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Christmas Poetry Medley

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Little Bells of Christmas –Maggie Sorrells

Little bells
sound in the night so dark
Calling
leading us, showing the Way
Tiny bells
angels lighting our hearts
Singing
“Rejoice! We are reborn today!”
Tiny bells
round the little lamb’s head
Garlands
of music: the shepherds were led
By Starlight
that silvered the hay
Where Jesus
the Christ Child, God’s precious gift lay

 

The Christmas Miracle –Maggie Sorrels

“Come said the shepherds, come see the babe.
Born for us, so the angels say
In a stable small, in a manger laid
Come said the shepherds, come see the babe!”

But I had my goods for Bethlehem town
With so many tourists gathered around
I sold all my wares and rode off that day
Away from the miracle there in the hay…

“Come said the shepherds, come see the babe.
Born for us, so the angels say
In a stable small, in a manger laid
Come said the sepherds, come see the babe!”

But I had errands and wrapping to do,
Cooking and cleaning and more gifts to choose
And parties and cards and baking–no time
To fret over babes that weren’t even mine

“Come said the shepherds, come see the babe.
Born for us, so the angels say
In a stable small, in a manger laid
Come said the sepherds, come see the babe!”

The miracle lives, the evening sky sings
And the angels still watch over our King,
And shepherds stand silent outside the stall.
God gives second chances to one and all.

M. P. Sorrels was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi and grew up in New Orleans. Her mother was an artist but she credits her grandmother with encouraging her to weave tales, claiming her inherited talent is in painting picture with words. “Poetry is my canvass”. Ms. Sorrels has two self-published books of poem and currently resides in St. Tammany parish.

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Christmas Time –Collette Furlong

I love Christmas
Excitement and fun
Children’s laughter
Santa visits
Decorate the tree
Wrap the gifts
Snow underfoot
Letters up the chimney
Blazing fire
Hang the stockings
Irish coffee by the fire
Family and friends
Opening that first small gift
On Christmas eve
Memories to treasurer
Mistletoe and mulled wine
Carol singers, midnight mass
Sleigh bells ringing
Cosey fires, hot chocolate
Marshmallows melting
Christmas lights, Xmas train
Toy shop visits
Christmas dinner, all the trimmings
Party time, family visit

Collette Furlong. I am 60 years old. I am a mother and Grandmother. I have been a writer since 2015. I have had 2 stories published in our Local magazine and have read one story on local radio. I love to write short stories. Poetry is all new to me but love putting them together.

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MIRACLE IN BETHLEHEM –Russell MacClaren

God stirred the spark till it grew warm,
And stoked a fire behind still eyes,
Then breathed into a human form
The breath that fills the starry skies.

So from an ancient realm His soul
Was forged into a mortal shell,
And thus began His promised role,
Upon this earth to dream and dwell.

A Mother, fresh as virgin snow,
Was chosen for the humble birth,
To ease His passage here below
And help Him right the wrongs of earth.

The heralds of this happening,
The Lord’s sweet music did prolong.
On shepherd feet and angel wing,
They lent their voices to the song:

“Emmanuel, the Lord of Light,
A wanderer in this dark land,
Has come to give the blind their sight
And help deaf ears to understand.

“His kingdom is not of this earth
But lives within the heart of man
He bowed to show each soul its worth
And bring to pass God’s holy plan.”

 

 

THE MASTER POTTER’S CHRISTMAS –Russell MacClaren

Tonight the world is new again.
His star, a Father’s gift
hangs from vaulted ceiling,
shining on a manger scene.

Porcelain kings
lead the world
to a cradle
in the straw.

Stone angels
proclaim the miracle
from atop a radio
and from perches
on the shelves of books…

Ceramic shepherds
by a lighted tree
bow in wonder
at the glory
and the innocence.

Fragile sheep attend.
Doves coo from the eaves.
The farm house fills with looing
of the distant cattle.

From the tiny stall
a child’s glow
touches the world,
and hearts are light once more.

Author Russell MacClaren is a Writer and Poet.
You can reach him at his Facebook page

 

Christmas –Eve Brouwer

Boxes of gifts I’ve coveted.
From Saks, not Sears.
Fantasy costs.

Pure silk against my skin
Or is it nylon?
The truth filters in.

Warmth and kindness, love and cheer,
Revert next week.
That’ll be next year.

Fulfilling dreams, making memories
Respond children!
Help my fantasies!

Poinsettias, candles, mincemeat pie.
Don’t go in the kitchen….
Garbage piled high.

Pretend to love, to have, to be
For that one day
Bend your reality.

 Eve Brouwer

Eve Brouwer is a transplanted northerner. “In Chicago,” she says, “I wrote brisk press releases and full-of-wind advertisements and cold science textbooks. In Louisiana, I breathe thick air, clasp a sweaty pen, and on damp paper write tales of minor incidents and burning passions that propel us through our lives.

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I Am the Light and You Are Not –Henri André Fourroux III

A deacon lights the Advent wreath candles before Christmas:
purple, purple and rose.
I realize that He’s the Light and I’m not.
I thought I was the Light:
I saw light in my reflection in the mirror,
but that was not the Light.

Then I thought maybe I’m the wick that chars black
to testify of the Light, but I couldn’t bear the heat
and realized I was not.
Then I thought I was the tallow that fueled the Light:
maybe even bee’s wax, but I was not;
not even the animal fat sacrificed in the fire.
The privilege I expect prevents my empathy.

All I have are tears; all I have to offer,
but I won’t extinguish His Light.

He’s the Light and I’m not,
but I see no reason for me
to deny myself Light–
This Light which is His Light.

 

Number the Miracles –Henri André Fourroux III

Santa pulls toys from his bag to satisfy pleasures:
automobile to smartphone to the latest fad and fashion
until Boredom emerges from the sack
and scoffs with hollow frowns.

Krampus conjures a demon from his vial
to empower, to control freak and lay waste
Death whispers, “You shall outlive everyone.”

I seek the miracle of stars in the night sky;
they twinkle brighter
than the LED street lamps below.

A Father foretells the mercies his Son will bestow,
and a mother waits for her daughter to return
to care for their home.

These two shine like all the galaxy’s suns–

those sons and daughters and mothers and fathers.

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Thank you all for taking the time to read and comment on our Christmas poems and poetry.

To all of us at Beneath The Rainbow we wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

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