Quotes about holiday, page 12
Wise Men Still Find Him
Though He of course was there
They did not see Him at the mall
They did not find him at the big box stores
At least, not as they recall
The discount store was too crowded to search
Though He walked its aisles as well
The Hallmark store was a madhouse today
If He was there, they could not tell
They did not see Him standing outside
Though it was He who rung the bell
They thought they caught a glimpse of Him
When a stranger wished them well
At the restaurant with all tables full
They did not see Him among that crowd
Though many holiday parties they attend
His soft voice was lost among the loud
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poem by Mary Havran
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For Charity's Sake
'Oh dark-eyed maid,'
The soldier said,
'I've been wounded in many a fray,
But such a dart
As you shoot to my heart
I never felt till to-day.
Then give to me
Kisses, one, two, three,
All for dear Charity's sake.
And pity my pain,
And meet me again,
Or else my heart must break.'
Peggy was kind,
She would save the blind
Black fly that shimmered the ale,
And her quick hand stopped
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poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The three kisses
The Three Kisses ©
The kiss of hello
The kiss that is never just a kiss
The kiss that spikes vein with precision orchestra
The kiss that heals in entirety
The kiss that hides the relent of vex
The kiss that suffocates rusting man
The kiss without detail/ed system)
The kiss that pounds each pore to state of heroin
The kiss that Hiroshimates euphoria
The kiss that approximates/parallels living
The kiss only
The kiss, the kiss
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poem by Pziad Yasao
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Dewi Sri, the Goddes of Rice
In the frontyard and leftside of my grandpa house
When the padi harvests and holiday came
I certainly went to my grandpahouse
Where before and after the harvests we have a religiousmale together
We pray and praise the Lord
Through the smoke of incense up and up to the sky
And the wind brought its to people around the village
For avoiding disaster and thanks to
Dewi Sri, the Goddes of Rice (fertility goddes)
My partjob is waiting the rice in the place for drying
firewood, from morning till evening
Till its rice and firewood to become dry
While I saw some people were paced back and forth over the path
Beside my grandpahouse
To carry padis on the back after the harvest
With pureface
After they got part of their work during threemonth
In the ricefields
Wheter they have and havenot the ricefield
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poem by Prasetya Utama
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Beautiful Newport on the Braes o' the Silvery Tay
Bonnie Mary, the Maid o' the Tay,
Come! Let's go, and have a holiday
In Newport, on the braes o' the silvery Tay,
'Twill help to drive dull care away.
The scenery there is most enchanting to be seen,
Especially the fine mansions with their shrubbery green;
And the trees and ivy are beautiful to view
Growing in front of each stately home in the avenue.
There the little birds and beautiful butterflies
Are soaring heavenwards almost to the skies,
And the busy bees are to be seen on the wing,
As from flower to flower they hummingly sing,
As they gather honey all the day,
From flowery gardens of Newport on the braes o' the Tay.
And as we view the gardens our hearts will feel gay
After being pent up in the workshop all the day.
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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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I Smelled Him In My Pillow
He wore a cologne that made my heart stop
like rain on a sunny day in a coming spring.
His voice was soothing,
mystical: Billie Holiday,
getting ready to sing.
I smelled him in my pillow the next night.
Hours after he left with hugs
that seemed to offer future promises.
His taste, his touch,
his gaze,
too untrustworthy for me to ever wallow in.
Alone, I still contemplated what could never be.
Lifestyles far too different; too complex,
But still refused to listen
or to see.
I knew it would end,
but still hoped to be the girl somehow written for the script.
Accepting false precisions,
I had given up on all fortitude,
essentially lost my grip.
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poem by Dylan Rivera
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Christmas At Its Best
To know Christmas at its best, you must come to Christ and rest,
Far from that weary holiday time, into that Light, which is sublime,
For a real meaning to this season, one with a true spiritual reason,
Beyond the songs this world sings, to The Lord of Eternal Things.
Away from all that holiday rush, God brings upon the soul a hush,
Quieting both the heart and mind, to find that gift of another kind,
This really is that special gift, not gained by one’s shopping thrift,
The Gift provided by God’s Grace, one in which you gain by faith.
Men only need to rest and pause, ignoring trees and Santa Claus,
Looking for the deeper meaning, as they seek a spiritual gleaning,
From the unmatched Gift of love, presented by The Father above,
As He presented to men His Son, the Gift from God for everyone.
The Gift of God’s Son Jesus Christ, truly changes a receiver’s life,
Unlike any other gift on this earth, Christ gives to one a New Birth,
Born Again of The Spirit of God, while present on this earthly sod,
Born from above into God’s Family, not for a season but eternally.
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poem by Bob Gotti
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Twelve Christmas Angels a Christmas Poem
Twelve Christmas angels met
Up near the Milky Way;
To discuss why joy was missing,
From the Christmas holiday.
It gave them so much sadness,
As they tracked the negative trend;
So each decided to do their part,
To bring this madness to an end.
Angel one would touch memories,
Reminding of the blessings of life;
Angel two would tenderize hard hearts,
Removing bitterness and strife.
Angel three would gather families,
From far reaches of the earth;
Then stir feelings of love and peace,
Giving hope and joy new birth.
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poem by Loyd C. Taylor
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Antidote for J.T.Ellison
Before me lies a narrow road
with hedges, high on either side.
With only sunlight for my load
I am content to boldly stride
I care not where the road may lead
but I am sure it leads somewhere.
That’s knowledge that I do not need
I am not burdened down by care.
For two whole weeks I am quite free.
I chose a walking holiday.
There is so much I wish to see.
How could there be a better way
The sun is warming on my back.
My shadow always runs ahead
on metalled roads or dusty track
and I must follow where I’m led.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Drowning the Sea
My walls shudder and the persiennes rustled
Whispering secrets to each other
And tingling my curiosity
To open the portmanteaux
Where I have stashed the tides
With surges I cannot defeat
But I would not let myself deplete
Into the seductions of the ocean
And her airborne secrets
Your tides, they were pristine and feral
And I had pleasured myself
From the delusive consoles
Catching it in my palms
Like a paramour's hand
In spite of the saltiness of your fingers
That would detour from my frantic clasp
Filleting my hopes, every time
Until I gladly drown with all that I have
In your sympathy
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poem by Norman Santos
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