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Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2018
Where there is mistletoe and twinkling lights
There are also memories of me and you
It kills me to know that I'll be spending
Christmas this year alone and blue

Life had not been so kind to me
Since harsh Winter decided to come around
Kicked me out of your life and then
Scattered our love over the ground

We do not talk very much anymore
Seems like you're happier now
Without my sour attitude
To hold back and keep you down

Everyone is critically whispering about
How long it is taking me to move on
I don't care because they don't know
The way it feels to be consumed by a presence long gone

Holiday cheer is in the air
Yet a scowl adorns my pale face
Too haunted by ghosts of the present and past
Too many memories time can't erase

To enjoy the decorated trees
Or the music falling on my ears
It seems like my disdain for Santa
Only strengthens through the years

Don't wish me a Merry Christmas
Because it's going to be anything but
The irony is too much for me to take
I'd rather you just keep your mouth shut

I don't want any presents or cards
My grinch-like heart is bitter to the core
The only thing I want for Christmas
Is to not love you anymore
All I want for Christmas is to stuff my face with cookies and cocoa.. interesting story, I stumbled upon this one by happenchance and it was written exactly six years ago on this date. So crazy that happened to be the one I pulled out to post.
Daniel Long Dec 2018
Midnight,
An hour for evil to be smite.
The fallen angel said: let there be night!
And God said: let there be light!

Tis’ the hour of His birth,
And the time of our rebirth.
Oh, believers of the heavens,
Tis’ the hour of your redemptions!

To within our souls,
God has sloped his hands over Heaven’s grassy knolls
To cleanse the ink of sin
That too many of our free-wills are stained within.

On the eve of His birth
And the time of our prayer for rebirth,
All the peoples of the Faith dance in spirit,
So, tis’ the night our Lord shall save it!

Oh, sinners of the of the earth themselves
Best pray for their holy escape,
Redeem yourselves! Release yourselves
from Lucifer’s black cape!

The light of our Faith skewers any darkness with a holy sword,
For the newborn babe of this hour of our Lord.
As brilliant, and mighty as he will one day stoutly stand;
Leading us of the true Faith through every land!

Within a humble manger,
Over a now sanctified bed of hay,
Far from sinful danger,
The King of Kings lay.

Our Faith and Pride follow!
For those filled with sorrow.
Open your arms for the redeemer!
For a true child of God finds this not as a dreamer!

Breaking every bind between Faith and sin,
The Lord has freed the believers in the world they abode in.
We now on this night see a sinner; a slave,
But by the grace of holy-love, we now see a brother that unto us fate gave.

And for this, we are forever grateful to Him
And we shall on Christmas Eve sing his hymn.
From His birth, to His suffering, to His rebirth.
So, now tis’ the hour of His birth.

Believers die to rise,
Sinners die to have a fall so grim.
In death we rise.
In death we rise with Him!
My poetry/short story website: www.gothicsurrealism.com
EssEss Dec 2018
A tourist's delight is London and not without reason,
If you think otherwise, you can't be forgiven,
The British culture is something in which the Britons pride,
You have no option but to take this in your stride

The famed red double-decker buses are all over the streets,
Transporting people virtually from street to street,
Their frequency is so short which is a feature to admire,
For commuters on the go, there is little reason to perspire

Systematic running of the buses is a reflection of meticulous planning,
That has been honed to near perfection for a near-perfect landing,
Hassle-free commuting is surely a plus point,
There is definitely no reason for it to be a moot point

Riding the London tube in peak hours is nothing short of a nightmare,
An experience however that tourists would surely like to dare,
Winding your way through jostling commuters in a mechanical way,
An art that can be practiced without keeping rushing fellow passengers at bay

Hordes of people keep flocking Trafalgar Square,
There is so much activity with almost nothing to spare,
The revelry is such with considerable glee,
A joy to behold and the best it ever can be

Walking by the waterfront is such a pleasure,
Whilst savoring the enchanting landscape in no small measure,
Buildings along the quay have a history of their own,
That vindicate the reasons for which they are so well renown

Boarding the Thames cruise near one of the dockyards,
Is sheer coincidence that it is opposite new Scotland Yard,
British history's glorious past as vividly narrated by the guide,
Makes for fascinating hearing with the ripples of the not-so-high adjoining tide

To see Shakespeare's first theater felt so wonderful,
That Thames river water has breached the place was equally woeful,
The adjoining new theater now hosts his masterpiece plays all year round,
A must-see theatrical show if you happen to be around

The waterfront restaurants are a haven for wining and dining,
The accompanying incessant chatter gives no cause for whining,
All one needs to do is soak in the merriment,
No way will it ever be to your detriment

The famed black cabs with their right hand driving,
Are mostly Bentleys with an unique interior setting,
The seating arrangement is something you get used to,
As you ride to your destination without further ado

Borough week-end market offers food from world over,
It would be a surprise if you are not bowled over,
The freedom to taste without any haste,
Ensures hours well spent with no guilt of waste

The variety of treats is just so amazing,
It tempts one to keep tasting instead of simply gazing,
The international flavor is also seen in the massive crowds,
That throng the market wanting to be wowed

Shopping is such pleasure that makes you shop-till-you-drop,
Spending has never been so easy without sparing a thought,
The lure of fashion is such an endless passion,
It is difficult to say there is a limit to satisfaction

Buckingham Palace change-of-guard is a popular tourist attraction,
People flock to see the daily spectacle that does merit attention,
The adjoining sprawling Hyde Park lends its own aura to the setting,
That ensures memories linger without forgetting

From Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus is just a stone's throw,
It is famous enough for visitors to take a bow,
The hustle and bustle surrounding the place,
Makes it look hectic to keep with the pace

Poetry is inadequate to describe the charisma that London holds,
It's majestic buildings and Britain's rich history are truly a sight to behold,
You always get the feeling that there is  something more to experience,
Once you are back to base and indulge in reminiscence
LPpoetry Dec 2018
The most wonderful time of the year,
The holidays are here,
But wonderful for who?
For I have no cheer,
I always hear people say,
How they love Christmas Day,
But I do not belong,
So this day brings dismay,
For on this day I always feel blue,
And I always wish for something new,
For all I ever truly want,
Is just one person to come home to,
Others celebrate on this day with cheers,
But there are no such celebrations here,
For all I ever have on Christmas,
Are two blue eyes that are filled with tears.
Marie Dec 2018
Thirty five degrees
Laughter
Wet sticky sand
Dripping ice creams
Rolling waves upon splashing bodies
Boardwalkers hand in hand

I find myself beneath the air conditioning,
Cheek stains from the films watched before,
Legs sticking to one another,
Stomach swelling up over clothes,
Dripping ice creams and crumbling cookies,
Rolling waves of guilt and self-pity.
My depression and I lay on the couch
Hand in hand.
I've been struggling for years to feel comfortable in my own skin, it gets especially tough in the Summer time when so many people show skin and enjoy themselves in the open.
james nordlund Nov 2018
Earthen formed, as clay, my bodhi,

Deeba, with inner wick always lite,

Oli, light of Thee light, sits.
Belated Good Diwali, Deepavalli, Deeba Oli to All   :)   reality
Jo Barber Nov 2018
Home is not a place.
Home is not a person,
nor a season, nor a taste.
Home is elusive.
I can’t tell if I’m running
towards it or away.
I grow older each day,
aware only of
the confusion
that resides within me.

Home may not be a place,
But it is not where I am.
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