Christmas Season Poetry

[HEPZIBAH]

[face=Comic Sans MS]As it the season of Advent for Christmas I thought I'd start this section off with some poetry, some well known, others less so. Please feel free to add your own favourites. ~ Hepzi [/face]


Advent 1955
by
John Betjeman


The Advent wind begins to stir
With sea-like sounds in our Scotch fir,
It's dark at breakfast, dark at tea,
And in between we only see
Clouds hurrying across the sky
And rain-wet roads the wind blows dry
And branches bending to the gale
Against great skies all silver pale
The world seems travelling into space,
And travelling at a faster pace
Than in the leisured summer weather
When we and it sit out together,
For now we feel the world spin round
On some momentous journey bound -
Journey to what? to whom? to where?
The Advent bells call out 'Prepare,
Your world is journeying to the birth
Of God made Man for us on earth.'

And how, in fact, do we prepare
The great day that waits us there -
For the twenty-fifth day of December,
The birth of Christ? For some it means
An interchange of hunting scenes
On coloured cards, And I remember
Last year I sent out twenty yards,
Laid end to end, of Christmas cards
To people that I scarcely know -
They'd sent a card to me, and so
I had to send one back. Oh dear!
Is this a form of Christmas cheer?
Or is it, which is less surprising,
My pride gone in for advertising?
The only cards that really count
Are that extremely small amount
From real friends who keep in touch
And are not rich but love us much
Some ways indeed are very odd
By which we hail the birth of God.

We raise the price of things in shops,
We give plain boxes fancy tops
And lines which traders cannot sell
Thus parcell'd go extremely well
We dole out bribes we call a present
To those to whom we must be pleasant
For business reasons. Our defence is
These bribes are charged against expenses
And bring relief in Income Tax
Enough of these unworthy cracks!
'The time draws near the birth of Christ'.
A present that cannot be priced
Given two thousand years ago
Yet if God had not given so
He still would be a distant stranger
And not the Baby in the manger.


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Christmas
by
John Betjeman


The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain.
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hooker's Green.

The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that villagers can say
'The Church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

Provincial public houses blaze
And Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children's hearts are glad,
And Christmas morning bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true? and is it true?
The most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?

And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant.

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was Man in Palestine
And lives to-day in Bread and Wine.

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Christmas Eve 1914
by
Mike Harding


Christmas Eve, 1914, stars were burning, burning bright
And all along the Western Front the guns were lying still and quiet.
And men lay dozing in the trenches, in the cold and in the dark,
And far away behind the lines, a village dog began to bark.
Some lay thinking of their families, some sang songs and others were quiet
Rolling fags and playing Brag, to pass away that Christmas night.
But as they watched the German trenches, something moved in no-man's land
And from far away there came a soldier, carrying a white flag in his hand.

Then from both sides, the men came running, crossing into no-man's land
Through the barbed wire, mud and shell-holes; shyly stood there shaking hands
Fritz brought out cigars and brandy, Tommy brought corned beef and fags
Stood there laughing, crying, singing, as the moon shone down on no-man's land

On Christmas day we all played football, in the mud of no-man's land
Tommy brought a Christmas pudding, Fritz brought out a German band
And when they beat us at the football, web shared out all the grub and drink
And Fritz showed me a faded photo of a dark-haired girl back in Berlin

For four days after, no one fired. Not one shell disturbed the night
For old Fritz and Tommy Atkins, they'd both lost the will to fight.
So they withdrew us from the trenches, sent us far behind the lines,
Sent fresh troops to take our places- ordered guns; "Prepare to fire".

And next night, in 1914, flares were burning, burning bright.
The message came, "Prepare offensive, over the top we're going tonight!"
And men stood waiting in the trenches, in the cold and in the dark,
All along the Western Front the Christmas guns began to bark.

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The Promise
by
Alan Williams


I will never forget that morning,
A cold inconsequential day,
Before the pale reluctant sun
Had peered across the frosted land.
The weary early morning rise
Another day of pointless toil
Another journey, another time
Bearing the burden on my back
Until the calm of blessed evening.
For then the time had come to rest,
Close by an inn known to my master.
A place of noise and open arms
And he led safely to the parlour
And me led roughly to a shed.

No other thought was in my mind
But food and drink and time to sleep.
I made no note of fellow travellers,
I gave no heed to smells or sounds,
Contented in the warmth and shelter.
A time to rest a time to breathe.
But soon the gloom around me faded
To show a soft and gentle light
And two road weary fellow travellers,
One with a baby in her arms.
A father and adoring mother
Afraid, bewildered and amazed.
And such a child beyond my knowledge
With gentle eyes that knew my mind,
Describing worlds of endless wisdom
In ways I did not understand,
Save for a wonderful prediction
That etched itself upon my heart.

But then the sound of other travellers,
Muffled voices at the door,
Took away my precious moment
Returned me to my pleasant stall,
To rest before the coming morrow
Another harsh and dreary day.

But I held close that precious memory
Until the sweet and palm strewn day
When he fulfilled his holy promise.
That someday we would meet again.

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Let Me Come In
by
Richard Bugg

Two nights before Christmas I sat on my bed,
And more than just sugar plums danced in my head.

Our savings depleted; my job quite unstable;
My wife wanting clothes and a new kitchen table.

The kids were all fighting about who was first
On Santa's long list. My head nearly burst.

"Is Santa a Fake?" the ten-year-old cried.
"Cause I'd hate to think that dear Daddy has lied."

"Of course Santa's real," answered mother with glee.
"When Christmas day comes, just look under the tree."

"Oh, Good!" the kids cried. "'Cause St. Nick at the mall
Said he'd bring not just some of our list -- but all!"

My head started pounding; my temples were throbbing.
Then I heard the faint sound of my three-year-old sobbing.

"Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy! How will Santa Clause guess
That me and my doll need the same pink silk dress?"

I turned to my wife -- a long pleading look.
She put on their jammies, while I found their book.

I read them a story then tucked them in bed
With posters of Mickey and Jasmine o'erhead.

While Mama in her nightshirt and I in my skivvies
Collapsed on the bed and turned on the TV.

The news was all bad -- the economy down.
The grimace on my face now distinctly a frown.

I shut the thing off and turned out the light.
With my wife on the left I rolled to the right.

A grunting of sorts was my tender goodnight.
Then I screwed shut my eyes to chase cares from sight.

Two minutes? Two hours? I couldn't be sure.
When I heard a noise that made my blood stir.

I ran to the window, threw open the drape.
Well, I saw a sight that made my mouth gape.

The moon on the breast of the five-day old slush
Made the yard as appealing as six-day old mush.

When what to my dull aching eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

Yes, Santa was there, but him I expected.
The shock came when all of the rest I detected.

The Cratchits, with Scrooge, and young Tiny Tim.
King Arthur and Merlin, plus Old Madam Mim.

The Whos all from Whoville, the Grinch and ol' Max.
Young Dr. Doolittle there with his Yaks.

The muppets there doing their whole Christmas thing.
While Alvin and Chipmunks started to sing.

And Jack with his beanstalk just starting to grow.
The poor little match girl asleep in the snow.

Frosty was singing and Rudolph was glowing,
The drummer boy drumming. And I had trouble knowing

Just what I should do. If I had a choice
I'd go back to bed. But I heard a voice.

"Let me in," the voice said. What an odd piercing line.
I immediately looked for a wolf and three swine.

Not the voice of a wolf though, I knew from the start.
But a voice that could best be heard in the heart.

"Let me in," came again, and the crowd seemed to hear
And turned to a manger that lay at the rear

Of my untidy lawn. How embarrassed was I
That the sod was unfinished. I started to cry.

But not for the lack of good grass nor from shame,
But because that sweet voice had called me by name.

The Cratchits, Miss Piggy, the whole motley scene
All fell to their knees in a manner serene.

The girl in the snow awoke from her dream
And lit her last match as a lamp for her King.

I ventured to walk down the stairs and go out.
As I walked through the crowd I started to shout

"Oh, help me, please help me. I have bills to pay.
My job is in trouble and I’ve lost my way."

"We've too many mouths to feed and to dress.
I’m just a failure, a wash-out, I guess."

I said what I felt. I said it out loud.
And I looked for support from the odd-looking crowd.

But their faces were filled with contentment, not thought.
They had not the depth for the comfort I sought.

Nostalgia, some laughs, and some heart-warming plots,
All the magic of childhood -- of this there was lots

In my friends just behind me. But they don't possess
The power of true love; the power to bless.

My friends faded then -- fairy tales all.
But the Lord of All Hosts was still at my call.

I fell to my knees, folded hands at my chin.
I heard the voice say, "Please, let me come in."

I awoke in my bed and turned to my wife.
Her snoring repose took away all my strife.

The day of all days, Christmas Eve came.
We sat round the fire and called them by name,

"On Dasher, On Dancer, On Prancer and Vixen."
We sang Jingle bells. The kids got their licks in.

The Grinch carved his Beast. Tiny Tim God-Blessed all.
Then we looked at the painting I'd hung on the wall.

I opened to Luke. We read of His birth.
We read of His life, and His works here on earth.

We read of our Lord, of our Savior, my friend,
Then prayed to the Father and asked that he send

All the spirit of Christmas; the Spirit of Love;
All the blessings befitting us, down from above.

Christmas day came, and Santa Clause too.
And our own little Whos never cried Boo-hoo.

In fact, though their list had been shortened a tad
They whispered together and then asked me, "Dad,

"Is there someone out there, some girl or some boy,
Whom we could help out with a game or a toy?"

I did lose my job, then along came a better.
And we paid all our bills to the dot and the letter.

Our home now abounds not with money, nor fame,
But with unfettered love for the Holy of Name.

I remember the stress and the fear that has been,
But my soul now rejoices, 'cause I let him in.

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A Christmas Lesson
by
Tom Krause




"Is there a purpose? Why are we here?"
A little boy asked as the yuletide drew near.
"I really do hope that someday I will know
the reason we stand out here in the snow,
ringing this bell as people walk by,
while thousands of snowflakes
descend from the sky."

The mother just smiled at her shivering son
who would rather be playing and having some fun
but soon would discover before evening was done
the meaning of Christmas
the very first one.

The young boy exclaimed, "Mother where does it go?"
"All the pennies we collect - every year in the snow."
"Why do we do it? Why do we care?"
"We worked for these pennies,
so why should we share?"

"Because once a baby - so meek and so mild
was born in a manger - so humble the child
the son of a King - was born in this way
to give us the message
He carried that day.

"The present God gave the world on that night,
was the gift of his son to make everything right.
Why did he do it? Why did he care?
To teach about loving
and how we should share."

"The meaning of Christmas, you see my dear son,
is not about presents or just having fun
but the gift of a father - his own precious Son
so the world would be saved
when his work was all done"

Now the little boy smiled - with a tear in his eye
as snowflakes kept falling from out of the sky -
rang louder the bell as the people walked by
while down deep in his heart
at last he knew why.

Copyright © Tom Krause 2003.

[PRchick]

Beautiful Hepzi. Thank you.

[Horus]

A lot of food for thought there Hepzi thank you for sharing.

[Karenh]

Thank you Hepzi I enjoyed reading them

[jewel]

A few more ....from traditional

Christmas Bells
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The Carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
'There is no peace on earth,' I said;
'For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!'
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
'God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!'


To modern

Christmas Post by Paul Curtis

Mildred went to the post office
To buy stamps for her Christmas cards
“What denomination do you want?”
She was asked by Mr Everard
“That’s political correctness gone mad,
Has it come to this?” said she
“You’d better give me a book of Catholic
And a book of C of E”



Talking Turkeys
by
Benjamin Zephaniah (love this guy!)

Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.

Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
'I cannot wait for de chop',
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.

I once knew a turkey called...Turkey
He said "Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?",
I said "I am not too sure turkey
But it's nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash'.

Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey'll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends 'FOR LIFE'.



And a subject dear to my heart ......snow


Snowflakes by H W Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the Air.
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

See how they fall
An infinity of heavenly aspirations
Come to convert the world
With a deep and even purity.
Sent to nullify and cleanse
To enhance and beautify
To muffle and calm
With the tranquillity
Of a gossamer eiderdown.
To cloak in a mystery
Of endless variations
Of the same tonal theme;
Converting everything
To a glistening coalescence.
Tidying up the farmyard
Smoothing out the fields
Transmogrifying neglected gardens
Into dazzling showpieces,
Cluttered garden sheds
Into sparkling summer-houses,
Making abandoned bean sticks
As elegant as sculptured crystal,
And fondant death-traps
Of old familiar ponds
Enhancing the weary timothy
In the sad neglected churchyard.
Cheering up the stories
On the long forgotten grave stones.
Turning distant spires
Into alabaster space rockets
And drooping telephone lines
Into crystal mooring ropes
For ocean going bungalows.
The purification is complete, unblemished,
Save for the prints of wandering spirits
Fading in the gentle cascade.

A very good one

The spirit of Christmas anon

I have a list of people I know
All written in a book
And every year at Christmastime
I go and take a look
And that is when I realise
That those names are a part
Not of the book they're written in
But of my very heart
For each name stands for someone
Who has crossed my path some time
And in that meeting they've become
A treasured friend of mine
And once you've met some people
The years can not erase
The memory of a pleasant word
Or a friendly face
So when I send a Christmas card
That is addressed to you
It's because you're on that list
Of folk I'm indebted to
And you are one of many folk who
In times past I've met
And happen to be one of those
I don't want to forget
And whether I have known you for
Many years or few
In some way you have a part in
Shaping things I do
This, the spirit of Christmas, that
Forever and ever endures
May it leave it richest blessing
In the hearts of you and yours.


Hope you enjoy