#happyholidays
ice is outside.
3 days to Christmas.
I never thought my home would be infected,
by the soul ******* racists.
(It shouldn’t be luck,
To be born white.)
They are down the street.
The Tim Hortons we visit every weekend.
They’re at the chipotle we almost went to.
They’re in front of my dad’s restaurant.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 10:35 AM UTC
I turned an ice-cream scooper
Into an ornament.
With a piece of plastic that had I found
From my Gramma’s house;
And the medicine basket.
I glued
That lead
Ye Olde Ice-Cream Scooper
That my mom, now, owns
Into
A basket with a hook.
©2025Ellen Finn
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 6:23 PM UTC
Holidays are usually exciting.
But for people who are depressed,
Holidays can be exhausting. Excruciating.
They can be so stressed
Trying to wear a happy face,
They might have a hard time
Eating anything on their plate.
So, if you feel this way,
I have a challenge for you.
It's called operation happier holidays.
Instead of protecting them,
Tell your loved ones if you're not okay.
They may be upset, confused, or even angry at first.
But almost everyone secretly wishes
For their loved ones to be happy and healthy. So do it for them.
But do it for yourself too.
Because you deserve to be happy.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 6:48 PM UTC
Twas the last day of school
before a long winter break
Not a student was learning,
they were all munching on cake
The children had tidied,
supplies all snug in their places
With candy cane smiles
lighting up their sweet faces
The artwork was stowed
in their backpacks with care
In the hope that they'd bring
holiday cheer home to share
When outside the portable
there arose such a clatter
Ms. G sprang from the party
to see what was the matter
The class followed her out,
filling up the whole porch
And right out in front of them,
near as a bright as a torch
Rudolph, nose blazing red
through the dark Vancouver rain,
Behind him the reindeer
pulling Santa’s sleigh like a train
Santa jumped out spritely,
red hat bouncing with glee
He waved at the group and
boomed out, "Hello there Ms. G,"
“And Division 14,
all of you good girls and boys.
We’re rehearsing our run
to practice delivering toys”
The reindeer pranced all round,
putting on a fine show
Santa offered his hand and said,
“Come on Ms. G, let’s go,”
“We’ll drop you in Mexico
before we head back,”
Ms. G happily agreed, asking
“do you have time for a snack?”
The class joyfully welcomed
the jolly crew to the party
They delighted in the games
and the food, eating hearty
Too soon it was time
for the guests of honour to go
Santa sprang to his sleigh and
exclaimed, ** ** **
"Now, Rudoph and Dasher!
Dancer, Prancer and *****
Now, Comet! on, Cupid!
On, Donner on Blitzen!
“To the top of the portable
then over the school
To Mexico we go,
to Ms. G’s holiday by the pool.”
And off the sleigh flew
with Ms. G safely strapped in,
Her pink toque a-bobbing,
her face all a-grin
They heard him exclaim,
ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Holidays to all,
and to all a good night!"
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 2:37 PM UTC
Momentary
mourning peace.
Mama pours a glass of mulled wine,
lights a scented candle
(- "cherries on snow" -)
and drinks to ol' Joan.
Passed down with the jewellery box,
somewhere in the will, the daughters
receive the annual chore of roasting
the turkey (delicious!) and the veggies
(good job!) and (could you pass the?) breadsauce
for their brothers and husbands huddled
on a threadbare sofa -- and a younger girl,
barely there, staring at a laptop screen.
Mama's not festive - always too tired -
barely celebrates, but orchestrates.
Years barely there 'cause she's needed in their kitchen
and someone's gotta cook can she please get a hand? and
one chivalrous male puffs out his chest, takes one for the team, gestures to the girl with no discernible attention span and
half-laughs an "ay, one day this'll be you!
Best get in there while you're young!"
((A baritone chorus of laughter.))
"You outdid yourself on the turkey."
"S'great, ain't it? Pass the potatoes."
Sometimes here, sometimes Spain.
We stay over. It's tradition: we're
scattered across the country,
maid duties are the least she can do.
Never our kitchen or living room.
Tiny. Messy. Unwelcoming.
Come Boxing Day, Mama gives
a bear hug goodbye and an
"it's good to see you";
Because it is, she thinks.
Thank you for inviting me
to carry out your labour.
I'm just grateful to be needed.
A month of red 'SALE' tapes
scouring the clearance shelves;
overtime for extra cash
scraped to afford the food she cooks you;
paying half for gifts she'd brainstormed
while Dad buys partial credit on the gift tag.
We vanish from your house
- like elves -
by morning.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
We're nearing as we ready
The home with green and red;
A deflated Santa on my neighbour's lawn,
Canned snow sprayed in window corners,
Polyethylene on a white Christmas tree,
Gingerbread people drinking hot ***
Mistletoe hanging from sticks and jambs,
And an apron round the stem.
I decorate, make my fruit cake,
Set out the children's books,
The ones I've read so often:
Rudolph and Old St. Nick,
They look foolish on my table.
Displayed in their fixed place.
They're not like my Christmas bling,
The blinking lights, false stars at night,
Twas the Night Before Christmas
Is the real thing.
At midnight we'll hear choirs sing,
Joy to the World, Peace on Earth,
For one night I'll believe again.
Stay good night.
I see my words rise on my breath,
Being swept up to your stars.
Stay good people.
Who missed this year.
Who came last,
Who comes next.
I surely miss you all.
Such heavy memories
Of snow-laden branches,
Castles in globes,
Ballerinas in boxes.
My new memories
Will never last as long
As the ones I've carried all along.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
On the first day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
a heart still barely breathing.
On the second day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the third day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the fourth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the fifth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the sixth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
leering lullabies
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the seventh day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
scattered, insane
leering lullabies
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the eighth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
bullets in my brain
scattered, insane
leering lullabies
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the ninth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
coffin to lie in
bullets in my brain
scattered, insane
leering lullabies
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the tenth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
lies that I drown in
coffin to lie in
bullets in my brain
scattered, insane
leering lullabies
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the eleventh day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
ears that keep ringing
lies that I drown in
coffin to lie in
bullets in my brain
scattered, insane
leering lullabies
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
On the twelfth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
tears that won’t stop spilling
ears that keep ringing
lies that I drown in
coffin to lie in
bullets in my brain
scattered, insane
leering lullabies
a touch that still stings
all this does is hurt
a chill in the air
broken, bleeding parts
and a heart still barely breathing.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
I ponder now, to the years ago,
To what came on every Christmas Eve.
About the gift that I could get,
The perfect gift to have or to receive.
I was only seven, many fleeting years ago,
And I loved all kinds of dessert.
So then, to get the perfect gift,
A chocolate cake was all its worth.
I was asked at 12 to choose my gift
And a new typewriter was all I said.
At a time when technology had once been young,
I was pleased with mine, a branded crimson red.
12 more years passed by and I could not find
A better gift than what I got years ago in my life.
At 40, I celebrate the 8th anniversary
Of the lovey-dovey years I that I spent with my wife.
I'm 55 and weeping, for now both my parents are gone.
My dad just died a week ago, at the ripe age of 83.
If time was a gift, I'd give it to those I love.
Christmas just isn't as complete as it used to be.
It's Christmas yet I'm dying, and loved-ones use the tongue of tears.
My final wish would only be to have my whole life encoded in memory;
For memories are all that I can leave, and all that I could bring,
From all the blessed 86 years-God's own Christmas gift to me.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC