Christmas Poem Quotes

“On the Eve of Christmas
By Don Iannone
Snowy, snowy Christmas Eve,
For just this night we believe,
Stardust spread far and wide,
Angelic songs in hearts abide.”
― Donald T Iannone, D.Div.

“The Merry Chrismouse by Stewart Stafford

What a time for the merry Chrismouse,
Making toys in his workshop/house,
Everyone contributes, even his spouse,
With Christmas cheer, no one will douse.

A sprig of holly for a present tree,
Blizzard snow is grated cheese,
The kindly rodent set to please,
When he comes on Christmas Eve.

Nuts and seeds on their button table,
Playing games and telling fables,
Discarded tinsel on the wall of gable,
In midwinter's icy spell unstable.

A time for amnesia that felines exist,
Kindness and joy at their fingertips,
Baby mice excitedly make lists,
To have many gifts when they insist.

© Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Ah, friends, dear friends, as years go by and heads get gray, how fast the guests do go! Touch hands, touch hands, with those that stay. Strong hands to weak, old hands to young, around the Christmas board, touch hands. The false forget, the foe forgive, for every guest will go and every fire burn low and cabin empty stand. Forget, forgive, for who may say that Christmas Day may ever come to host or guest again! Touch hands.”
― William Henry Harrison Murray, Holiday Tales: Christmas in the Adirondacks

“The Snowman by Stewart Stafford

My snowball heart is a sorbet,
With delusions of grandeur,
Use alcohol instead of snow,
And I'd make a fine iced liqueur.

My arrival and departure,
Are never certain things,
Wherever the North wind blows,
I descend on the iciest wings.

Here one day, gone the next,
My appearances are fleeting,
Then I'm disembodied by thaws,
Until our next frosty meeting.

© Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Dying Hours by Stewart Stafford

All debts were settled on Christmas Eve,
Fail to do so, and there’d be no reprieve,
In the dying flame of a guttering candle,
Monies got paid, and cash got handled.

When the last customer left to journey home,
Quinn, the shop owner, found himself alone,
He stared at pooling shadows, no one there,
Told himself to hurry, be with those who care.

As he closed up, something screamed out,
A figure from out of the dark began to shout,
A man with no eyes begged alms for the dead,
Or any old soup with a thick slice of bread.

Quinn said he was a business, not a charity,
The man’s eyes opened with some clarity,
“Very well,” the man said, “Nothing’s free,”
“I’ll drag your soul to Hell, come with me!”

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Happy Holidays (The Sonnet)

Spirit of Christmas doesn't grow on a fir tree,
Christmas blooms wherever the heart is hatefree.
Ramadan isn't fulfilled by feasting on some tasty beef,
The greatest of feast is haram if others go hungry.
Hanukkah's miracle isn't about the oil lasting 8 days,
Rather it's about the resilience of light amidst darkness.
Fireworks may be diwali for those still in kindergarten,
Everyday is diwali for an existence rooted in kindness.
The will to love and the will to lift are the backbone,
Of all human celebration, tradition and communion.
Take that fundamental will out of the equation,
All you have left are rituals without meaning and mission.
Fasting, feasting and decorating are step two of any festival.
First and foremost, at our altar within, we gotta light a candle.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Sin Dios Sí Hay Divinidad: The Pastor Who Never Was

“Old Friend, New Adventure by Stewart Stafford

Snow crept down, surprising,
Before the sun strolled, rising.
Monochrome in palatial white,
Teeth chattering in moonlight.

Overnight, all became frozen.
A cloud nine expedition chosen.
This boy came flying out of doors,
As a cat sprang with cold paws.

A man shadowed me in the dark.
As I sculpted him in the park,
Rolling a snowball until it grew,
And a snowman stood, born anew.

With a carrot nose and coal eyes,
Gazing at me through rictus guise,
This bright curve in an unlit sky
A silent friend to thaw the lies.

Then fleeing back inside,
To hot chocolate by the fireside,
Numb, red hands slowly came alive,
The joy of life, awoke and arrived.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Season's Bleatings by Stewart Stafford

I'm looking forward to Christmas,
As Nostradamus dreaded prophecy,
In place of war, famine, apocalypse,
I see spending, coveting and family.

Wandering through warm déjà vu,
In new ways with usual-faced folk,
Fat in an absent winter wonderland,
Goodwill to all men as you go broke.

A fever dream or a deep turkey coma?
St. Nicholas dripping presents around?
An eviction notice to vacate sobriety,
Consumerism and consumption unbound.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“For some, the tree lights, the falling snow, and the kind hellos can’t take away the emptiness—the hollow heart and the tears that flow. But Christmas brings forth a dazzling light so bright, a whisper of hope, the birth of a child so very long ago. To wipe the tears, erase the sorrow, and bring peace to the heart, so search the sky and seek the light; the dark will never win. Have faith in knowing he brings great joy for those who let him in.”
― Allene vanOirschot

“Dashing through the snow,
with a one track mind you slay!
None can blind your goal,
or force you go astray!

Stronger than the sleet,
bolder than the hail,
on you ride the waves,
daring through dismay!

Jingle bells, jingle bells,
jingle all the way –
all is sweet around you dear,
your absence makes it lay.

O, jingle bells, jingle bells,
jingle rings joy true.
Earth has plenty ancient art,
but the bravest art is you.”
― Abhijit Naskar

“The Christmas Child by Stewart Stafford

O this world’s resplendent beauty,
Halting breath of sheer mortal me,
Words in my throat pause freely,
My eyes overflow involuntarily.

Salted joy’s bittersweet reign.
Sculptors can your looks ne’er feign,
The greatest reward gifted to me,
Wrenched away in coldest larceny.

Death shall hold no fear, I say,
With your sweet face to light my way,
At precipice edge, a smitten retinue,
My beloved, restored, so we continue.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford