Christmas Poems

Last Christmas we finished our blog year with some festive poems, which were very popular. This year we will have a few each day leading up to our normal blog day – Christmas Eve. Thank you to all the poets who contributed – more poems tomorrow!

Liz Brownlee

The sky exploded


Night turned inside out

and suddenly was all ablaze

across the blue-black sky

like diamonds.  It was day,

with rainbows sparkling in salt spray,

or waterfalls of light…

not any sort of night

that anyone had ever seen before

–  or since. 

the shepherds on the hill

screwed up their eyes against it

–  so bright it made them wince.

They heard the singing,

felt the wind of wild wings beating,

–  white and gleaming thunder

high in God’s heaven.


All this. 

All this fanfare-fuss, this mad amazing energy,

on this high hilltop,

this was not the main event.

That happened quietly behind the pub

in a shed they kept the donkey in.

There God was born

not in a palace to be claimed by kings

not in a rich man’s house awash with things.

Not even underneath the angels’ shining wings

but in a shed.  With stuff.

For us.  For ordinary us.

Jan Dean

The Last Mince Pie

Who ate the last mince pie?
It was on the plate last night
I wonder, was it Grandpa?
Did he take a crafty bite?

Who ate the last mince pie?
I wonder, was it Mum?
Did she sneak into the kitchen
And gulp it down in one?

Who ate the last mince pie?
Couldn’t Sister Sally wait?
When nobody was looking
Did she pinch it from the plate?

Who ate the last mince pie?
Who, I wonder, could it be?
I know – but don’t tell anyone!
It was…

Father Christmas!

Roger Stevens



Light the candles

Me and you

One, two


Pray for peace


Three, four

Hold hands

Hug and kiss

Five, six

Always love

Never hate

Seven, eight.

Andrea Shavick

Tell Christmas

Tell the winter mist hiding the valley,

Tell the dew on the grass,

Tell the words that I mean to say,

Tell the hedgerows and the lanes,

Tell the windows and skeleton trees,

Tell the homeless asleep in doorways,

Tell the robin with his fiery breast,

Tell the children up too early,

Tell the sleepy world to wake up,

Tell her citizens that it is time

For the kindly sun to warm her skin

Abused by many for so many years.

Pie Corbett

Christmas All Year

You’ve got to admire

anyone wacky enough to leave

their Christmas lights up all year!

But in our street

that’s what they do.

In our street it’s Christmas

any time of year.

Even in the hottest August heat

it’s Christmas in our street,

a time-warp Christmas, a leftover Christmas,

an out-of-place, in-your-face

sort of Christmas.

In our street the sun never shines,

it’s always in shade.

Santa Claus beams from a doorway,

reindeers race for the rooftops.

It’s a street where snowmen never melt

and icicles never drip.

Maybe there’s some crumb of comfort

for the sentimental of the heartsick,

knowing that Christmas doesn’t go away,

knowing that in our street

there’s no January through to November,

for every day is Christmas Day,

every month December.

Brian Moses