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Christmas Poetry By Ken Allan Dronsfield

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This Christmas poetry authored by Ken Allan Dronsfield hearkens back to his childhood and invokes meaningful Christmas memories of family and love.

The drift in a Christmas Snow Globe

As I gaze through the glass of the snow globe.
My mind drifts away and I find myself there skating.
Through the snow flakes, and the bonfire’s glow
mugs of cocoa with tiny marshmallows waiting.
The vision of my girlfriend, wearing her red coat
with faux fur around the hood and white mittens,
knitted hat and long white scarf cover her throat
skating along the pond, her blond hair in ribbons.
Moving along with grace in my old black skates
I race along the pond, trying to catch up with her
finally getting close, I call out, then she hesitates
I fly on by, trip, land on my butt, hitting with a blur.
I can hear her giggling with glee from behind me,
but I suddenly wake from my daydream vision
still standing there, globe in hand, I leave it be,
smiling, thankful for memories of loves adoration.

 

Remembrance of Tinsel

Flowing grace, waving in the breeze like crowds at a ball game.
Back-lit with colored lights and silvery tinted strands of delicious
tidings of tinsel. Branches sway in unison to gusty williwaws whilst
the blinking and chasing lights danced their favorite minuets.
Greetings cards adorned the fireplace mantle and stockings
hung patiently waiting for treats from the great man in red.
Mom’s favorite chocolate chip cookies graced an oval plate,
a fresh glass of milk with napkin and carrots for Rudolph.
Those memories are burned into every fiber of my being. Even
the scent of the pine incense burning in a holder on the old desk
igniting the atmosphere of hopes and dreams for a young child.
A toboggan in the corner, skis’ colorful packaged gifts all about.
The laughs, the giggles, the tears and jovial smiles. We ran from
the house in the morning to check the roof for landing sled marks.
The mysterious visitor always kept silent and never revealed
his presence, except in the lovely memories left on Christmas Day.

 

Wassailing

Deep into the temperatures falling
crave the snow-whitened pines
The holidays then came proclaiming
Winter shall bring out the woolens.
I threw my slippers upon the floor
craving the cheaper, chthonian cat.
But in the fact that it was growling
friskily overplaying, overplaying.
Which then came sleighing, sleighing,
I screamed, ‘was that a Christmas carol?’
“It’s Wassailing!” they muttered.
Jack frost – nipping, nipping, nipping!
Then came gifting, gifting, gifting!
I threw my sisters dollhouse on the floor,
and so she pitched an extended fit of crying.
I love the wintry winter solstice
craving the frigid, frostian festiveness
as the New Year plays forgiveness
the warm eiderdown never forgets!

 

My Mother’s Angel

She sat majestically atop the Christmas tree
hair of gold
buttons sparkling
dress of white lace
her wings a silver hue

I watched each year
her being placed
with loving care
upon the tree.

My mother standing back telling Dad,
no, to the left,
now right,
forward.

The years have now come and gone
Mom and Dad have passed away;
the Angel sits alone in her box
her dress dirty and worn
hair frizzy & unkempt
buttons don’t shine.

Memories are made and then put away
as we remember this Christmas Day,
just like Mom’s beautiful Angel
memories never betrayed
shining so very bright
each Christmas.

Christmas poetry

 

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