and love he gave to humanity
And pain and sufferings He faced for us
I still keep those two most beautiful poetry books
Like a precious treasure
And can never forget those lovely moments of sketching Jesus Christ.
Ravindra
Kanpur 29th Nov. 2009
Entered for Raul Moreno’s contest "The Deposition"
Note 1: This poem is based on my own true happenings. I am still
Keeping those poetry books published and printed in US around
1960’s and purchased by me second hand from a Magazine shop
Around 1965 as my most valuable treasure. But since a long
I am have not made any Paintings.
Note 2: Incidentally I have traced that Portrait now shining in the
care of my senior friend Mr. J F Patteson & brilliantly
preserved by him till now.
I believe in the gift of Christmas
That special time of the year,
When the gift of love is shared
With everyone far and near.
The priceless gift of Christmas
Can’t be bought in any store,
You can’t purchase it online
Or have it delivered to your door.
The gift of Christmas arrives
Without pretty paper and bows,
But wrapped instead with peace
That magically twinkles and glows.
The gift of Christmas remains
A treasure from the past,
The tradition of giving
A memory to last.
It’s the special gift of Christmas
That touches each and every heart,
And inspires them to believe
That life is God’s greatest work of art.
I believe in the gift of Christmas
That exists only in our hearts,
And fills our spirit with peace
In the place where Christmas starts.
It was Christmas Eve and growing late;
This was the last of his paid Santa dates.
Still dressed in his red Santa gear,
He stepped inside to have a beer.
One pint soon turned into two,
Then half a dozen before the hour was through.
Nobody was waiting at home for him,
So he chased the beer with three shots of gin.
He stumbled outside the neighborhood bar;
His one bedroom apartment was not too far.
He started walking on unstable feet,
When a father and a young daughter he happened to meet.
“I wonder, Santa, if you can help us out;
My little Sarah is starting to have some doubt.
She told me tonight in her hospital bed,
That she thinks Christmas and Santa both are dead.”
“I snuck her out of her hospital room;
We were really lucky to find you so soon.
Could you please give her just one good reason
To still believe in the holiday season?”
He took a deep breadth of the cold winter air;
Even drunk he could feel the father’s despair.
He simply put his finger to the side of his nose
And let out three hardy, “Ho, ho, ho’s”.
“If you’re the real Santa,” she challenged him,
“Then what is my Christmas wish?”
“If he’s the real Santa,” she said to her Dad,
“He could give me my Christmas gift.”
Charlie looked at the father for a clue
He shrugged, not knowing what to say,
Somehow in an instant Charlie knew
And he answered Sarah in this way:
“You didn’t wish for toys or other things,
The way other kids do when they come to my place.
You just want your father to look at you
Without a sad look upon his face.”
She turned to her father and said through tears,
“I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to make you sad.
But you really did find me Santa Claus,
This is the best Christmas I ever had.”
Charlie turned to the father and softly said,
“Now, I think it’s time you take her back.
Either way, things are going to be okay,
You need to accept that as a matter of fact.”
Charlie was left standing all alone,
As snowflakes started to fall.
In his loudest voice he shouted out,
“Merry Christmas and Good-night to all.”
Old man Carter lived all alone, quietly nestled in his quaint little home.
Arthritis kept him crippled, writhing in excruciating pain, his wife long
since departed, leaving him nothing more to gain. His children made
arrangements, to place him in a nursing home. They lacked the
compassion to inform him face to face, knowing he would surely die in
this unfamiliar place. He lost his will to live, life had tragically passed
him by, without his long lost Eleanor, his only hopes were to die. There
he sat in his recliner, a rigid shell of an old man, quietly he uttered to the
Lord,..."Father, forgive me", as he clasped a revolver in his frail, arthritic
hand. Suddenly, an image appeared before him, it was clad in solid white.
Old man Carter could hardly open his eyes, for the radiance was unbearably
bright. Soon, the light diminished, the image's skin was fair. The old man's
eyes began to focus as he observed a figure with long, coarse
hair. The image's eyes were gentle, bearing scars above the brow. Open
wounds the width of nails pierced both its delicate hands. Then, in a soft-
spoken voice it said,..."No more shall ye suffer, old man". "Set aside thy
weapon", the image went on to say,..."You're going home to Eleanor,
upon this Christmas Day". The old man passed on to heaven, he was
discovered the very next day. "Such a tormented soul was he!" That's what
the neighbors would say. It was there on a table beside him, a scribbled
poem which sadly read,...
"Christmas is the day I wed,
The true love of my life;
Christmas is the day I've chosen,
To join my beloved wife
Jesus arrived to take me,
The hour's a quarter past four;
Suicide's never an option,
I'm with Jesus and my sweet Eleanor"...
Goodbye