We wish all our readers a very Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year. Thank you to the poets who have generously sent us poems, Pie Corbett, Sue Hardy-Dawson, Jackie Hosking, Laura Mucha, Attie Lime, Jacqueline Shirtliff, Roger Stevens, Celia Warren and Sarah Ziman.
All poems copyright of their authors.
Thank you to Sue for our lovely Robin introduction, and to the other wonderful children’s poets who have sent poems for our Christmas blog 2021. We’d also like to thank all those who have supported us by sending fascinating and illuminating blogs this year.
Angel Dance
…………………………………
See the shepherds with the sheep,
Not one dares to make a peep,
Tonight, no one will go to sleep,
The angels dance above.
…………………………
See the trees turn golden, bright,
The hills are flooded with pure light,
And all feel warm this cold, cold night,
The angels dance above.
…………………………….
See the glint in every eye,
No one asks the question why
Heaven has flooded Earth’s dark sky,
The angels dance above.
………………………………
Coral Rumble
Christmas morning
♥
Last year
on Christmas morning
we got up really early
and took the dog for a walk
across the downs
It wasn’t snowing
but the hills were white with frost
and our breath froze
in the air
♥
Judy rushed around like a crazy
thing
as though Christmas
meant something special to her
♥
The sheep huddled together
looking tired
as if they’d been up all night
watching the stars
♥
We stood at the highest point
and thought about what Christmas means
and looked over the white hills
and looked up at the blue sky
♥
And the hills seemed
to go on forever
and the sky had no bounds
and you could imagine
a world at peace
♥
Roger Stevens
A Christmas Poem
When my Great Aunt Bertha,
who was a Quaker,
read in the papers
of how their boys and our boys gave it all up,
put the guns down
and climbed over the top
to kick the patched leather ball
between barbed wire and crater rims,
between the two straight dark ditches they lived in,
she took it upon herself to head down to Woolworth’s
and buy up all the marked down boxes of Christmas cards,
lolling on the January shelves.
She spent her war years licking stamps,
inking addresses,
printing xmas messages in one of a number of different languages,
as appropriate,
signing her love
and visiting the pillar-box at the head of her road.
Sacks of the things went off at once,
whole stretches of trench filled with spade-handled robins,
holly, magi, stockings and snow.
The babe of peace arrived in his manger,
in the stable,
in March, in April, in May,
ceaselessly,
year on year.
If there had been no calendars,
no officers, no orders,
no today’s or yesterday’s newspaper in the mess,
in the trench,
no date on the soldier’s letter from home,
then her plan may have worked,
assuming the other side were equally ill-equipped
and open-mindedly eager to clutch peace as it passed.
But
no one was stupid enough to think it might be Christmas
every day,
no one was fooled by her hand,
and besides, the ball
needed pumping
and a puncture repair kit.
Great Aunt Bertha.
A.F. Harrold
Christmas dawn
brings frost
in fields.
Sheep seek
one patch
where sunlight creeps,
and stand
– quite still –
on a Cotswold hillside.
Woolly backs
steam;
shadows stretch.
Fingers of friendly light
linger
as frosted grass
turns green.
Pie Corbett
A huge thank you to all the poets who have contributed to this week of Christmas poems. A very Merry Christmas and a Happy, Better New Year to all our Readers.
Reindeer
One white winter dawn with a crystal glow
a small child asked
what do reindeer do?
Dance on clouds,
said his mother,
drink river’s freeze
gild gem-cloven lawns with their glittering toes.
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One crisp, brittle noon with a sun that froze
a small child called
how do reindeer grow?
Branches,
said his father,
from icicle trees
bound in the bud of a grizzled, dry rose.
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One twinkly night with a rattle and blow
a small child cried
but how do you know?
We listen,
said his sister,
deep into sleep
for tinkling of bells and a dusting of snow.
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Sue Hardy Dawson
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Mary’s son
Just begun
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Straw bed
Tiny head
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Shepherd’s keep
Sleepy sheep
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Dark night
Angel light
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Sent them
To Bethlehem
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One star
Travelled far
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Three kings
Brought things
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The light of heaven’s starry skies
Shines in this small baby’s eyes.
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God is born for you and me
A blessing and a mystery.
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Jan Dean
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For a Hard Winter
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When all around you seems to fall away
and, short of breath, the damp air snaps and bites.
When what was once alive sinks in decay
and shadows loom in places that were bright.
When joy and hope and spirits fade to grey
and spring and summer colours shrink from sight.
When daytime seems no different from dark.
Remember, child: within you glows a spark.
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Shauna Darling Robertson
Christmas Cat
……………….
The Christmas cat sits still and sleek;
The Christmas cat is wary.
She’s been in trouble twice this week;
She’s finding Christmas scary.
……………………………..
The Christmas cat tried to join in;
She played with Christmas lights.
She pulled the tree right off the stool
And gave them all a fright.
………………………..
The Christmas cat likes Christmas food;
She likes the Christmas meat.
She likes to lick the turkey fat
And get between our feet.
……………………
The Christmas cat is shut outside:
She’d grabbed the Christmas fairy.
She’s been in trouble twice this week;
She’s finding Christmas SCARY!
…………………………….
Trevor Millum
……………………….
The Star’s Story
………………………………………………..
I am a wandering star,
An astronomical event,
Surely not a portent
Of some heavenly god’s descent.
………………………………..
I may travel where e’er I wish
Across the reach of space:
It is my whim to stop and rest
Above this silent place.
……………………………
And what of these three learned men
Who trail me through the skies?
It’s whispered that they’re noble
But should I think them wise?
………………………………..
Yet, somehow, I feel it’s right
To light this stable lowly
And watch as shepherds pay respect
To a child they say is holy.
………………………………………………………….
John H. Rice
Three Slow Visitors
………………
When Christmas is over
And New Year is past
We three slow visitors arrive at last.
……………….
Too late for the angels
We wonder and long
For the piercing white beauty of feathery songs.
……………….
We wandered the wastes
Where the wind and the sand
Whispered and shifted and re-made the land.
………………..
And now by the Maker
Of all things we stand
Mysterious gifts in our trembling hands.
…………………..
The gold and the incense
Are all fine and good
And the myrrh has its meaning too – all understood.
……………………..
But here – at our mercy
Lies God – and we shiver
Just what is the gift here? And who is the giver?
…………………….
Jan Dean
Roasting the Phoenix
………………………
This year we’re having Phoenix
for our Christmas dinner,
and if Mum doesn’t burn it,
it’s sure to be a winner.
……………
Oh no! The oven’s smoking,
our dinner is on fire.
it’s a raging furnace,
a Phoenix funeral pyre.
………………..
Mum puts on the oven gloves,
and she lets out a roar
“that Phoenix has grown feathers,
it’s fluttering at the door.”
…………………..
Help! Somebody let it out!
This is a job for Dad.
Mum’s sorry that she stuffed it.
It’s looking really mad.
………………..
So Dad opens the oven
and the bird soars off in flight.
Mum has to have a sherry,
she’s had such a fright.
………………
It rose up from the ashes,
so dinners off, I fear.
I wish we’d had a turkey
like every other year.
………………..
Jane Clarke
…………………….
*Just a Few Sleeps to Go*
………………….
How’s it going, Father Christmas?
“I’m snowed under,” he says,
“still busy sorting toys
to pile upon my sledge.”
…………………..
“The stars are all lined up,” he adds,
“in time for Christmas Day.
So be good girls and boys and
I’ll soon be on my way.”
………………
The little elves are helping
and Rudolph’s at the ready.
Just a few sleeps left to go,
so snuggle down with Teddy!
…………………
Celia Warren
The Shepherd’s Story
Snow.
Just as it was growing dark – snow.
Soft flakes fell
White and glossy
Thick as swans’ feathers
Slowly, slowly,
Until the world was put to bed
Under this white quilt
Slowly slowly drifting
Into sleep…
Then. In that silence
The sky was suddenly alive
With angels bright as fire
Their wings burning with such golden light
Their songs like thunder and like ice,
Like bells and like the deep and sonorous sea.
Their message stranger
Than any other I have ever heard.
‘God is born,’ they said.
‘The God who spoke and shaped the world
The stars, the universes
And the soft black deeps of space.
Is born.’
There on that hillside
In that snow
I heard them say it.
Then just as quickly they were gone
The sky was dark again
No echo lingered
Nothing
But the white white snow
The secret white white snow
Nothing has ever been a greater mystery
Than that night.
With angels. Snow.
A million different kinds of light
I knew then that the world is not an ordinary place
When heaven shone from one small baby’s face.
Jan Dean
Christmas Baubles
Baubles
fragile, fire-bright
hanging, hovering, quivering
reflectors of tiny, glinting tints
tree treasures
Kate Williams
Chris-mas
Please try to remember, whatever your age,
That Christmas is spelt with a T
If you try to have Christmas without it
There’ll be gif-s placed under a -ree
For dinner, you’ll have to eat -urkey
With s-uffing and maybe some sprou-s
And there won’t be much glitter or sparkle
If it’s -insel you’ve hung in your house
And when San-a Claus visits at midnigh-
He’ll find it most dreadfully shocking
If, instead of his usual cookies and milk,
He’s met with a right Chris-mas s-ocking!
John H. Rice
A Big Surprise
For my presents, I said I’d like
computer games,
a mountain bike,
an electric train
or a model plane
but most of all
I’d like a bike.
I opened my presents
and what did I find there?
A hand knitted hat
and a squeaky bear,
more underpants from my aunts
and socks (grey, one pair).
I said ‘thank you’ nicely,
I tried to smile
but what was I thinking
all the while?
I was thinking
I wanted computer games,
a mountain bike,
an electric train
or a model plane
but most of all
I’d have liked
a bike.
“There’s just one last thing
to unwrap,” they said.
“It’s a big surprise
we’ve kept it in the shed.
It’s special, it comes with love
from the lot of us…
Now I’m the only kid in school
with my own hippopotamus.
Michaela Morgan
The Way
Some snow knows
just where to go
drops straight from sky
to be as one
with other snow
some snow floats
like feathers, lifts
with air and drifts
no rush to get
from high to low
but each and
every downy flake
in silent flight
each one unique
yet like in white
can find its way
to gently change
transform with light
by simply settling
to unite
Liz Brownlee
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!
……………………………
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
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
Hanukkah
……………………………..
Light the candles
Me and you
One, two
……….
Pray for peace
Evermore
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
Children's Poetry Summit 
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