"chrismas" poems
I took the left path where hydrangeas grew and sleepy primroses under woods, edged shady trees.
The empty stream ran quietly dry
With grass cuttings piling high.
If one peeped, one would find tiny creatures
To cast a sparkle here and there, a delight.
So on tip-toe, with sandels bent
Up high I reached to take
The plastic fairy as she twirled a pirouette
In a theatre made by chance.
Reflected in a silver mirror intwinned with ivy branch
A mottled foal tends his dreams and Chrismas robin chirps.
My brother took the right hand path where the trees grew fruit
Ripe berries from the gooseberry bush bulged their prickles.
Dangling from hawthorn now a cowboy with a hat
Looking for his fellow Indian with the yellow back sack.
Sheep gather in a hollow, dark, protected from the sun
And Mr toad, now lost of paint, has turned a bit glum.
And so we leave our woodland friends and travel up the slope
Winding round the rose bed and goldfish where they float.
Then up we climb, the middle route, to jump the pruned clipped
Hedge.
The lawn divided in two halves, a contemporary taste.
Now we're nearly at that place where if one was to turn
Could see down across the land
To the sea and sand.
Of all the beauties that I've known
Nothing beats this Island home.
Love Mary x
My grandfather’s retirement bungalow was in Totland Isle of Wight.
It was named Innisfail meaning ‘Isle of Ireland’.
Behind, the garden led down to magical and delightful to children who came as visitors. My grandfather would prepare this woodland with some suitable surprises.
The garden and woodland deserved its own name and in retrospect
Is now named ‘Innislandia’ to suggest a separate, mysterious land.
Beyond the real world.
In the poem A Country Lane on page 8 the latched gate is the back gate to my grandparent’s garden and bungalow in Totland as above.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
silver bells
and mistletoe ,
at christmas.
she my honey bunny
she sugar sugar plum,
my sweetie pie
the angel of my heart.
she my silver silver bells
of christmas.
silver bell
and mistletoe
at christmas
she my honey bunny
she my sugar sugar plum,
my swetie pie
the apple of my eyes.
the angel of my heart.
of christmas
silver bells
at christmas
hear the angel sing
for honey bunny
at chrismas time
the angel of my heart
she the song of magic in
my heart.
she angel from the heaven above
she my sweetie pie
she sugar sugar gum drop
of my heart .on this christmas day.
my honey bunny christmas.
repeat verse 4 time that song
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
I'm thankful for
the cool breeze
blowing in air
through my dry
hair as I
walk back home.
I'm thankful for
those dead leaves
falling to the
ground covering my
feet when I
step under trees.
I'm thankful for
these fleeting days
that cover me
in the darkness
of night as
I lay asleep.
I'm thankful for
sweater weather that
allows me to
bundle up in
my favorite pieces
of warm clothing.
I'm thankful for
Thanksgiving leftovers which
stay in the
fridge till Chrismas
time once again;
still so delicious.
I'm thankful for
the ending of
the old year
and the start
of another one
filled with potential.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
Another year almost come and gone and
Christmas day is upon us once again.
Today’s Christmases full
Of gifts, hour long lines, last minute shopping
And Stress!
Life moving at a breakneck pace; never slowing,
People not sparing a small coin to put in the Salvation Army bucket.
I wonder if we would all make better presents
Than the ones we receive on Christmas-
With how wrapped up we are.
There are those (not to be forgotten) who do something kind
For someone else; Sometimes anonymously.
Though I feel that, through the years,
We have forgotten what Christmas really is.
Christmas isn’t about bows, ribbons, or tags
Nor is Christmas about packages, boxes, or bags.
What is it then? Go back about 2000 years or so to the very first Chrismas
A very cold, dark, winter night in a Bethlehem barn a young woman gave birth
To a son Jesus “Emmanuel” meaning (‘God With Us’)
On that night the witnesses to Jesus’ birth were
A few shepherds from nearby fields,
The animals in the barn, 3 kings (wisemen they be), and a poor drummer boy.
The kings brought gifts to pay homage and honor to the babe
The drummer boy had no gift to bring, but played a song for the child
All was bright, calm, peaceful that night
The warmth of love and light
Overpowering the cold, dark, winter of that Bethlehem night
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
Drastic words taken from a manic world,
Have you heard that what they print is labelled on you.
Its over now,
As the sun begins to rise,
Tomorrows world,
Always forgets the man that dies.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they don't care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
Celebrity taker,
Paparazzi will follow you everywhere,
So you want to be in the paper?
Fame and fortune has its price that will tear.
Sold out now,
This world exclusive news,
Read all about it now,
Aliens land on chrismas eve!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there,
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they dont care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
They deserve it now,
All of those printed lies,
War of words,
From the media moguls!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Editorial journalists they dont care cause the paper sells...
Tabloid Mess!
Reality later,
Reality later,
Fiction from the truth printed there.
Reality later,
Reality later,
Its all a bit of a joke laugh the press so swindled in you.
Tabloid Mess!
O'Reily@08072015
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
love is strolling through a city at night
love is reading by candlelight
love is paris in the summer
love is the leaves changing color
love is snow falling during the day
love is hearing a ukelele play
love is new york city at chrismas time
love is hearing the sound of a wind chime
love is surfing in the sea
love is iced chai tea
love is being in a room full of laughter
love is a story of happily ever after
love is the smell of petrichor
love is not knowing what's in store
love is hugging someone
love is the rising sun
love is listening to a great song
love is talking all night long
love is counting every star
love is traveling somewhere far
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
Tell me what it is
About the trees
Dusty grey and gloomy in October
That resonates so dearly with a heart
Melancholy and somber
This rain is soothing
Like the soft white I line my walls with
A golden haze playing through my veins
And flames to match the essence
But not the calefaction
You can watch me drift into a paralysis effortlessly
A debilitation cold and lingering
Like lifeless trees awaiting the worst
Some sun
Does not change the course of nature
And I wonder what flavor of future
Nature holds for me
I feel like the trees
In the middle of a foggy autumn afternoon
Comfortable
And content
Living in the shadows of a world
Too engulfed in regurgitated highs
To contemplate or appreciate struggle
A world utterly ignorant to individuals soft spoken and inherently
Harmonious in the ways of authenticity
And naturalism and realism
We have the endurance to undergo lifelong tempests
But lack the energy to speed through
Trivial phases of Insatiable beauty
Our growth is goddess enough
Tell me what it is about the moon
Majestic and nostalgically haunting
A calming through night's terrors
And unforgiving traumas
Silver whisps of validation shine into a heart
With love looking a little too much like silhouettes
An ebony void seeping into the cracks of joy
And pain becoming an obvious pattern
And the moon is there always
Watching the molding in a resentful awe
What happened to the life of the young
Happiness looking like summer nights
And chrismas lights and vintage pop bottles
Fading into an uninviting outline
Through that type of half reality
Half fantasy version of time
Months feeling like hours
But unrewarding years all the same
Childhoods disappearing into insomnia
And I'm not very hungry
And I don't want anything for my birthday
Kind of aloof answers
We get it
We're all just tired
Tell me what it is
About the stillness of autumn
That induces a numbness in our hearts
Watching our desires blow away with the wind
One by one
They sing their remorse through aeolian howls
Uncanny and ghost like
Or the early nightfalls
That strangely feel more intimate
Than our last touch did
A type of familiarity rather profound
And lacking in any form of resentment
Maybe it's the significance in vulnerability
The stripping away of irrelevant priorities
To see the real
To see the roots
Tell me what is is
About the trees
Dusty grey and gloomy in October
That soothes a tired soul
A vagabond in search for more
And a heart a little too in love with loss
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 2:21 AM UTC
Lazy candles, on a Chrismas-Eve cake. 50cents thoughts, for my pocket money. I am a well suited Poet. But my hand on your hips, and my lips on yours is all that I'm missing. I just saw you a couple of never's ago, and I would love to hold you for a couple of forevers more...
#And the day I'm allowed to kiss you in front of your parents; is the day I won't get shy to kiss you in front of those who are not your parents...
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
*Winters icy patterns
Adorn the window pane
The moon a glitterball
of snowflake
it's Christmas tide again
Boots are crushing snowflakes
All about the tiny town
Carrollers singing in the distance
A joyful Christmas sound.
My boyhood heart is bursting
Theres no other time like this
As under the hanging mistletoe
My parents share a kiss
now older my chrismas times
Are busy filled with modern toys
But in my heart I feel a longing
For a time of simpler joys*
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
A CHRISMAS STORY – Part 1
In a time, past was Christmas eve,
A tense quietness spread throughout the house,
No one wanted attention not to dare even a mouse,
Dad snoring on the couch didn’t see our mother leave,
Dad came home two hours late,
Said, “He was drinking at the club with Casey and his son,
He left early, a little before eight,
What the hell he bellowed, I work hard just a little fun,”
Mother said the boys wanted to open just one present,
Dad starred, “every year the same, “NO”,
“We open them Christmas morning, all Santa had sent,”
Mother also was drinking, and said, “Why the hell no, and NO.”
Dad walked to the tree looking at the presents in disgust,
Mother said why are you always like this,
“Open all of them” he shrieked, “IF YOU MUST!”
Then he kicked and broke every toy, not even one did he miss,
The night before Christmas it was very quiet in our house,
Nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.
A CHRISTMAS STORY – PART 2
The two boys’ clothes were tattered,
Yes, their hair was long, had Nana brought a toy?
Grandma would fuss, but it hadn’t mattered,
Their smiling ***** faces shinned Christmas joy,
Early the boy walked the cold wood floor,
To the living room, lighting the old ceramic heater,
From the one-bedroom, the others poured out the door,
Warming hand and feet at their only heater,
Money was short dad said,
Gas went off at night,
The boys saw only the gifts instead,
And the shining Christmas light,
They played with the few new toys,
Having fun, the two boys,
Dad ask one for some water to drink,
The boy ran quickly to the kitchen sink,
His head swooned, what had this meant,
He gasped at what he eyed,
Back to his brother he went,
Pulling his shirt to show what he spied,
Two beautiful red bikes sat on the floor,
They turned around and dad leaned against the door,
Merry Christmas he said,
I sold my car but will ride the truck instead.
By Jim Kirk-Wiggins (c) 2019, All Rights Reserved
LiberiPress.com
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 10:03 PM UTC
I sat on the couch
exposed to the bright golden bar
wind grasp my skin all over
shivering like snowflakes on a new chrismas morning
as I felt my nerve gesture trembling
forcing the brain to spill out thoughts
I'll be jotting down on paper
Humming birds produced perfect harmonies
setting traped part of me free
connecting my old self
creating new vision of me
wonder what crossed that beautiful mind
how the air influenced the change
Air never runs out
change yourself
while you still have time .
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Johnny was coming of age.
He had finally reached that stage.
He had grown out of toys and Christmas trees.
All that he wanted for Chrismas was a kiss from Sally.
He surprised her under the mistltoe.
And told her that he loved her so.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 3:50 AM UTC