Between autumn's offerings
And spring's wings,
Our winter lights are everything.
Crisp sky nights string tinsel streams,
And crystal air heils winter's dreams.

Poplar trees that snowed in summer
Are treasures held in winter's slumber.
Bare branches reach in silhouette
For crowning stars where none now sit.

Here dreams of flight and fancy thrill
Shimmering eyes on a gift-wrapped hill.
Shorelines once rubbed with reeds,
Are splashed by our moonlight beads.
Knolls wrapped in wreaths of herring bone,
Like sirens call us from our home.

Stars held in place by poplar fingers
Ring our ponds like carolling singers.
There nestled by framed winter scenes,
Our winter lights glitter red and green.

These lights that through our window stream,
Bring to mind warm Christmas dreams

I want to first thank all my
supporters and readership.
I will read as soon as
I have the time and I can
give your work the attention it deserves.

I've been overwhelmed.
I have to make my presents this
Christmas. But I found out I'm in
excellent company...

FROM APPALACHIA WITH LOVE

Gra'ma Annie had a mission
to help children in need
she lives up in the hills
where they grow their food from seed.

They have no running water
no facilities indoors
still heat and cook with wood
don't buy much from stores
there are folk so destitute
they still have dirt floors.

Li'l Annie was a scrapper
90 pounds if soaking wet.
But her heart is just enormous
as big as one can get!

She found out 'bout a drive
for children overseas
in Africa and Asia
Haiti and the Belize

How the people in those countries
had no presents for to give
their children at Christmas
they could barely live!

She contacted the charity
and said she'd send some toys
as many as possible
to the poor girls and boys.

Annie had no phone
so she walked far and wide
and asked all the hillfolk
throughout the countryside
to whittle and to paint
toys in which to pride!

Those people got together
and carved ponies and dolls
that had joints that moved
and real hair that falls!

They whittled and sanded
painted with rainbow hues
and when they had delivered them
it made world news!

The children overseas
who got them still recall
they kept their homemade presents...

THEIR FAVORITES OF ALL!


MY FATHER "NEVER HAD A CHRISTMAS"*

My father was a child
in a place called Isle la Monte
winter's are quite brutal
in that part of Vermont.

His family were farmers
they lived off the land
they had gardens and stored their food
they worked hard with their hands

They had to really struggle
to make the frayed ends meet
dad walked 14 miles total
through the snow and sleet
to get to his schoolhouse
sometimes with frozen feet

Every year at Christmas time
his mom would be in tears
she would never say much
but stated that she feared

there would be no Christmas
no presents and no tree
it was always the same.
Grandpa would agree.
So the children went to bed
every Christmas eve.

But they weren't sad
because they always knew
that Santa was coming
and so they weren't blue.

Sure 'nuf in the morning
they'd tumble out of bed
and in the once-bare corner
there was a *tree instead!

There were many presents
most carved and painted things
grandma got the practical stuff
no perfume or rings.

But the Christmas meal was cooking
and all through the home
the smell... that sumptuous dinner...

well. That's another poem...!

But before the feast was eaten
grandfather said Grace
and thanked the blessed Lord
and ALWAYS SOUGHT HIS FACE.


SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 12/23/2015


MERRY CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY!!!

I still have presents to make...
see you SOON!


~~~<☆>~~~

i.

We were sewn together
To be an example;
To the ghost's lost
And forgotten.

ii.


We were made together
To be sweetened host's;
Betwixt the devil, graves,
The evil and rotten.

iii.

We were called into existence
To bringeth into remembrance;
That life, tis life
Is precious.

iv.

Once separated
As tis when ourn spirit's found fleshly bodies;
Though back together again
Peace, serenity, heavenly surrounding's.

v.

Now sewn together
Once again as aforetimes;
The same heart, brain
Soul, blood-stains,
Golden mind's.

vi.

And now until
The passing of time's;
Shalt me and mine Reyna
Spreadeth ourn wings called amour,
And fly.

The birches branches
are blown to the north
on Christmas Day
on Christmas Day

no snow this winter
no snow
no snow

the clouds obliterating the view
so low today
so low

they're making my head feel bad
when it's time to be glad so happy and glad

oh why do the elements cry just now
hang like a shroud
instead of a rainbow

send us a rainbow
right now
just for now
to cheer up our trees
and our lakes in the view

for others
for others
for me
for you

Margaret Ann Waddicor 24th December 2015