General Chat

That's lovely Elizabeth :-)

A very happy and peaceful Christmas to you and family from me and Dan xx

Dear Rambles

Hello

Here is my favourite one:

"When the Christmas candles are burned out,

the carols have gone,

the star is set,

all the radiant song filled night has passed.


Thou Alone, the Eternal, remains and Thou art enough.

Remain with us,

more beautiful,

more beloved and

more real,

than any of the romance that clusters around thy birthday."


Merry Christmas to you and your family, Rambles.

Take gentle care
Love Elizabeth, EOS
xx

Nudge for Christmas :-)

Christmas Bells







Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1864)








I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.


He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"

Major Henry Livingston Jr. (1748-1828)

:-) @ Mr. Daff

T’was the night Before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone,
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
And to see just who in this home did live,

I looked all about, a strange site did I see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree,
No stockings by the mantle, Just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of far distance lands.

With Medals and badges, Awards of all kinds,
A sober thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
I had found the home of a soldier once I could see clearly
I heard stories about them, I had to see more
So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.

The solider lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up in this, His one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder
Not how I pictured a Universal Solider.

Was this the War Hero of whom I’d just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
His head was clean shaven, his weathered face tan,
I soon understood this was more than a man.
I realized the families that I saw this night
Owed they’re lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world the children would play
And grownups celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
Because of these soldiers like the one lying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone
On a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye
Dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The Soldier awakened and I hear a rough voice,
“Santa don’t cry, this is my life my choice:
I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more
My life is my god, my country my Corps.”

The Solider rolled over and soon drifted to sleep
I couldn’t control it I started to weep.
I kept watch for hours. So silent and still
And we both shivered from the cold nights chill.

I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
And I covered this Soldier from his toes to his head.
And I put on his T-shirt of gray and black,
With an eagle and an Army patch embroidered on back.

And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
And for a shining moment, I was United States Army deep inside.
I didn’t want to leave on that cold dark night,
This guardian of honor, so willing to fight.
Then the Solider rolled over with a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, “Carry on Santa, Christmas Day, all is Secure”

One look at my watch and I knew he was right
Merry Christmas my friend and to all a good night.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGLI5qJCS7I

~~The Oxen~~

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

~~Thomas Hardy~~

lolol Rose, my sort of humour ;-)

lol Sue, daft but funny.......the poem, not you ;-)

For Christmas I bought my Auntie
A brand new wooden leg
I didn’t have it specially made
No I just got it off the peg
You may say it’s not a nice gift
Or even that it’s a killer
It wasn’t her main present though
It was just a stocking filler

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walking home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.
She'd been drinkin' too much egg nog,
And we'd begged her not to go.
But she'd left her medication,
So she stumbled out the door into the snow.
When they found her Christmas mornin',
At the scene of the attack.
There were hoof prints on her forehead,
And incriminatin' Claus marks on her back.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin' home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.

Now were all so proud of Grandpa,
He's been takin' this so well.
See him in there watchin' football,
Drinkin' beer and playin' cards with cousin Belle.
It's not Christmas without Grandma.
All the family's dressed in black.

And we just can't help but wonder:
Should we open up her gifts or send them back?

Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin' home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.

Now the goose is on the table
And the pudding made of fig.
And a blue and silver candle,
That would just have matched the hair in Grandma'swig.
I've warned all my friends and neighbours.
Better watch out for yourselves."
They should never give a license,
To a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin' home from our house, Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.

A little child,
A shining star,
A stable rude,
The door ajar.

Yet in that place,
so crude, folorn,
The hope of all the world was born.

And just as a conterpoint to that last verse I posted:


Twas Christmas Day in the workhouse
The Merriest Day of the year
The paupers and the prisoners were all assembled there.

In came the Christmas pudding
When a voice that shattered glass
Said: “We don’t want your Christmas pudding
So stick it with the rest of the unwanted presents”

The workhouse master then arose
And prepared to carve the duck
He said: “Who wants a parson’s nose?”
And the prisoners shouted: “You have it yourself sir.”

The vicar brought his bible
And read out little bits
Said one old crone at the back of the hall
“This man gets on very well with everybody”

The workhouse mistress then began
To hand out Christmas parcels
The paupers tore the wrappers off
And began to wipe their eyes, which were full of tears.

The master rose to make a speech
But just before he started
The mistress, who was fifteen stone,
Gave three loud cheers and nearly choked herself

And all the paupers then began
To pull their Christmas crackers
One pauper held his too low down
And blew off both his paper hat and the man’s next to him.

A steaming bowl of white bread sauce
Was handed round to some
An aged gourmet called aloud
“This bread sauce tastes like it was made by a continental chef”

Mince pie with custard was the next
And each received a bit
One pauper said: “This mince pie’s nice
“But the custard tastes like the bread sauce we had in the last verse!”

The mistress dishing out the food
Dropped custard down her front
She cried: “Aren’t I a silly girl?”
And they answered: “You’re a perfect picture as always Ma’am!”

“This pudding,” said the master
“Is solid, hard and thick
“How am I going to cut it?”
And a man cried: “Use your penknife sir, the one with the pearl handle”

The mistress asked the vicar
To entertain his flock
He said: “What would you like to see?”
And they cried: “Let’s see your conjuring tricks, they’re always worth watching”.

“Your reverence may I be excused?”
Said one benign old chap
“I don’t like conjuring tricks
“I’d sooner have a carol or two around the fire”

So then they all began to sing
Which shook the workhouse walls
“Merry Christmas!” cried the master
And the inmates shouted: “Best of luck to you as well sir!”

CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE WORKHOUSE
(A Poem by George R. Sims, 1847-1922)


It is Christmas Day in the workhouse,
And the cold, bare walls are bright
With garlands of green and holly,
Ad the place is a pleasant sight;
For with clean-washed hands and faces,
In a long and hungry line
The paupers sit at the table,
For this is the hour they dine.

And the guardians and their ladies,
Although the wind is east,
Have come in their furs and wrappers,
To watch their charges feast;
To smile and be condescending,
Put pudding on pauper plates.
To be hosts at the workhouse banquet
They've paid for — with the rates.

Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly
With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's!'"
So long as they fill their stomachs,
What matter it whence it comes!
But one of the old men mutters,
And pushes his plate aside:
"Great God!" he cries, "but it chokes me!
For this is the day she died!"

The guardians gazed in horror,
The master's face went white;
"Did a pauper refuse the pudding?"
"Could their ears believe aright?"
Then the ladies clutched their husbands,
Thinking the man would die,
Struck by a bolt, or something,
By the outraged One on high.

But the pauper sat for a moment,
Then rose 'mid silence grim,
For the others had ceased to chatter
And trembled in every limb.
He looked at the guardians' ladies,
Then, eyeing their lords, he said,
"I eat not the food of villains
Whose hands are foul and red:

"Whose victims cry for vengeance
From their dark, unhallowed graves."
"He's drunk!" said the workhouse master,
"Or else he's mad and raves."
"Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper,
"But only a haunted beast,
Who, torn by the hounds and mangled,
Declines the vulture's feast.

"I care not a curse for the guardians,
And I won't be dragged away;
Just let me have the fit out,
It's only on Christmas Day
That the black past comes to goad me,
And prey on my burning brain;
I'll tell you the rest in a whisper —
I swear I won't shout again.

"Keep your hands off me, curse you!
Hear me right out to the end.
You come here to see how paupers
The season of Christmas spend;.
You come here to watch us feeding,
As they watched the captured beast.
Here's why a penniless pauper
Spits on your paltry feast.

"Do you think I will take your bounty,
And let you smile and think
You're doing a noble action
With the parish's meat and drink?
Where is my wife, you traitors —
The poor old wife you slew?
Yes, by the God above me,
My Nance was killed by you!

'Last winter my wife lay dying,
Starved in a filthy den;
I had never been to the parish —
I came to the parish then.
I swallowed my pride in coming,
For ere the ruin came,
I held up my head as a trader,
And I bore a spotless name.

"I came to the parish, craving
Bread for a starving wife,
Bread for the woman who'd loved me
Through fifty years of life;
And what do you think they told me,
Mocking my awful grief,
That 'the House' was open to us,
But they wouldn't give 'out relief'.

"I slunk to the filthy alley —
'Twas a cold, raw Christmas Eve —
And the bakers' shops were open,
Tempting a man to thieve;
But I clenched my fists together,
Holding my head awry,
So I came to her empty-handed
And mournfully told her why.

"Then I told her the house was open;
She had heard of the ways of that,
For her bloodless cheeks went crimson,
and up in her rags she sat,
Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John,
We've never had one apart;
I think I can bear the hunger —
The other would break my heart.'

"All through that eve I watched her,
Holding her hand in mine,
Praying the Lord and weeping,
Till my lips were salt as brine;
I asked her once if she hungered,
And as she answered 'No' ,
T'he moon shone in at the window,
Set in a wreath of snow.

"Then the room was bathed in glory,
And I saw in my darling's eyes
The faraway look of wonder
That comes when the spirit flies;
And her lips were parched and parted,
And her reason came and went.
For she raved of our home in Devon,
Where our happiest years were spent.

"And the accents, long forgotten,
Came back to the tongue once more.
For she talked like the country lassie
I woo'd by the Devon shore;
Then she rose to her feet and trembled,
And fell on the rags and moaned,
And, 'Give me a crust — I'm famished —
For the love of God!' she groaned.

"I rushed from the room like a madman
And flew to the workhouse gate,
Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!'
And the answer came, 'Too late.'
They drove me away with curses;
Then I fought with a dog in the street
And tore from the mongrel's clutches
A crust he was trying to eat.

"Back through the filthy byways!
Back through the trampled slush!
Up to the crazy garret,
Wrapped in an awful hush;
My heart sank down at the threshold,
And I paused with a sudden thrill.
For there, in the silv'ry moonlight,
My Nance lay, cold and still.

"Up to the blackened ceiling,
The sunken eyes were cast —
I knew on those lips, all bloodless,
My name had been the last;
She called for her absent husband —
O God! had I but known! —
Had called in vain, and, in anguish,
Had died in that den — alone.

"Yes, there, in a land of plenty,
Lay a loving woman dead,
Cruelly starved and murdered
for a loaf of the parish bread;
At yonder gate, last Christmas,
I craved for a human life,
You, who would feed us paupers,
What of my murdered wife!"

'There, get ye gone to your dinners,
Don't mind me in the least,
Think of the happy paupers
Eating your Christmas feast;
And when you recount their blessings
In your smug parochial way,
Say what you did for me, too,
Only last Christmas Day."

Mistletoe

Walter de la Mare (1913)


Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen—and kissed me there.

Christmas in the snow


There’s a silence in the fields
A quiet before the storm
That rocks the world tonight
As a baby boy is born

A child in a war zone
A country under siege
No reason for rejoicing
No reason to believe

And yet, a strange uplifting
A quickening belief
That a miracle is happening
That joy replaces grief.

A child born to suffer
A young man soon to die
Leaving only fading words
And shadows in the sky.

Is it so impossible?
A leap of faith too far?
That God should send a message
Illumined by a star.

That one small babe existing
Two thousand years ago
Can still be found and worshipped
This Christmas in the snow.

:-) :-) :-) :-)

Talking Turkeys
by
Benjamin Zephaniah


Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.

Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
'I cannot wait for de chop',
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.

I once knew a turkey called...Turkey
He said "Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?",
I said "I am not too sure turkey
But it's nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash'.

Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey'll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends 'FOR LIFE'. "

Both secular and religious :-D add your favourite to get us in the Christmas/holiday spirit? ( you know the one, 'Goodwill to all men' ;-) )


I came across this one last night and liked it .

Christmas Present by Lois Duncan

"I saw the Ghost-of-Christmas Past
Glide by our lighted tree.
Her arms wee filled with dolls and toys,
And all were meant for me.
I sensed the rustle of her skirts.
Her blouse was trimmed with lace,
And when she turned to smile at me
She wore my mother's face.

Just as this vision slipped from sight
I heard my daughter call.
Wild footsteps clattered on the stair;
Shrill giggles filled the hall.
She burst into the gift- filled room
And squealed in glad surprise
And all the Christmases-to-come
Were mirrored in her eyes.

How swiftly fly the rainbow years,
Like splintered shafts of light,
As fragile as the gentle ghosts
Who whisper in the night.
I draw my child into my arms
And hold this moment fast
Against the time my face will be
Her Ghost-of-Christmas Past."