Among the great memories associated with Christmas, we cannot neglect the wonderful tastes of Christmas. Be it a favorite Christmas cookie, or a superbly cooked roast or casserole, it can trigger a specific thought of Christmas. Maybe it was the gathering of family around grandmother’s table, or a “feast” served  to less fortunate folk in a church hall or cafeteria, it could evoke a sense of Christmas spirit. What is that taste? What was that meal? What was that feeling that came along with your goodwill toward your fellow man? They all reside in that taste of Christmas. Write it!



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.
I can’t wait to take my Cookie Pause,
(I can because I am Santa Claus).

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


An Italian Christmas Eve

In years past, we celebrated
Christmas Eve with our friends
and their family. Big night.
Traditional fish dishes–clams,
shrimp, calamari–and Kathy’s
pasta with braciole, and lemon
chicken. Her sister Roz brought
scrumptious stuffed artichokes.
Grandma Rae cured her own
olives, and I baked pies. One
year, my husband made
minestrone soup. Rave reviews
even from Grandma Rae. Salad
was served last, followed by fruit,
followed by espresso, pie,
and an assortment of pastries
and cookies. If you haven’t tasted
piñoli cookies, you haven’t lived.
Nick played guitar, and the house
was filled with aunts, uncles,
and cousins. What I remember
best is the warmth and laughter.



For most people, the Joy of Christmas begins in the first strains of the music of the season. It puts us in a mood that we carry through the month of December, even though they begin the first of November. We all have our favorites, be they secular or more of a religious vent, something stirs us to get our holiday on with a bit more passion.

Pick a song of the season. (And you are not restricted to Christmas, since Hanukkah and Kwanzaa are also celebrated in our circles). Choose your inspiration as your title or a line in your poem and write  the joy of holiday songs!



A child, a small record player,
and a 45 rpm treasure. “Play
it again. Play Santa Claus
is Coming To Town.” Jewish
or not, every child I knew
envisioned Santa. When
my grandmother–speaking
a bare minimum of English–
visited, I would thrust
the little record at her for
the fourth time, and puzzled,
she would say, “Again mit dis
rekkit?” I think she got used
to it after awhile. Who could
resist the wiles of a child?




You call it magic.
I call it faith; a belief that says
no matter what, you’re on board.
You can afford to extend your hand,
for in the grand scheme of things
the feeling this season brings
soothes your soul. The main goal
of every man, woman and child
is to hold the love in their hearts.
It always starts with love. A love of life,
a love of fellow man, a love unconditional
that positions you to do great things.
Peace on earth in goodwill and love;
the Magic of Christmas, a treasure trove.
You call it magic.I call it faith.
I am Santa Claus, if you truly believe.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


We’ve touched on the giving aspect of Christmas and the special kind of joy that is associated with that process. This week we’ll reverse the act. They say it is better to give than to receive. But we still find favor in accepting a gift that was given from the heart and in turn gave us joy. So I ask, what was the best Christmas gift you remember receiving? It could have been last year; it could have been from your childhood. Give your poem for us to receive the joy of which you’ve written.


We have run through many different poetic forms over the years which we’ve offered on Wednesdays. We have returned to some forms several times. But for the sake of redundancy, I will be suspending the Inform Poets feature. Thanks to all who have made it an enjoyable labor.


Silver Slivers

Small, local silver shop opened
near my husband’s place of employment.
Hanukkah (me) and Christmas (he)
were just up ahead. Knowing
my fondness for silver earrings,
my husband had the jeweler design
a pair of dangling silver earrings
that tapered to a leaf-like point.
Centered in each was an opal.
I love them as much now as I did
thirty plus years ago. I believe
I have tarnished faster than they have.




It is just about finished,
the day for which I work all year,
and the end is near.
Tired and sore,
and what’s more, I have one
last package to deliver.
I shiver at the thought,
and I probably ought to have
given it sooner. My eyes burn
and I yearn to give them rest.
But, the best sight for these sore eyes,
is the surprise on her face
when I place this final package
in her hands. It only stands to reason,
every year during this season,
she waits; the patience of a saint
is hers. This gift is always the last one given.
As long as I’m living, she’ll be giving it.
She wraps her arms around me
and she see the smile it brings.
And my heart sings when Mrs. “C”
gives her gift to me. I am Santa Claus.
My journey is complete. “Honey, Rub my feet?”