Christmas Sonnet Poems | Examples
These Christmas Sonnet poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Christmas. These are the best examples of Sonnet Christmas poems written by international poets.
late on the night preceding Christmas Day
I glimpsed a ghostly shimmer on the snow
and though the moon was shining in its way
'twas something more compelling in this glow
deep in it, I could see the course of years
the strains and pains of humankind thereof
to search the dearer christening of tears
and change the flow of time to render love
my eyes were sore afraid at such a sight
and so too in my heart there grew a doubt
and yet, the beautied power of such light
had placed its peace within me and without
for there, above - redemption from afar -
the grace of heaven, shining … from a star.
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Is it too late, time's long journey to take -
down the magic landscape of ages gone by?
It's long past midnight, and I'm still awake,
gazing through recall's dreamlike, hazy sky.
I sense that I am growing ever near -
the decades pass among evergreen trees.
I feel peace, joy, and tidings of good cheer,
as the snow floats in a watery breeze.
Will I arrive at that enchanted place,
as the years, my mind, does slowly pillage?
Will I see, before the time will erase,
a fat old man in an elfin village?
Yes! I am happy I embarked to go
on memory's trip through a globe of snow.
They say you were born on this day.
Indeed, for you, each day is bright.
You're the truth, the life, and the way.
The sun in whom we find our light...
Shouldn't carols, worship, and prayers
Lead us to joy, hope, trust, and peace.
Shouldn't all people have their shares?
Shouldn't all kinds of vices cease?
We're in a world torn by discords.
Humans cut one another's throats.
We have no spiritual hoards.
To our sins, we've no antidotes.
Come, Christ, and be born in our hearts.
To bring peace, let people play their parts.
December comes with end-of-year goodbyes.
Full winter soon will bloom as days proceed
with snow-filled days, a time that soon implies,
we turn our minds to holidays, full speed
when everyone is filled with Christmas joy,
and shopping days for loved ones fill each day.
Dear families and friends, meet to enjoy
this happy time, our end-of-year bouquet.
December is the last month of the twelve
that make up one year's measured time we spend;
a final year to finish and soon shelve
when midnight brings December to its end.
A brand new year of twelve will then appear;
when once again, we'll share December cheer.
With anguished hands, (they lie) his hands in play.
I saw him as a mad, creative type.
In pick of months, his guitar coughs dismay.
The covid creep, his voice would steal, and snipe.
Not in illness, but in rhythm of life’s bore.
For now, his hallelujah brings us joy.
Simplicity and quiet speak; we soar.
In sober strum, the guitar guards the boy.
Give me sweet rhythm’s release - I view the score.
My granddaughter looks on - repast she eats.
He’s saved - a reflection of strings on floor.
From then, until his death, how many beats?
Silent, as flurries land on sad rhythm’s glow.
On Christmas bed, I blink back tears of snow.
John Denver was a fine country singer,
Rocky Mountain High immortalized him,
guitar strummed, sleight of hands, picked by finger,
skilled writer, voice, guitarist, songs, or hymn.
Annie's Song, soft and warmly glorious,
Dreamland Express, Perhaps Love, I'm Sorry,
lips touch and, ears hark tryst, harmonious,
his lyrics live on and tell his story.
John Denver's Christmas songs, his right to fame,
Silver Bells, and the Twelve Days Of Christmas,
The Christmas Song, Oh Holy Night, The Flame,
Blue Christmas, Poems, Prayers, Promises.
Leaving On A Jet Plane, and Love Again,
Take Me Home, Country Roads--flight to Heaven.
An eastern icicle seems to impose
as it's dripping down a church tower bell.
Bitter cold made bell and ice juxtapose,
as frost took its toll, now no one can tell.
No galloping horse and no rebel cry
amidst drifting snows now resting calmly.
Yet not quite so, with kid's natural high,
cast snowballs up, with their spirits jolly.
A target shred reveals a silver bell.
Gone are their folly, just eyes frozen stare.
The front doors open. A priest says, Noel,
to all of the kids who were gathered there.
Merry Christmas all, have fun while you play.
I'll see you at mass for Jesus' birthday.
In my Christmas dream fragile snowflakes fall,
as blinking lights sparkle like twinkling stars;
the flakes start to feel like a waterfall,
and love embraces and true bliss is ours.
My dream is magical and I know him,
he is my sweet darling gone up above;
we kiss, entwine- for passion does not dim.
Santa, is this my Christmas gift called love ?
As we twirl and leap in this dream abyss,
he and his arms and I began to cry;
when I fell he held me close with a kiss,
I wish my Christmas dream had no goodbye.
Oh, dear Santa . . . make this love dream real;
but, my love fades - in this dream surreal.
I wish I will be home on Christmas Day,
To spend the season with my family;
I await grand reunions on our way,
Bonds in prayers, programs with a party.
Embraced by the warm spirit of Christmas,
We all get into our car to church;
So excited to join the evening mass,
For homily, children’s shows…we march.
We all participate in church’s affairs,
Family, relatives, friends--- together;
Share God’s words, gifts, foods and love fills the air,
My family grows so big on December.
Christmas with family is still the best,
On Jesus Christ’s birthday, I feel so blessed.
Another Christmas day has come,
Greeted alike in city and slum.
The King of kings is born on Earth,
To offer the world the gift of mirth.
This is the happiest time of the year,
Celebrated by all with songs and cheer.
Sing ye all men, a sweet song of joy,
In resonant notes of rapturous joy.
The wise men hearing of Jesus’ birth,
Followed the star’s trail in good faith.
Once more the great star, its splendor spills,
And every heart with peace and joy fills.
As chimes flow from steeple bells,
In every heart, merriment swells.
The night before Christmas the moon glowed bright
Children were caroling all through the night
The elves were still working; making some toys
For Santa to bring, to good girls and boys
The clouds drifted slowly, so way up high
Dropping their snowflakes- that whitened the sky
The world seemed quite quiet, silence in air
Then, the wind whispered soft into my ear...
Tomorrow is Christmas- ready or not
Remind the people, what some have forgot
Christmas is when Jesus was born this day
It's not just 'bout Santa- riding his sleigh
And tell them the best gift to give is- "love"
A whispered note, from the man up above
On Christmas Eve, the street carolers sing
of peace on Earth, and goodwill towards all.
Rejoicing in the news, Angels did bring;
of a King named Jesus, born in a stall.
Our Savior came to wash our sins away,
and we acknowledge that love every year.
And celebrate His birthday, Christmas day,
exchanging gifts with the ones we hold dear.
Christmas Day feels different than the rest,
a time for family and friends to mend.
Amongst the Holidays, it is the best:
regardless of how much you have to spend.
Waving to neighbors and spreading good cheer,
Christmas is a magical time of year.
Through sand and pebbles, like a snare brush scratch,
while cannon rumble in horizon's flash
and hearts of digger's hurried cadence match
as song of shovel sings a cymbal's clash.
oak handle worn much like a polished cane
from calloused hands around the shovel's brow,
it glowed in moonlight 'fore the devil's bane,
just like a candle on a Christmas bough.
In olive drab, the blade like sea-dipped oar,
scratched through a mirror in the midnight mud
which shook from fear and from the battle's roar
and smudged from tincture of a youthful blood.
Yet years from now a little child will hold
this shovel, and a castle to behold...
In youth, vacations lent my Summers wings
and Christmas gilded wintertime in gold.
I've aged (a bit) and love my Falls and Springs
for landing in between too hot or cold.
In time, I've learned it doesn't pay to be
too up or down, too rich or poor, too round
or thin. Avoiding each extremity,
I balance life by seeking middle ground.
I used to have my weight control down pat,
then physical exertion simply froze.
I'm somewhere south of fit and north of fat;
my muscles shrink yet still my middle grows.
As seasons come and go, I grow more sage;
I know the meaning now of "middle" age.
And the Word became flesh, but what's truly wild:
He came not as a king, but as a small child.
He emptied himself that we all might be full
of his Holy Spirit; from crimson to wool.
He lived here beside us, among us he dwelt;
He died for our sins, on a cross bore our guilt.
He showed us our neighbor, did this perfect priest:
the sick and the hungry, the weakest, the least.
He came to confront us, to transform our minds,
to count it all joy in trials of all kinds.
In weakness: perfected; sufficient, his grace,
to run with endurance, this journey, this race.
For God wants us holy, to set us apart;
may Christ light the way in your home and your heart!
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In the sonnet stanza form, with 11 syllable lines