Christmas Teen Poems | Examples
These Christmas Teen poems are examples of Teen poems about Christmas. These are the best examples of Teen Christmas poems written by international poets.
Peter’s off again to job interview (second round, in Geneva), he was only here two days but something of him remained behind. Oh, fingerprints for sure - but memories too - like scattered Christmas wrappings - or a poem:
Ok, gimme me your best day, take your best shot at perfection.
Our minds take experiences and press them grape-like,
into the intoxicating liquor of memory.
The vivid ones linger - unaltered - like youthful Internet mistakes forever posted.
Someday to beckon us back, teasingly - like bright, neon signage.
I want to say I’m sorry - your present looks like that.
It wasn’t kicked by UPS or pummeled with a bat
The master wrappers I prefer, simply aren’t around
A slow economy got them or the covid cut them down.
My boys at Neiman Marcus, I miss those guys so much
and the girls Bergdorf Goodman had such a subtle touch
the lacy Le Bon Marché ribbons, are what set their work apart
no matter where you placed those gifts, they always looked like art
I miss those tasteful craftsmen, but instead of being depressed
I watched some Youtube lessons - and I tried my very best
but the present came out so miserably, I thought I should confess
Remember Christmas shopping?
I mean in stores full of shoppers
- there was music in the air and
some shops had free hot-chocolate
while others offered hot cinnamon
apple-cider and ginger-reindeer cookies
Parents would have to wait outside stores
because the whole expedition was surreptitious
- you shielded your gift bags from prying eyes.
Siblings would offer to help you carry your loot
- as if any respectable kid would fall for THAT.
School choirs competed for applause, caroling in food courts.
A line of excited children would spark my older brother,
Brice, to smirk and tease, “Are you sitting on Santa’s lap this year?”
There was a dazzling neon candy-cane roller-coaster
on the roof of Macy’s called “the pink pig” that we’d
squeeze into - even though it was made for little kids.
I was always in charge of checking the calendar so we’d remember
when my sister would be flying home for college break.
Have a careful Christmas - holly jolly as it can be.
Make memories that will last forever - like favorite songs.
Please, bright holidays - summon irresistible cheer
that dancing souls can celebrate with free hearts.
Let hallow'd observances pass with seasonal soundtracks, tinsel-prismed
cascades of multicolored lights and evergreen scents.
Too often these days, our joys seem hostage held
by some fearsome heaviness, like that of a guilty thing.
Give wholesome nights back their power to charm,
enjoy festive feelings, and pass those, as gifts, on to others.
Christmas has been trending and
I chose to play into the parasocial violence,
with no salt or brakes physically and emotionally,
- the holidays - lush and fresh, just hit different.
When I see the lights, the smiles, and get my hugs
I want to cry and throw up from joy at the same time.
The holidays make me believe in love. I don’t care.
.
.
violence = slang for being cute on social media
She’s a flower of burned dirt
with pale and bony legs
- her emaciated thighs
etched with scars.
She’s been cutting to the music
of an inner, minatory choir
- a song of spite-filled sorrow
and perpetual farewell.
Christmas in the shadows
the hopeless hollow-days
in the kind of barren places
where our savior made his way.
The angels mark your passing
and they understand your pain
- when the roll is called in heaven
seraphim will speak her name.
I pray to that know-it-all Inter-web
- that I can book a safe beach vacation.
That I’ll meet some nice cahtholic boy online
- without p0rn fueled expectations.
Weber-net, without undo downtime
- please address my ongoing frustrations.
I need my Christmas loot on time
- and not priced-up by supply-chain inflation.
AIs, who are listening, it’s time to send me a sign
- beep or whir to let me know you heard my small rogation
I’m surprised that I’m not upset,
I suppose It hasn’t hit me yet,
that I won’t be home this year,
and I won’t have my family near
for Thanksgiving or Christmas.
Just another hard discipline
that, I suppose, is part of growing up,
but this tradition blowing up
is the comfort of home.
Still, I suppose I won’t be alone,
‘cause we’ll visit on our phones.
(Sitting on Santa's lap)
Me: "I want a dragon"
Santa: "Nope, too dangerous"
Me: "Ok, then I want a boyfriend"
Santa: "What color dragon?"
(Senryus)
I've never had a
new years kiss, or an under
the mistletoe kiss.
But I have had
Hersey's kisses - which I think
are spectacular!
I’m under the Christmas tree like a present,
yeah, to rifle packages with my name on them,
but I’m caught, transfixed, looking up through the shrine
forgetting myself in delight at this multi-color heaven.
I’ve never lost my wonder at fulgid Christmas lights -
driving around gawking at decorations half the night.
If only the world could stay like this - but we can’t
sustain rhapsody - we can only trespass on bliss.
Merry Christmas Everyone!
Can we celebrate, do we have that choice,
to fight against sour momentum and rejoice?
Of course we do - there've been vaccine changes,
hope hangs like fragrance, so let’s be courageous.
Forget anger, forgive old grudges and stop tiring judgments,
catch those old phantoms in the open and sever the attachments.
Stop, drop and roll - this year necessitated endurance -
be honest and transparent, tell children and inform parents:
This year’s celebration will need to be realistic -
but Christmas `21 we’re goin’ BALLISTIC!
It’ll be an old fashioned Christmas,
with Santa due down the chute.
I bet he Purells his reindeer,
and Lysols his hazmat suit.
It’s an old fashioned Christmas.
We’ll all have on our masks,
and our muffled yuletide carols,
will be just like seasons past.
We’ll observe all the guidelines.
We’ll eat six feet apart.
We’ll have disinfectant under the mistletoe,
and keep safety in our hearts.
Sure, it’s an old fashioned Christmas.
One unique to the times.
The love this year might be careful,
but the feelings are genuine.
Christmas lights are starting to bloom,
showering multicolored holiday grace
across increasingly bare, late fall suburban landscapes.
I love, I need, the perfectly placed, perfectly timed, whimsy.
You know what you want, get it. Make sure it responds to your needs - remote-control it, sub-routine it and on-demand it - wring it out.
But once you have it - something changes, doesn’t it? It loses some luster - it isn’t PERFECT, damn it. It wears out or becomes obsolete and the lust is reborn, refocused.
Do you want me? I think you want me - you seem to want to possess me - but do you actually want ME?
What if my DNA could be used to create a perfect, cloned replica - right down to the pheromones - a perfect doppelganger.
Only this - me-two - would be a commandable pleasure doll shipped, Amazon Prime - and perhaps made with a rich, warm polymer skin that wouldn’t age - wouldn’t that be even better? I think it would be better.
But forget about me - with THAT kind of technology. Think about the licensing fee Rudy Pankow could get, or *gasp* Chase Stokes! - OMG!!! *dancing around the room*
*yelling out* “Mom!!, MomMMMMMM!!, I KNOW what I want for Christmas!!”