Established in May 2011 by Marie Elena Good and Walter J Wojtanik, to help nurture and inspire the poetic spirit.


There’s no mistaking the fact, that 2020 was a wild ride. With the constant threat of the Covid-19 virus and the other madness we’ve encountered, it’s time we look for a new direction in this life journey. Certainly, we can all be better people to each other, reaffirm our faith, enjoy life and the people in our realm of influence. We can become better poets and find our betterment through our expression.

But direction is direction. I’m talking compass direction. Choose one and use that as your inspiration for this week’s poem. It could be a direction away from someplace or toward somewhere. It could be something incorporated into a song or book or movie title. Wherever you want to be, there you go!



I put my feet up
and sip down hot tea,
then fall fast asleep.
(That doggone T.V!)

I climb up the stairs
and head down the hall,
then into my bed
I sluggishly crawl.

Too soon I wake up,
‘cause I have to pee.
*sigh* Back down the hall …
(That doggone hot tea!)

© Marie Elena Good, 2021



The end of the line.
Or the beginning. Bringing point A
to point B and all points South.
From an era where the rails rarely failed
and Iron Horses sailed on wings of diesel.
And steam. It was a dream of mine
to have seen those bygone days,
in which architecture was considered art and
tile, leather and chrome found a home for it.
Built up when bottoms were about to fall out,
a bout of depression to serve as a lesson
and trains were the only way to go.
My favorite art-deco stands as a remembrance
and offers a chance to recapture that feeling.
Stealing dreams in the high polished gleam of the time.
But, is the end of the line always
Terminal? Not the end, my friends!

© Walter J Wojtanik


As we nurture our words and poetic efforts, we seek to branch out in all directions in the hope that our modest attempts at poetry touches someone who needs to hear what we have to say at that precise moment. It is why we pen poetry in the first place, isn’t it? And since this is “the best garden for verse (poetry)”, it is fitting that we find strength and inspiration in the stem of our existence. The branch can hold many connotations in nature (tree branch), everyday (bank branch), personal (genealogy – family tree, reaching to achieve).

So this week we ask that you make that stretch and “branch out” into this still fledgling year and begin your new (but rekindled) journey into the poetic process. Write a “branch” poem. Even if you just include the word in a line, you’ve satisfied our prompt!


 (An American Sentence)

When the time comes to branch out, we mustn’t fear going out on a limb.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021



Beverly Dyer's original painting "Cardinal."
Beverly Dyer’s original painting “Cardinal.”

You’re on my branch.
You had the chance to land
here where I stand.
The view is sweet,
tweet, tweet. Tweet, tweet!
We seem to be a diverse lot,
I see across the open plot
of land where groups of us
are segregated. There’s sparrows
underneath the tree,
and robins in the clearing,
some cardinals held aloft,
softly singing their song,
that is the sound we’re hearing.
The talk of hawks does circulate
as they circle high above,
we need to keep the small ones safe,
it’s the tasty ones they love.
There goes “Johnny one note”, his chirp
is so annoying. It is invasive to this place;
and the peace we’ve been enjoying.
The sun, it warms before the storm,
but  we’ll soon be moving on
as seasons change. And one by one
they’ll take to wing, some will remain
to bask and sing, and I will sit
a wee bit more here on my branch –
a chance to just exist; to be.
To see the world from high in this tree.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik



It’s a brand new year. A fresh start, a new beginning. James Brown sang “get up on the good foot!” I say get off on the right foot. We’re heading in the right direction starting today. Some will say nothing has changed except the calendar year, but that’s a matter of attitude and perspective. Let’s take a positive step forward and keep pacing toward a great year.

So, Let’s get ready to launch. We’re blasting off for another great year of poeming here at POETIC BLOOMINGS! Write a LAUNCH poem and set a course for expressiveness!



It’s time to unveil
a new year. Inhale fresh air,
and care for what’s there.

Let my voice take wing
to sing in the key of peace.
May mercy increase

where now there are chains.
Where cold-heartedness remains,
may warmth fill my veins.

Let love with no caps
gush compassion, not rationed
in morsels or scraps.

Make me teachable
and easily reachable
when You wish to speak.

Please help me seek You.
In new ways through this new year,
help me feel You near.

© Marie Elena Good, 2021




We view the horizon,
vistas that beckon us,
calling us, “come walk with us”
a simple destination in this journey
of life’s undertaking.
There is no mistaking,
the master plan from the beginning
that has us winning the race.
A sure and steady pace,
launched one step at a time!

© Walter J. Wojtanik

PROMPT #318 – Hindsight is 2020

While Santa Walt takes a much-needed break to enjoy time with his family, I told him I (Marie) will take care of this morning’s prompt.  I’m not the experienced prompter Walt is.  So, this being the last week of 2020, I went with the obvious. 😉

They say hindsight is 20\20. Let’s look back (try not to cringe!) over this year, and find something good. Look back over this year and share something good in your own life. Perhaps look back through the news to find something encouraging that was deemed newsworthy.  

Just can’t get yourself to think with any kindness on 2020? Alternatively, look back over your own body of poetry written this year. Share one with us you thought was particularly good, and use it as inspiration to write a second.

If our fearless leader finds the time, he may join us (and that would be good!). If not, we’ll look forward to his usual mid-week antics! It’s all good. 😉

Marie Elena’s Attempt:

ON 2020

This year destroyed us.
I’ll never be convinced that
We can survive this.

There’s no going back.
I know it. So don’t tell me
Better times will come.

God no longer cares.
Hear me. Do not believe that
God is in control.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

This poem is 3 stanzas.  Each stanza has 17-syllables (5/7/5).  This is my first ever attempt at a Reverse format poem. (Read the poem from the top line, down … and then read it from the bottom line, up.)


Clement Clarke Moore – 1779-1863

‘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 our brains 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 head, 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.”

Read some special messages from Santa as he delivered presents to children  around the world - Daily Record


An annual event – Here is our holiday interview from the past – a tradition we like to share (with a few new poems by the man himself!)…

WALT:  Imagine our surprise when Marie received confirmation  to schedule an interview with Father Christmas himself. Frankly, I didn’t think she had that kind of pull, but apparently her reputation preceded her ( plus it didn’t hurt that her name is Good). So as our gift to all of our diligent poets, we present you with Marie’s interview. Thankfully, ’tis the time, and ’tis the season…



SANTA:  Ho, ho, ho … ‘tis indeed!

MARIE ELENA:  I can’t believe it’s you!  Honestly, I totally expected one of your helpers to stand in for you today. I just can’t thank you enough for taking time for this interview.   I’m downright dizzy with delight!  And where are my manners?  I haven’t even introduced you.  Oh, who am I kidding. You clearly do not need an introduction – just a warm, come-sit-with-me welcome!

SANTA: Marie, Marie – I say it twice, because on my list you’re very nice! Thank YOU for taking the time to give this jolly old soul the chance to chat. You make me feel like Old King Cole! Ho-ho-ho!  And you are most welcome! I handle all interviews myself. I always take time to get to know those who hold Christmas dear. I guess that gives me an edge over your poetic partner. I got to see that smile in person. Walt, if you ever get the opportunity, I highly recommend it!

But yes, we’re in full swing up here in Caribou Corners. I’ll bet you didn’t know that this little piece of Heaven had a name! The “North Pole” is really just a demarcation for the center of all this activity. Look around you! There’s an electricity to this place. Makes my heart glow even brighter!

MARIE ELENA:  Oh by gosh, by golly – you learn something new every day!  Obviously, this most-wonderful-time-of-the-year is the busiest season of all for you.  How are the preparations going?

SANTA:  After a well-deserved summer hiatus, my crew had kicked things into gear in mid-September. The shelves are filling rapidly and I couldn’t be more proud. We surpassed our quota by Thanksgiving Day (my SECOND favorite day, by the way). That’s the day that I start to seriously fill out my suit! But, we have added more seasonal workers this year. And since the season actually runs 365 days, that’s sort of a misnomer! But, we’ll be working right down to the last second. An eleventh-hour reprieve from Santa carries a lot of weight! But then again, SO DO I! HO-HO-HO! We’ll be ready. Will you be ready?


I don’t know why I’m the guy that
always works right to the point
of no return. It’s not that I yearn
for the excitement or challenge,
(although they do entice) it’s nice
to think that my efforts are rewarded,
by the smiles am I awarded.

But, I aim to please, for these are the times
that try my soul. I need to get it right,
right up to the night I take flight.
When I’m getting past the last details,
it never fails that I forget things in urgency,
(but, I always carry extras, in case of emergency).
And I hold this reverent spark tucked

into my parka that fuels me, drives me,
and keeps my ever loving heart pulsing.
Each child knows that an ember burns within them
every December, for as long as I remember,
they’ve made my job worth doing on that night.
Like I’ve said, I need to get it right,
right up to the night I take flight.

I don’t know why I’m the guy that
always works right up to the point
of no return. It’s just the way I roll.
Ready? No! But, I’m in control.
I am Santa Claus.


MARIE ELENA:  You just gave away a little-known secret Walt and I have been privy to for a few years:  You enjoy writing poetry.  In fact, he and I have been quite impressed with your work.  Others can find more of it at your blog, I Am Santa Claus (http://iamsantaclaus.wordpress.com/) So, Santa, please tell our readers what drew you to poetry.  And will you please share with us one of your most beloved self-authored poems in your favorite poetry form?

SANTA: That’s so nice of you to say, Marie. Remember, I’ve had centuries to perfect our craft. Yet, I feel like I’m just starting to come into my own, poetically speaking. Poetry does have its allure, as you and Walt have come to find. It speaks to me in special ways. It’s like a great tag line from a heart-felt Christmas card. It warms you. Comforts you. I love rhyme and the way words and sounds take a melodic tone that I can’t stop reciting or repeating. Poems are Christmas Carols without the distracting background music!

My favorite poetic form would be the SASTINA. I’m aware that Walt (who is working up from being naughty) has an affinity for the SESTINA. Well, a SASTINA is just like a SESTINA, except they’re almost always about me, Santa. Besides, SASTINA is an anagram. Rearranged it reads: SANTA IS (shameless plug) <:o)>

One of my favorites?  Hmmm…


(Another Santa Sestina)

Up on the housetops I stop and the man in red
heads down another chimney. All the imagery you believe,
will not deceive if you keep an open heart.
And for their part, the reindeer dance and prance above
and our labor of love continues. For it is the Magic of Christmas.
And from the North Pole to the Panama Isthmus, I, Santa

accept the mantle of the season, pleasing the way only Santa
can. This is my quest; the best promise ever read:
“To be a lasting symbol of the love this magical Christmas
time brings. All I ask is that you believe.
When you hear a jingle faintly up above,
know that I have seen the goodness in your heart.

And nestled in that and every heart
is the pulse of a true Santa,
this man whose reindeer fly to near and far up above.
If you truly feel the love, and you were bred
to be giving and compassionate, I believe
that you can be an Ambassador of Christmas.
We reach a little deeper at Christmas,
for it is within the fullness of our hearts
that we can find some magic in which to believe.
One needn’t be a jolly bearded Santa
to achieve it. If you believe it and look good in red,
it is said you will be blessed from above.
Up on the house tops, there above
the chimney I float in my red coat and enough Christmas
to fill your stockings and tread
softly with love and joy in my heart,
working the magic any good Santa
would to make you believe.
Do you? Do you believe?
Do you believe in my reindeer up above?
Do you believe in all that I, Santa
presents to the world each and every Christmas?
And will you carry that Christmas magic in your heart
as long as your blood flows bright red?
I only wear red so it would be easy for you to believe,
that I place a good and loving heart above material wealth.
Without Christmas, I would be at a loss. I am Santa Claus.

MARIE ELENA:  Wow.  A wonderful Sastina it is!  (And between you and me, I’m working hard on that whole “Walt working up from being naughty” thing. It’s a tough job, but … well, you know …).  😉

MARIE: My curiosity:  Why crimson?  (Not that you don’t look GREAT in it.)

SANTA: And who wouldn’t look great in it? I’ll explain…


Maybe it’s just my nature.
My charade has made me one of the ones
who looks at every curse as a gift.
And I can always tell which ones are good;
it doesn’t take a detective to solve that mystery.
Failure would turn my face a vivid crimson;
the redder, the better. The fact is, I look good in crimson.
You can’t find this shade anywhere else in nature.
This veiled mystery
is a puzzle I can’t keep to myself. But, it’s not one
that even pure-hearts who are deemed as good
would receive as an unexpected gift.
For no matter what it is I give,
those worthy would want nothing more from this crimson
clad lad smelling of holly and living the good
life. I came from the same place as Mother Nature
and the furry Easter thing. Sorry to boast, I am loved by the little ones.
My identity remains a poorly kept mystery.
I bask in the glow of Borealis; another beautiful mystery.
Seeing this phenomenon daily is a blessing; a gift
never returned or re-gifted. Truly one
to share with all from the bottom of my crimson
heart. I’m a list maker by nature
and I constantly check to make it twice as good.
I can deal with bad, and I can appreciate how hard it is to be good.
I have a well-known history; it’s more myth than mystery.
These are the facts as they’ve always been. I love nature.
An excited smile is the best gift
that was ever given to this Crimson
Crusader! I’ve saved every one.
Each New Year has the potential to be one of the best ones.
It is a real joy to do this much for the sake of good.
From the snow-capped forest green, to this tunic most crimson,
my disguise does not lend itself to mystery.
If you truly trust me, maybe I’ll leave a special gift.
As I’ve stated, it is in my nature.
Human kindness is human nature. That’s rule number one.
Two: Every gift from the heart is especially good.
Three, is really no mystery. I am Santa Claus. Believe in the man in crimson!

MARIE ELENA: Most of the stories about you include elves, who supposedly help you make and distribute the toys.  Is that just make-believe?  Or do they really exist?

SANTA: Do they really exist? Am I Santa Claus? The key to your “make-believe” line is the “BELIEVE” part. The answer is a resounding YES to both questions. They may be small in stature, but no one’s heart is bigger than an elf’s.  Their work is selfless and their dedication is flawless. There is no supposing in anything they do. Without them, Caribou Corners would be a very dreary place. Elves have great senses of humor and are indeed very cantankerous. But when that work chime intones, they’re all business! Their eyes sparkle and there is a determination that is life-confirming! And when an elf sings…well, there’s no sweeter sound in the world!  Tannenbaum, my publicist (who is himself of elf descent), has this poem he uses to explain elves:


If you want to keep your knee caps,
“dwarves” aren’t what you call us chaps.
Small folk is a little vague,
like small pox was a little plague.

They call us elves, we fill the shops,
(a few are even traffic cops),
but mostly, we are proud toy makers,
and rather tasty cookie bakers.

We help Santa this time of season,
we need the work; he has his reasons.
Our craftsmanship is far superior,
although our height is quite inferior.

But he’s glad to have us on his team,
it’s exuberance that makes us beam.
If not for us, his job gets tougher.
We’re dedicated; not one a “slougher.”

Working hard to make your Christmas,
from up here on this merry isthmus.
In this place of endless joy
every single girl and boy

knows our legend. They love this time
and hold us in their hearts and minds.
We elves love children, as it is told
although we’re three hundred and six years old.

He is Santa Claus. We’re his elves.
We hold high opinions of ourselves.

So, watch your knees!

MARIE ELENA:  Hahaha!  Cute, mischievous little rascals!

A global Christmas Eve tradition is to leave a little something for Santa to munch on. So here’s your opportunity, Santa:  What types of Christmas Eve snacks do you prefer?  Should we continue leaving cookies and milk?  Anything else?

SANTA:  I’ll simply put it into verse:


I have a confession
about my obsession,
I’m a connoisseur you see.
For throughout my travels
I just have to marvel
at the cookies left out for me.
Anzac Biscuits, Speculaas,
Spitzbuben, Palmeras;
with a glass of skim milk are heavenly!
Danske Smakager, Pfeffernüsse,
keep me round and quite obüsse,
filling my parka, perfectly.

Torta Fregolotti and Biscotti,
Kolaczki and Krusczyki;
I eat them all because they’re free.
Nanaimo Bars, Kipferl,
Piparkakut all taste swell
and smell delicious, Golly Gee!
But, I love two cookies both the same,
for me, these two just sing my name.
say them aloud and you’d agree,
Kringlas and Fatt(ig)mann are named after me.
So now to take my Cookie Pause,
(I can because I am Santa Claus).
(Whispering) And I love a great chicken wing!

MARIE ELENA:  I must say, that was simply awesome! Here – try a Pizzelle.   It’s a lightly sweet, traditional Italian cookie that looks like a snowflake.  Right up your alley.

Santa, you travel the entire world in one night, year after year.  Do you have a spot dearest to your heart – someplace you’d like to linger, instead of rushing through like lightning?

SANTA: (Pauses contemplatively) There is this moment in my travels where a bright star appears and leads me to a place that is so peaceful and serene. The reindeer and I hover over this spot in reverence, because it is my preference to do so. In that precise moment, all war ceases, all children are protected, homeless mothers and their families are safe, and warm and well fed. No crimes are committed, and if you blink – you would miss it. If every day could hold just an hour of that, this world would be a more special place.

But then, Dorothy Gale expressed it the best: “There’s no place like home!” I love to travel to all the corners of the world. But doing it all in one night is essential. It means I get home faster. I and the Missus love a quiet Christmas day together. (Well, she and I and about 17,000 of our diminutive dependents!)

MARIE ELENA:  “Diminutive dependents”  – giggle, giggle.   And speaking of “the Missus,” we know so little about Mrs. Claus.  What can you tell us about her?

SANTA: Ah,  Mrs. C is a very special lady! She doesn’t get enough credit for keeping this weary old Santa going year after year. She is my strength and my purpose. She is the spirit of Christmas personified.



Patiently she waits.
She knows I planned on going out;
I do every year. And it is here
that she waits. Her eyes still
twinkle after all this time
and I’m sure her smile will await me,
when I’m done globe trotting.
It’s not suspicion that keeps her
planted by the hearth; where else on earth
would she rather be? It keeps her as warm
as a big cozy hug, toasting her frigid toes
and melting her heart for my return.
The logs burn, and I yearn for my traveling
to cease, and desist this all night party.
This North Pole girl is hearty; she loves the cold
and this Jolly Old Man, doing all that she can
to keep me in this Christmas game.
She’s my missus; she calls me Mr. “C.”
But to me, she gives my heart great pause.
And it’s all because…I am Santa Claus.

MARIE ELENA:  Without divulging any “must keep” secrets, how do you keep track of who has been naughty, and who has been nice?

SANTA: The speculation is that there is a BIG book and all the names are listed and I check off the good and scratch out the bad. There’s no real secret, Marie. iHave iList on my iTouch. There’s an “app” for that! But, there is a misconception about the whole naughty/nice debate. Every New Year you get a clean slate. Your conscience puts you on the list. The decision is yours to make. A clear conscience is nice; a guilty one, not so. There is a cumulative effect. And those who are habitually bad year after year are assigned to do infomercials for an eternity. My advice? You better be good for goodness sake!

MARIE ELENA:  Speaking of naughty or nice, our little Sophia (who Walt lovingly refers to in the Polish “Zosia”) has been extraordinarily good, for a nearly two-year-old.  Do you have something special in mind for her?

SANTA: An extraordinarily good, nearly two-year-old? Do they still make those? Well, I’m glad to hear it. How would Sophie look with pointy ears? They’re never too young to recruit, you know! Marie, I do have something special in mind for little Zosia Róża, but she’ll have to wait until Christmas morning, just like every one else!

MARIE ELENA:  *sigh*  I guess I better not pout.  So, moving on, how did you get this gig?  Do you think you’ll ever retire?

SANTA: An old classmate and friend, Marv Levy (former Buffalo Bills coach) used to have this saying, “When you start talking about retirement, you already have.” Being Père Noël is like being a Supreme Court Justice, but better. I’m Santa for life. I’ve been doing this bit for six-hundred some years myself; at this time of year, I am the final arbiter!


(an excerpt)

…There came a time when my father
could no longer man Grandfather’s chair.
He had turned frail, and weak,
not a big man anymore. Not even
when he sat in the chair.
He called me to his bedside.
I came to stand near his feet,
searching his old steel blue eyes.
The twinkle had faded,
and his nose held his glasses aloft.
He gazed at me and said,
“Climb up here young man!”
And his smile shined upon my face
with me by his side, rumor has it.
My father didn’t have to ask
the age old question, he just said
“You’re a good man, son.”
At that moment I was glad that
some family traditions never
change over the years.
I nodded solemnly accepting
that I had become that.
“I need you to see what you can do!”
he said. Then, he’d roll
his head toward the candy jar,
I handed him a striped cane
and held one finger crossing my lips.
He knew what this meant,
I’d let him have one,
but he had to be quiet about it.
My Grandfather and Father handed down
the mantle which I have accepted gladly.
Coming from a long line of large men,
I was now a large man, quite jolly,
every time children would visit me,
I would be seated in Father’s… er, my chair.
It was a big chair for a big man.
The younglings would stand near my feet,
gazing up at my warm blue eyes.
They twinkled when I winked,
and my nose wrinkled when I’d think.
I would always say,
“Climb up here little one!”
And their smiles would light up
like Aurora Borealis, rumor has it.
And I always asked if they
were behaving themselves. That was
something everyone in my family
always asked over the years.
“Been good?” I’d size them up.
A shy nod came, leaving no doubt
that they had. “OK, I’ll take care of you”
I would always laugh. Then, I’d tilt
my head toward Grandpa’s old candy jar,
and hold two fingers across my lips.
This meant, take two and be quiet about it.
I am Santa Claus. Like my Father before me,
and his Father before him.
And that meant I could change the rules!

MARIE ELENA:  Some say you and St. Nicholas are one-and-the-same.  Is there truth to this rumor?

SANTA:  Let’s look at the facts and you decide: St. Nicholas was a bishop in his church and was always depicted wearing red as a designation of such. Nicholas sported a long white beard and he always had gifts for the good children of the villages he would visit: coins, marbles, small toys, maybe pieces of fruit… a little something. The Dutch children couldn’t pronounce St. Nicholas’ name very well and the resulting sound ran together as Sinterklaas. He was a patron of children.

And me? I wear red and have a white beard. I bring gifts to the good children. My name is Santa Claus. If you said we were one and the same, you would be partially right in that I had patterned my life after St. Nicholas. But, he died in 343 AD. I’m just a jolly old guy who is still very much alive in the hearts of many.

MARIE ELENA:  There seems to have been a severe secularization of this season. Forgive me if this is too controversial a question, but where do you think you fit into the celebration of the birth of Jesus?

SANTA: Ah, the Jesus question. First of all, I’m a true believer! And I always love when this question is asked – it’s as if people think Jesus and I are in competition for this whole Christmas scene. But, notice something:  It’s not called Clausmas. It sounds trite, but He is the season’s reason. It is Christ’s celebration, and I am one of the heartiest of revelers in this cause. I have become a representative symbol of all that the Christ espoused. Love, charity, hope and the belief that good will eventually rule the day. And I believe each of us has the capability to do good. Some just need a little more faith to get it right. Say “Happy Chanukah” to me, and I will respond, “Why, thank you!  And a Merry Christmas to you.” Wish me a “Happy Kwanzaa, and I’ll reply, “Indeed!  And a Merry Christmas, too!” Say “Happy Holidays”… you get the picture. I am no less a believer in Chanukah, or Kwanzaa, or Festivus (if you’re so inclined). These are all wonderful celebrations. I mean no disrespect to any of these.  But, promoting Christmas is my thing; my honor.  I carry Christmas with me always.

(i carry christmas with me)

  i carry christmas with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without christmas
(anywhere i am christmas lives;
and whatever is done by me
is because of christmas)
i fear no reprisal
(for it is my choice)
i want no ridicule (for the beauty
of christmas has become my world)
and it is whatever
a child’s smile has always meant
and whatever melodic carol is sung
christmas will be within me.
here is my deepest secret nobody knows
(the birth of love is the cause of my joy
and the bounce in my step
and the feeling of heart
for a time called christmas;
which grows deeper than the soul can grasp
or mind can conceive) and it is this wonder
that’s keeping the spirit alive within me.
i carry christmas
(i carry it in my heart)
i am santa claus

***in tribute to “i carry your heart ~ e.e.cummings”

with Jesus

MARIE ELENA:  So beautifully stated, sir.  Just like you.

Now, as I ask all those I interview — if we could know only one thing about you, what would you tell us?

SANTA:  The one thing I’d tell you is that there is never only one thing. I’m not as lively and quick as I used to be, but I hold my own. All of those surrogates you see out and about in department stores and street corners during December are personally appoved by me to carry that mantle. Reindeer really do fly and I’ve never fallen off of a roof. I’m very proud of that! My favorite Christmas song is “Believe” by that Groban kid; my favorite Christmas special would be the classic original – “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” I always get choked up when Linus explains the season. He has it so right! But the most important fact you need to know and understand about me is this: There is most certainly a Santa Claus!


Don’t always listen to your friends,
their opinions usually depend
only on what they can see.
We can be cynical in an age that
makes it easy to be, but belief in something
requires faith and a certain degree of trust.
It’s a must. Certainly, Santa Claus lives.
In the love that breeds a giving heart
and a dedicated spirit, you will find him.
Of course, the joy that exists in your life
and makes it a beautiful expression of love,
is due to the wonder that brought Santa to bear.
Sadness would fill the world; without Santa,
and would supplant love. A world without
you Virginia, would be as desperate.
Your trust in your parent’s love would die.
Romance too. And poetry would cease to ease
hearts and end the expression of the emotions of everyone.
I find agreement with all that Mr. Church had to say,
in his way, he was speaking on my behalf. It is pleasing
that in your question you have re-ignited the world.
Continue to believe in the spirit of Christmas.
Believe, although you may not see. It lives in you.
Fill your heart with the wonder of all you can grasp.
Question all you think you know, if it feeds your curiosity,
but no one can destroy the mantle of what we can not envision;
it breeds division and contempt, exempting a heart from the truth.
I believe in your loving ways as surely as I believe in Christmas.
It will live for an eternity in the souls of each man, woman and child
and bring smiles to my heart for as long as I am Santa Claus.
Yes Virginia, we can agree. There is indeed a Santa Claus. I am he.

MARIE ELENA: Any new poetic works before I let you get back to your busy schedule?

SANTA: I’ve written quite a few…


What I love most is the tradition of Christmas,
born of different times and different ideals.
For me Christmas has always been the real deal.
Back when there were no mega-malls (remember those)
or “on-line” shopping, I’d be roof hopping with gifts
more wonderful than anything offered in mass production,
It is the destruction of those things that troubles me.
Extraordinary and exquisite hand-made wares
were gifts beyond compare. Store fronts
of old “mom and pop” shoppes made you stop and imagine.
A wish list for the mind. Special catalogs bearing names
of long gone enterprises; Sears and Montgomery Ward
were books that helped feed your desires.
Boughs of holly and sprigs of mistletoe adorning
Christmas morning, sneaking your loving miss
underneath there for a gentle kiss.
Stockings hung by the hearth, enough to hold
small trinkets, fruits and candies,
not electronic hand-held games and such.
Some folks want or have just too much.
My list used to contain more nice than naughty,
I take haughty exception to the current situation.
Mothers and Grandmothers baking to their hearts content,
with confections that sent you to nirvana and back,
envisioning things hidden deep in my gift sack.
Gathering to sing carols with neighbors and friends,
the fun never ends until the streetlights fade.
I was made for those times. I remain determined
to hold tightly to Christmases that were rightly
memorable. Staying home to enjoy the presence of family,
huddled together to view special programs of what
the season should be. I’d love to see it again.
So, I am returning to some semblance of those days,
by-gone ways and traditions that we recall.
Things so old that they seem totally new to today’s generations.
From here in my North Pole Station I find placation,
seeing Christmas Day in a new old-fashioned way.
Those memories make me smile and take pause
for I am a good old-fashioned Santa Claus!

…or my newest favorite…


I am Santa Claus in all my glory
and I love to tell this Little story
all about this bright young lass,
so demure with a touch of sass.
She knew what she liked.
She knew what she loved.
And, of all the things she loved, she guessed
that she loved Christmas time the best.

Mary Little was a lovely girl.
Eight years old, a head full of curls.
She loved her father.
She loved her mother.
She loved her sister,
Tolerated her brother.
But of all the things she loved, she guessed
that she loved Christmas time the best.

The decorations seemed much brighter,
The lights and tinsel did delight her.
She loved the Christmas trees much better.
Thought Santa’s cloak should be much redder.
She loved the songs the carolers sang,
and the big wreath her father would hang.
But of all the things she loved, she guessed
that she loved Christmas time the best.

The tasty treats her mom would make,
the candies and cookies she would bake,
Mary Little loved to eat them,
in her mind, you could not beat them.
She loved the snow that fell to earth.
She loved the joy and festive mirth.
But of all the things she loved, she guessed
that she loved Christmas time the best.

The townsfolk knew of her contagion,
and of her love for this occasion.
They got together for a meeting,
proposed that they all gave this greeting
all across their frozen isthmus,
“Have a Mary Little Christmas!”
Of all the things they loved, they guessed,
they all loved Christmas time the best.

SANTA: There’s plenty more at my blog, “I AM SANTA CLAUS”. Thanks for the opportunity to catch my breath and share a bit of myself with your readers, Marie. But now I need to get back to work. Can I offer you a ride home?

MARIE ELENA:  Really?  Seriously?  I’d like that! Let’s go!

Oh, wait.  Will you please take a picture of us in your sleigh for Sophie?  She’ll be so excited!

SANTA:  Ho, ho, ho!  Smile, and…


Climb aboard, it’s time to go,
over the white and glistening snow
with one quick stop in Buffalo
before we head for Toledo.

Hang on tight, it takes one night
to complete this very special flight,
up here where all the stars are bright
on this Merry Christmas night.

It gets breezy, and it is easy
for your stomach to get queasy,
and your nose to get all sneezy.
Bundle up or else you’ll freeze, see?

Over oceans we will fly
in this frigid winter sky,
the view below will make you sigh,
I’ll bet you’ve never been this high.

Feel the wind blow through your hair,
Can you smell what’s in the air?
It’s a scent I love to share.
That’s the smell of Christmas there!

So Dear Marie, the time has come
for this Sprite to take you home,
then head back where the reindeer roam
and write another Christmas poem.

The moon is bright, all through the night;
the sound of your name, just feels right.
So I’ll exclaim as I fly out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all and to Marie, a Good night!

Santa Walt and me




Glædelig Jul,    Maligayang Pasko!,    Shub Naya Baras,   Joyeux Noel,    Fröhliche Weihnachten,    Sarbatori vesele, Pozdrevlyayu s prazdnikom Rozhdestva is Novim Godom,    Feliz Natal,    IL-Milied It-tajjeb,    Selamat Hari Natal, Wesolych Swiat Bozego Narodzenia,    God Jul and (Och) Ett Gott Nytt År,    Buone Feste Natalizie,    Milad Majid,    Merry Keshmish,    Nollaig Chridheil dhuibh

(Danish, Philippine, Hindi, French, German, Rumanian,
Russian, Brazilian, Maltese, Indonesian,
Polish, Swedish, Italian, Arabic,
Navajo, Scots Gaelic)


Using this word cloud, write the gift of a poem for the rest of us.

The RED words tell the Santa story; the GREEN touch on the Nativity.



O Humble Town of Splendid Star

O Bethlehem,
do you know the One you have birthed?
Let the earth rejoice;
raise her voice in song! 
For the long-awaited Christ was born of Mary –
the very woman the angel blessed. 
She feeds the King at her breast,
as angel choirs sing praise,
and a star blazes above you,
O little town. 

No crown for this babe
who is able to save,
and will conquer the grave someday

yet for now, rests in hay –

This Way. 
This Truth. 
This Life.

O Bethlehem …
your star, a royal diadem.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020





Who needs any more reason for the season?

This is the time of year the children find pleasing,

A mother-to-be upon a mule

they have the hardest time that night keeping their cool.

bearing a child who would be the Christ!

They hope they’ve made the nice list,

To Bethlehem they have come to be counted.

but a damage control plan has been mounted.

They had come to this place, to a stable

They concern themselves with the age-old fable

and it is there where the Savior was born.

that Santa will check his once, then twice before that morn.

A Child marked by a heavenly star, the reason

A good once over will not suffice, a nice would be quite pleasing.

for our existence, a recompense for our sins.

So the children listen for the reindeer and the sleigh,

Thus the whole Christmas season begins.

Hoping for the toys with which to play.

And we celebrate that Christmas to this very day!



(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020


Edgar Allan Poe

In a random twist of coincidence, this week’s featured poet is again Edgar Allan Poe. The poem chosen today is his “A Dream Within A Dream”. It speaks to the ‘reality’ of life as if lived within a dream. Sometimes our personal perceptions become our reality. A most tenuous grip. But through it all, hope is the guiding tenet by which we embrace this life.

A Dream Within a Dream

By Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone? 
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


Staying within our theme (Christmas), recall a moment from your youth or a childhood memory and write it in the form of a sonnet!

The SONNET is a poem, properly expressive of a single, complete thought, idea, or sentiment. It consists of 14 lines, usually in iambic pentameter, with rhymes arranged according to one of certain definite schemes. In the strict or Italian form it is divided into a major group of 8 lines (the octave) followed by a minor group of 6 lines (the sestet). An a-b-b-a, a-b-b-a pattern became the standard for Italian sonnets. For the sestet there were two different possibilities: c-d-e-c-d-e and c-d-c-c-d-c. In time, other variants on this rhyming scheme were introduced, such as c-d-c-d-c-d.

The English form breaks the poem into 3 quatrains followed by a couplet. Each line contains ten syllables and is written in iambic pentameter, in which a pattern of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable is repeated five times (da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM). The rhyme scheme in a Shakespearean (English) sonnet is a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g; the last two lines are a rhyming couplet. Alternate Rhyme Scheme: a-a-b-b, c-c-d-d, e-e-f-f, g-g



If there is just one lesson in life, it’s this,
you need a way you can stay young at heart,
because you’re never too old for Christmas.
So I’ll say, well before the season starts
Find your inner child and don’t be naughty,
try being as good as silver and gold.
Start to be real nice and don’t be haughty,
have a warm heart and not one that is cold.
Remember the lessons you’ve learned in life,
especially the number one lesson!
Although the world can be filled with such strife,
I stay young at heart. That’s my confession.
I take a deep breath. I take a long pause
and just try to be a young Santa Claus.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020


This time of year, the television programming is inundated with holiday specials featuring animated characters like Buddy the Elf, Frosty the Snowman, Nestor the Christmas Donkey, etc. Imagine a character for such a feature. Give it a kooky name and write it into your poem. Have some fun with it and see where your fancy flies us!


Schmoozy Sue, the Santa Shrew

Few know of Sue, the Santa Shrew,
and that’s a curious thing in view
of all the schmoozing she would do
once scooting down each chimney flue.

She’d shoot the breeze with skillful ease
in English, Welsh, or Taiwanese,
while feasting on her hostess’ cheese.
Then right back up the flue she’d squeeze.

‘Round every tree, she’d socialize –
she’d dramatize and improvise,
and aggrandize, and summarize.
Shrew ebullience, epitomized.

As starlit skies turned pinks and golds,
Sue’d slip ‘tween Santa’s soft cloak folds
and there, she’d dream of each household
and all her stories, still untold.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020



Wendell was a wassail weasel
who used to paint but he lost his easel.
He painted Merry Christmas scenes
in varied hues of reds and greens.

He loved Christmas quite a lot
since Wendell was a weasel tot,
a friend of Christmas through and through
he did the best that he could do.

When Wendell went a-wassailing
the wassailers found he could not sing,
and had no sense of volume control.
The winter cold would take its toll.

The weasel sang from night to noon,
all of his poorly carried tunes,
But, apparently he lost his soul
when he fell into the wassail bowl.

When Santa learned of Wendell’s plight,
he took the weasel on his flight.
He harnessed Wendell to the sleigh
and they went on their merry way.

Around the world and through the night,
up above the stars so bright,
delivering gifts as quick as you please, well
thanks to Wendell, the wassail weasel!

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2020

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