Christmas Poems

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.

Illustration: Sue Hardy-Dawson

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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Painting: Jan Dean

One Star

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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 Poems

Illustration: Elaine Hill

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

Christmas Poems

Painting by Jan Dean

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

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

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