The Feast of Christmas is a short poem about being grateful to Jesus for both big things and little things.
The Feast of Christmas
This is a feast to celebrate, to celebrate the best
So raise a glass of mulled wine and a slice of turkey breast
Let’s drink to our salvation, better than we ever dreamed
And eat those pigs in blankets, now that bacon’s been redeemed
Gingerbread Nativity: Soul food
In Tesco at the moment, you can buy a real cactus dressed as Father Christmas. A photo of my Santa Cactus (Santactus) featured at the end of a poem posted earlier this week.
I named it Santactus then realised that this sounded like the name of some old Roman god. When all the other fleeting, festive frivolities have passed away, this cactus will remain. Standing tall.
Tinsel falls from trees once trim
Baubles shatter, lights grow dim
Candles lie in waxy heaps but
Santactus irrecusably remains
Green wreaths rot in glittering piles
The neon reindeer lose their smiles
Robins lie in bloodstained heaps but
Santactus irrefutably remains
Christmas jumpers now unravel
Sleighs decay, unfit for travel
Snowmen lie in melted heaps but
Santactus irreducibly remains
Wrapping paper patterns fade
Handcrafted Christmas cards degrade
Ribbons lie in tangled heaps but
Santactus irrepressibly remains
Ironically, Santactus actually died shortly after the completion of this poem. But another will rise.
One of the most exciting parts of Christmas Eve is hanging up the stockings! While it’s impossible to predict exactly what Father Christmas will place in them, there are certain things that appear each and every year.
One of these things, in my house at least, is a bag of chocolate sprouts. Yes, chocolate sprouts. Like chocolate coins, but sprouts. It’s not complicated.
In Chocolate Sprouts, the two breeds of sprouts (brussels and chocolate) are engaged in a violent war.
Chocolate sprouts are breaking free
Sneering as they look at me
Chocolate sprouts are breaking loose
Oh, what carnage they produce
Chocolate sprouts are breaking in
See the Brussels siege begin
Chocolate sprouts are breaking through
Howling as they come for you
Chocolate sprouts are breaking up
Lighting candles as they sup
Chocolate sprouts are breaking out
Snorting as they charge about
Chocolate sprouts are breaking off
Civil War! The Brussels scoff
Chocolate sprouts are breaking down
Melting into pools of brown
The Brussels Sprouts Boil With Anger
It’s nearly Christmas! This is my absolute favourite time of the year! I love so much about Christmas. The music, the decorations, the trees, the presents! It’s all so wonderful but, if I’m totally honest, it can also be a huge distraction from what Christmas actually is. The true meaning of Christmas is not presents, we all know that. It’s not family and friends (despite what Disney might tell you). It’s not even joy and peace in an abstract sense.
Don’t get me wrong, that stuff’s great and I buy into it year after year and enjoy it immensely. But let’s not faff around with all this ‘Christmas is about family’ nonsense. Christmas is about Christ. Hence the ‘Christ’ in Christmas. God became a person. That’s pretty, kinda, ridiculously exciting.
This poem is about rampant commercialism, the deification of Santa, and the twisted works-gospel of modern day Christmas. I’m so edgy.
Who Art In Lapland
Santa won’t love me
If I don’t buy presents
For all my friends and family
If I don’t buy them now
Santa won’t love me
If I don’t buy gifts
He knows if I’ve been bad or good
It’s written on his brow
Santa won’t love me
If I don’t buy offerings
And lay them on the alter
Of the great Cash Cow
It’s important to remember that not everybody has a great time at Christmas. That being said, Christmas Day can be a wonderful opportunity to forget about your worries for a day and eat lots of food.
Girl, it’s Christmas
Put a smile upon your face
There are people
Celebrating out in space
If they love it
Who are we to wear a frown?
Girl, it’s Christmas
Grab a drink and settle down
Even he’s happy, and he has heart problems
There’s nothing like a good Christmas ghost story. The BBC usually puts one on and there’s always the ultimate classic that is Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol! Something about the creepiness of ghosts really fits with the season. Maybe it’s the cold, dark evenings that make them feel so appropriate, or maybe they’re just the perfect counterpart to the sickly sweet jolliness of everything else going on!
A creepy, spooky Christmas ghost
A Winter wraith, an evil host
The ones that moan
And scream and groan
Those are the ones I fear the most
An eery, dreary Christmas ghoul
An icy demon, cold and cruel
The ones that howl
And yell and scowl
I’m shaking like a Christmas fool
The scariest part of Christmas is how broke I am
It’s that awkward time of year here in Birmingham where it’s bitterly bitterly cold (the kind of cold when you feel like your eyes will shatter) but it still won’t snow! I love Winter, but I’d rather not have to take the worst of Winter without also getting the best of it! Where is my snow? I don’t need enough to make a snowman. I don’t even need enough to make a snowball. I just need enough to spin around dramatically in. That’s all I ask of you Winter, that’s all I ask!
Snow is falling, watch it dance!
The season’s supreme circumstance
We bear the cold, the damp, the mold
Concealed in hats and gloves we prance
The snow has settled, feel it crunch!
A light and luscious liquid lunch
It’s texture’s sweet, beneath my feet
We’ve never been a brighter bunch
And now it’s melted, hear it slush!
A brown and murky, mulchy mush
Nobody stops, to hold the slops
We’re back to our incessant rush
The snow’s all gone, remember snow?
A glint as greenish grasses grow
Amnesiac, we want it back
And so the year will always go
Let it faux, let it faux, let it faux
Christmas shopping is simultaneously the most enjoyable, and most horrific part of an ordinary persons year. We have a whole year to plan and yet, every year millions of people still end up rushing out on Christmas Eve to grab some presents they forgot about. Now that’s all well and good for us mortals, but what if Santa Claus himself left things too late? What if, by the time he got his act together, the elves had all gone home for the holidays and the shops were closed? This poem is about Father Christmas experiencing the same panic many of us have on Christmas Eve and the impact it has on the quality of our presents. Please forgive my picture of Santa. He’s hard to draw.
Last Minute Santa
Santa’s in the garage
Buying all the toys
A pink horse for the girlies
A blue dog for the boys
And into every stocking
Goes a Chupa Chup
A sandwich with no butter
And a can of 7up
Because everybody loves a man who breaks into their house, creeps into their children’s bedrooms to watch them sleep, then leaves gifts at the end of their bed. Sounds totally legit.
It’s December! Which means it’s time for listening to Christmas music, reading Christmas books, and eating Christmas food. Now, obviously there is a whole lot more to Christmas than that. Christmas is, above all, a time to remember the arrival of Jesus Christ on Earth. Little baby Jesus who grew up to be big not-a-baby Jesus and died in our place despite the fact that we really don’t deserve it.
Unfortunately, my poetry doesn’t lend itself to telling that side of Christmas tastefully so I won’t try and tackle it in rhyme. I reckon it’s ok for us to enjoy the sillier side though. In fact, I think it’s awesome! This poem/song actually comes from a dream I had a few weeks ago in which some people were putting on a Christmas musical. This short verse is all I can remember from the song. There was only one song in the whole thing which was just sung again and again in different contexts with the word ‘brother’ changed to ‘mother’ or ‘lover’ etc. It was a pretty awful musical.
Sing Me A Christmas Carol
Sing a Christmas carol to me brother
Sing a Christmas carol to me friend
Sing me a Christmas carol
As I sit on a whiskey barrel
And may this Christmas carol never end
My poetic talent was dead, to begin with
Perhaps the most recognisable two Christmas stories not found in the bible are those of Ebeneezer Scrooge and The Grinch. Both are stories of redemption and reconciliation in which the main character deals with some emotional trauma and comes to love Christmas. I have decided to try and condense the theme and essence of these two stories into a short, two verse poem. It’s got everything; hatred, forgiveness, love. That’s everything isn’t it?
One question I do have though, is why do we call people a ‘Scrooge’ if they don’t like Christmas. By the end of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge is a reformed character and everyone said he always knew how to keep Christmas! Scrooge should be a name worn with pride! I am a Scrooge and I love Christmas!
A Christmas Novella
Grinchy McScrooge and a party of elves
Were lining up gifts in elevens and twelves
But Grinchy McScrooge had a heart of old slate
And he hated it all with a hate more than hate
But one day, an elf told him, ‘Don’t be a prat’
And Grinchy McScrooge, he was shaken by that
He changed his foul ways and found Christmas was fun
And Tiny Tim said ‘God bless us, everyone’
Bless his little heart