Funny Christmas Poems | When Will You Make Your First Christmas Poem?

“The Christmas Eve is about to come, just about three more weeks.


I can now feel the atmosphere of Christmas knocking the door in every corner of this city, through the cold beautiful snowflake, through the vivid life of the gathering fireplace, through the peaceful music of the Christmas carol and through the joy in every faces that I encounter on the busy road. Everything has prepared itself for this incoming Christmas. It seems like your sons and daughters are on the way back to their hometown tonight, right?”


“Yes, I miss them very much. You know, my family don’t have much chance to gather together, my point is, my children lives far from me. They only return on Christmas, it seems like they’re only free this period in year. I want to welcome them by something special, I mean, something can give them lots of fun and laughter. But I still have no idea thought spending the entire year thinking.”
“Is that so? Then why don’t you compose some funny Christmas poems when waiting for their return, my old buddy?”
“I’ve never thought of it, my pal. It’s the way too hard for me to do. I don’t think a retired blacksmith can do such a thing. Into the field of literature, I have almost no experience at all”
“You don’t have to be a poet to do something like a Christmas poems. It’s the way very easy.
“Don’t joking, pal. My mind hasn’t exploded yet?”
“I’m not joking, Bruno. My elder brother, a retired shop assistant, always composes Christmas poems as a gift for his beloved nieces and nephews. He told me recently that all his poems were not as good as others composed by literacy people, but his family loved them indeed. He thought the most important thing is sincere”
“.It’s worth considering, my friend. Maybe I start my first poem tomorrow.”
“Ha ha! Don’t joking pal. My mind hasn’t exploded yet?”
“I’m not joking, Tom. I’ll make my own one right now!”
So, when will you make your first one?
It looks like the Christmas is coming to town. Merry Christmas!



Meaning Has No Meaning Without Love ~ By Dimitri Shostakovich

Meaning has no meaning without love,
Elevating sentience to desire.
Reason has no reason to approve
Revelation unsustained by fire.
Yearn, then, with the recklessness of burning,
Coming hungry to the Christmas table,
Holding tight the objects of your yearning,
Ready to find kings within the stable.
In you there is a love that brings to being
Such beauty as you cannot hope to see,
Too simple and too glorious for seeing,
Making it a sacrament to be.
As love gives wings their will and words their song,
So may it give you faith your whole life long.


Nothing Is, but What Is Evident ~ By Arnolt Schlick



Nothing is, but what is evident.
In truth, the truth appears but to the eye.
Could one but understand what might be meant,
Opening one's heart to pure intent,
Love the answer to one's what or why,
Angels would towards Bethlehem be bent:
So one might believe, though gingerly.


THE FIRST CHRISTMAS - LOVE WAS THERE



When neither kings nor kin were there,
it mattered little, Mary Love,
just who was there or anywhere,
for Love Itself, for Love was there.

Full many were dismayed a King
could not afford more royal wear,
have nobles by, and glittering spears,
and a crown of gold for His hair.

No senates came with tribute due,
the most of men seemed not to care,
It mattered little, Mary Love,
for Love Itself, and you, were there.


Christmas Market by Mike Harding



Tall, White-haired in her widows black
My Nana took me, balaclavad from the cold,
To where stalls shimmered in a splash of gold,
Buttery light from wind-twitched lamps and all
The Christmas hoards, were heaped above my eyes,
A shrill cascade of tinsel set to fall
In a sea of shivering colours on the frosty
Foot packed earth. I smelt the roasted nuts,
drank syrupy sarsaparilla in thick glasses far
Too hot to hold and chewed a liquorice root
That turned into a soggy yellow brush. The man
Who wound the barrel organ let me turn
The handle and I jangled out a tune -
And 'Lily of Laguna' spangled out into the still night air
And would go on spinning through the turning years.

Then we walked home, I clutching a bright tin car
With half men painted on the windows, chewed a sweet
And held her hand as she warmed mine,
One glove lost turning the chattering music.
And I looked up at the circus of the stars
That spread across the city and our street
Coated now with a Christmas cake layer of frost
And nobody under the stars I thought
Was half of a half of a half as happy as me.