Long Yuletide Poems
Long Yuletide Poems. Below are the most popular long Yuletide by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yuletide poems by poem length and keyword.
Another year of tears
Sneers & jeers appears
Peers careers in arrears
Piers of fears & nadirs
Swelter in this smelter
On the Hell-ter skelter
Where seems every filter
Is somehow out of kilter
Whole rabbit hole rigmarole
Or out of hat habit.. tres drole
Mistletoe snogs & egg nogs
Carved birds & roasted hogs
Kind words & yuletide logs
Boomer tumour consumer cogs
Blogs on look at me shiny clogs
Swag brag-bags tiny whiny dogs
Lucre in lycra now everyone jogs
Not enough time they do sigh
Why they falter at altar of AI?
Still worship daddy in the sky
Baddie pill top of the bill guy
Broke folks shoot up in bogs
Serfs from birth society flogs
Wage slaves rage system slogs
Starved knaves go to the dogs
Aghast & agog schadenfreud void
Heinous intravenous drip deployed
Broligarchy malarkey whip can’t avoid
Staggering corporate pollution collusion
Constitution & any institution an illusion
Swaggering hate template of delusion
So in the confusion what is the only solution
Don’t cower but scour at the dour tech tower
People power ire got steeple spire profusion
Cometh the hour our glower must flower & shower
Devour dire liar denier empire everything does sour
High flyer pariahs on fire.. us entire our super power
So get off meds scoff not hats doff off with their heads
Don't wallow rally go doolally just like in a Bastille alley
So follow the Frogs boff each toff in their trendy togs
New op crop the top who cop our strop "Vive La Revolution"
right before christmas
we eat a hearty breakfast and share raindrop memories
we both know that tomorrow may not be filled with yuletide bliss
we pray together for snow, laughter, and the remaining
we cry together when we think about what could come
mistletoe is the theme of possible finality
poinsettias is the hope that the joy of miracles is still believable
we wait by listening to free jazz and drinking swiss miss with the marshmallows
we stare at the view of the intracoastal waterway while conjuring up poems about tears
we sing songs from the 50s and early 60s to dissipate some of our many fears
now it is midnight and i hold you close to me....our heartbeats kissing rhythmically
we whisper merry christmas to each other and remain stock still
wondering what the next year will bring, she reaches for a gift to give to me
i tell her no need, she is the gift that i will treasure forever....
for everyday with her is a holiday....
MAGICAL GLOW
This yuletide season,
May brings a wintry draft.
The temperature has dropped.
The gleaming snow began to fall,
With a soundless whisper.
It touches and gradually covers
The dark meadow.
So magnificent,
The winter tree never had a shadow.
As the sheets of snow
have shown their magical glow.
The snow glistened amazingly white,
Luminously pure yet
radiantly bright.
It looks enchantingly white,
like cotton wool, so fluffy and light.
Gloriously beautiful,
And it falls so peacefully and quiet!
The Snow!
Written by:
Rosey RMV 01/07/2018
Sleigh bells jingle as o'er the snow they glide,
To the little country church this Christmas Eventide.
Folks anticipate the fellowship that awaits them there,
As they celebrate His Birth with carols, love and prayer.
Steeds were eased to the hitching posts with a gentle "Whoa!"
Faithful and patient horses snort and paw the drifting snow.
Folks greet others with a special glow upon their faces,
With a hearty "Merry Christmas" and unabashed embraces!
The old pastor had arrived about half-past five o'clock
To stoke the potbellied stove to warm his faithful flock.
The organist who'd served nigh on fifty years in that capacity,
Was at her post pedaling the organ with strident tenacity!
The pastor with a short Christmas homily had his say,
Followed by the Sunday School's annual Nativity play.
A warming glow flooded the old church with candlelight,
As the service closed with the singing of "Silent Night!"
Tho' on this Holy Night from cathedrals, great oratories occurred,
And ancient cantatas sung by thunderous choirs were heard,
The souls of this faithful, God-fearing congregation,
Were just as blessed by their simple Yuletide celebration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Upon the atheist rests the weighty task
To show all knowledge stands on mortal ground
Can nature’s uniformity unmask
Or logic’s laws in reason’s courts be found?
And absent from God, such footing seems unsure
For concepts fade, absolutes ‘came obscure
Now, Santa Claus, in a cheerful mythical fray
Will liken faith in God to flights on a sleigh
But transcendental truth is not a game
Nor matter or motion, or bound to a Yuletide frame
God’s attributes no creature may possess
Omniscience alone is God’s mindset
Thus, by what is revealed, we clearly see
Reality conforms to His decree
Santa’s lore can’t rival what is afore told
For only God holds wisdom’s keys of old
So, in this search for truth, let hearts be wise
No creature takes God’s place because God decries
AntiPoem 2
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Let us march now inside St. Mary’s,
March reverently through these green repentant doors,
These holy portals to grace and absolution,
Into a stain-glassed sanctuary of sinners kneeling in disguise,
These sullied souls coming in through the out door again,
Figuring death is furloughed from the crucifixion business,
Two thousand blurry years later.
Let us still march forward now to the glassed tabernacle,
Resting up there ensconced upon the marble altar,
Beyond human touch;
The host inside now transubstantiating as with earthen time,
From dry crusty oatmeal,
To omnipotent King of the Universe.
The boy holds his new Sunday missal,
As the family drives to ancient St. Joseph’s,
Up the asphalt hill, there on Gold Street,
Amidst the tentative Yuletide presentations,
Of tinsel-lit trees and blinking avenue abodes.
In the distance Lady Lassen wears a white bonnet,
As the Redding Christmas Tree stands exuberant,
Seventy-three feet into the icy air on Market Street,
A rainbow-glowing giant with a thousand staring eyes.
Brenda Lee is singing,
Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,
From blaring radios inside Oldsmobiles and Studebakers,
Cruising Placer Street to the Cascade showing Butterfield 8.
The boy is counting the neon cocktails,
While riding in the backseat on blue polyurethane,
His father is intently driving the blue ’58 impala,
Into a gravelly hilltop parking lot.
Blaring outward from the church there I heard voices,
A bubbling sacramental bouillabaisse of silent
Parishioners all genuflecting in pristine Latin confusion.
The girls choir wearing skirts of curious plaid, is
Singing loudly and softly their angelic vocal renderings:
“Gloria in excelsis Deo"
Father Elliot is extending his arms outward now,
Bestowing the final expectant blessing;
He is giving absolution to the captives driving Cadillacs.
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
I am the stag of seven tines
The yule stag
a roebuck in the thicket
I am the ever hunted messenger of life
5 days during the years end I run
5 days the fey door stands open
5 days pursued by grim death and his hounds
Hard upon my heels
Hasten ready the sun calls
Quicken, race, a son is born
Bringing the yuletide season great cheer
With bells on my antlers, they ring
Flying on Windsong delighting the little king
Flying cross the sunrise
Past a winter sea, I sail
Seeing the ship to see his nativity
Far behind us weep the willows still
Bent with ice as frozen tear,
And branches frail.
Passed the cottage bright with candle
Yellow flame against the night, nearby in a manger
lovely mother Jesus cradling
Joyful tears hitting ground
Prayers answered in holy child
Angel guard against pale moonlight
Closer to the little king I stumble
and bow my head to Mary's little baby,
Death stops, hounds halt their baying
All is quiet, grim death himself bows and turns.
I bow again to the lord of all life
Precious king of all peace and light
Crowned by a star, gold, frankincense, and myrrh,
All this moonlit night.
In antediluvian times, so pluviophilian
Red and gold adorned the grandiloquent pavilion.
With circumlocution's mellifluous elocution
Yellow frankincense sparked a yuletide revolution.
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
Black's defenestration led to white's sequestration
Blue myrrh, an epiphenomenon of celestial creation.
The floccinaucinihilipilification of green
An obfuscation of nature's loquacious sheen!
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
Orange juxtaposition a kakistocracy of hue
Violet and indigo a perspicacious view.
Silver's mellifluous tone, never superfluous
In this chromatic prolegomenon, so wondrous!
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
Nonplussed by colors we're rediscussed
This verisimilitude leaves us all nonplussed.
Recalcitrant shades concomitant with glee
A serendipitous fortuitous Christmas spree!
Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia aside.
(Fear not these long words let your aichmophobia subside!)
With tintinnabulation and confabulation
We revel in this spectrum's elucidation!
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
From soliloquent red to audacious gold
Our multitude of colors both new and old.
This Christmas palette so efficacious
Renders our celebration truly vivacious.
Yet beyond these hues lies a gift profound
A child is born; in Him true light is found.
For unto us a child is born
Unto us a son is given
And his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor
Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
(Isaiah 9:6)
I sat in a flop house common room
Doing social research one Christmas Eve,
Galveston in '79, I do believe.
I was there in a room full of strangers.
Sammy Davis and Old Blue Eyes
Sang on the TV tube that night;
A yuletide show with poor reception,
Snowy picture, black and white.
They played to an audience of losers.
Nobody there seemed much alive.
Their blank stares watching pissed on dreams
Too extinguished to revive.
It’s just the luck of the draw.
No one expects a miracle to happen.
Once I did believe in some high ideals,
The kind they like to teach you as a child.
Now the shoe is firmly on the other foot,
The upshot when you’ve walked a crooked mile.
Life turns about like a riverboat game.
Can’t be troubled second guessing.
There’s no predicting how fortunes may change.
Even bad luck is sometimes a blessing.
If the hand I hold is lead or gold,
There’s no clearer tell than a blush.
I’m betraying no rumors regarding the deal,
Sitting one card short of a flush.
So I’ll just trust in the draw
And hope for something wonderful to happen.
Fog filled mystique dawn
Fresh and Gentle breeze
Sunshine falling exquisitely
On the sparkling dew of the leaves
Kids flushed with red cheeks
Wrapped in their furs and coats
Playing with the snowballs
Cherishing the moment to its most
Snow mans all around the corner
Streets illuminated with gleaming lights
Marking the advent of christmas
Augmenting the charm to the nights
Season of Cakes and candies
City tinted with red and white
Waiting for presents from Santa
Savouring delicacies with delight
Celebrating the birth of the God of honesty
The symbol of faith and humility , Jesus
Adorning avidly the Christmas tree
Gleefully Greeting everyone , Merry Christmas