As we close in on Christmas, we are surrounded by the trappings of the season. Pick an item associated with Christmas and write a Christmas poem from that item’s point of view. It could be an ornament, or a branch on Christmas tree. It might be an angel tree topper or a figurine from your nativity creche. What does the donkey see? The Star of Bethlehem? Christmas from a different perspective.
We are fortunate this week to get an early Christmas gift, in the guise of our Marie Elena Good rejoining us. It is a Good present indeed!
Cross of Christ
My place atop the Christmas tree
may seem a lofty place for me,
but humbly, I point down below
through greenery and lights aglow
to manger scene that holds the Christ
who paid the price in sacrifice
for every woman, man, and child –
this perfect Lamb – this undefiled
Rescuer, Redeemer, God
I represent, and richly laud.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
Each year, they bring me out to celebrate, and I wait in silent vigil, keeping watch over everything Christmas. My uniform is well appointed and my double jointed jaw may have me cracking jokes or other nutty things. Mouse Kings and sugarplum faeries complete my circle. I do enjoy the joyous music this time of year. My job is to protect and serve with nerves of oak, just like any bloke who chooses to enlist their service. Yet, I'm nervous. I'm suspicious of that elf up on that shelf! (c) Walter J Wojtanik - 2021
150 thoughts on “PROMPT #365 – “DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?””
Thank you for the kind “welcome home,” Walt. Good to be back. ❤
Make that two welcomes back, Marie. There’s a big hole in the garden when you’re not tilling it. Hope you feel a lot better now.
How kind. Thank you so much, Bill. Yes, I’m feel MUCH better. Tire easily, and taste and smell are still not right. But overall much, much better!
Much muches up there. 😀
Can’t make too much of it, after what you went through.
Oh, but mine was mild in comparison to many. Truly.
You were much missed! 😉
Thank you so much, Candy!
Glad to see you back, Marie!
Thank you, Connie! ❤
glad you are back…
I missed you bunches
Thank you, Mary! I missed you all … all your smiling personalities and wonderful words!
Welcome back friend! Glad to see you.
Thank you, Benjamin! Soooo good to be back!
You come back “home” and knock it out of the park. Great return!
THE LAMENT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE STAND
They make a fuss of ornaments
and other bric-a-brac,
but nobody ever thinks about
what keeps them on the track,
but I sit here, `way down below
like some forgotten daughter,
and keep the whole tree standing straight
whilst holding all its water.
I ask you now, do you really think
you’d admire each twinkling light
if I were not here, on the job,
keeping this thing upright?
So when you do your oohs and aahs,
please spare a glance at me,
and even stroke my tripod legs
that brace this Christmas tree.
What a perspective! Your creative mind knows no bounds. Perfect!
Awww… I won’t neglect her anymore, I promise❣️
This made me smile and thank you for seeing something that is a baseflower…
I have a new found respect for the humble tree stand.
That’s what Santa is talking about! It all starts with a solid foundation! Good one, William!
Wonderful perspective, William!
Give your missus
or air kisses?
No! No! No!
You are fluent
in French. C’mon!
Plant a few on
Jac! WOOHOO!! Good to see you out here, and this is soooooooooooo you and your quirky/fun humor! Love, love, love!
Miss you guys so much!
Can’t log on to Poetic Asides since forever. Miss the prompts, the forms…😭
So glad you’re feeling better❣️
Marie Christmas to all in advance❣️🎅🥰🤶🎄💚♥️
this made me giggle
Hugs, hugs, hugs!!
I sense a bit of subversion here, although the spider-man allusion escapes me. It’s fun to say aloud, though.
In the 2002 Spider-Man movie, Spiderman plants an upside down kiss in the rain on Mary Jane. It’s p.r.e.t.t.y. romantic. 😄
Love this, Jacqui! Any romantic Santa would!
I’m just a little ceramic mouse
sleeping in my ceramic matchbox,
hanging from the lowest branch
of a bedraggled artificial tree.
I can feel her eyes upon me,
the one who hand-painted
my gray head, pink ears,
and my red and black matchbox
with the year 1981 on its side.
She was expecting her first child.
I know what she’s thinking, now.
“Yikes! Forty years!”
😂😂😂 We’ve had an electric spongebob sticking its head in and out of a red stocking for years but not this long tho’ and he was store bought. 🐭🤍
Oh man. I hear you, Connie. I hear you.
Time flies, for sure!
Great point of view!
Yikes, indeed; even yipes!
So quickly, eh Connie? I remember wearing the suit well into my daughters leaving home for their lives to flourish. Now, I dig it out for my Granddaughter. And I’m too young to be a GF! 😀
Thinking along the same track here, Connie. He sounds adorable!
I’m on Your Tree
Every year you’ve peeked at me
Since you could barely walk
You even pulled me off the tree
That year that you got caught
You know I’m just for looking at
And I’m grandma’s favorite one
She got me the year you were born
The same year she lost her son
So I have double meaning now
That’s why she’d hang me here
And as she did she’d takes a pause
To wipe away her tears
Every year she’d pull me out
And say a little prayer
Thanking God for you and Gramp
And wishing your dad was there
Grandpa passed a few years back
Gram didn’t decorate
By the time you pulled me out
I knew it was too late
It’s sad but happy all the while
‘Cause now I’m on your tree
Grandma is with Grandpa now
And you’re taking care of me
Such a poignant, yet charming poem. ❤
Lovely family memory
Wonderful piece, Earl. Such memories!
Flurries in Florida
It rarely happens
And we watch in amazement
Hit the video button
Before the flakes melt away
When I lived in Naples, I remember one year that there was enough snow that I could gather it from the hood of my car to make a snowball. Happiest day of my years there, lol! Nice poem. Is that now??
Not now. We haven’t seen snow in the Panhandle since before I retired.
Sounds like this winter up here! A video of snowfall would be welcome right now, Earl!
Stop under me and pucker up
Here comes that little buttercup
Oh no, she saw you standing there
Then she turned and walked away
But she looked back and smiled a bit
And batted her eyes in a flirty flit
She’s messing with your mind, you know
At this game two can play
HA! Super cute!
Double up on Marie’s cute!
Great to have you back, Marie. I hereby declare that your sick days are over for 2021, and you have used up most of them for 2022. Stay healthy… we need you in the garden.
Awwww! Thank you so much, dear friend. And I’ll hold you to this. 😉
Hey there, Pard! Your nutty poem cracks me up!
(And now, I will defer to our Janet Planet, Queen of Puns)
Give me a few days, I ‘shell’ be back . . . 🙂
It certainly does, and she certainly is! 😉
Gifts on a Cold Winter Night
In the spirit of the season, we
our hearts of hate and fear, fill
with warm hats and mittens, and leave them
where those who need them most will find them –
trees and fences around our town, instead of on a
… and there you go again, with a wonderfully pleasing #waltmarie. You amaze me, Candy! Love the spirit of this.
Thanks, Marie! Merry Christmas to you and yours. Glad you are feeling a little better.
Thank you so much!
It’s all about the spirit of giving. A beautiful sentiment and poem, Candace!
Beautiful use of your form.
Beautiful imagery in so many ways!
So sweet, Candace!
Great to see you back, Marie Elena! Happy to know you are feeling better! Your presence and words were missed. Beautiful poem! Welcome back! 🙂 Fun prompt, Walt, and I enjoyed your poem today, too! Now I will see all my nutcrackers capable of cracking jokes! So love the image of that!
I am hung by the chimney
With certain great care
Yet I am empty
Nothing’s in there
I know there should be filling
There’s plenty of room
I am certainly willing
So clean, don’t need a broom
I must have a purpose
I just can’t feel it
They certainly love us
But here with nothing, I sit
I remember I was full last year
I had chocolate, candy canes and a bow
The reason I was there was clear
Now I’m confused, I just don’t know
Oh, wait here comes a large box
I see goodies that will fill us just right
Small books, oranges, and funny socks
This is it, it must be the night
What was empty is full to spilling
We’re laid down carefully by the fire
Soon we will take top billing
Be the joy of everyone’s desire
Good thing we are patient and can wait
Because soon we’ll be emptied once more
We’ll go back to being sedate
Until more goodies appear from the store
Typical this time each year
Ups and downs of the Christmas stocking
Truly, it’s a gift, let’s be clear
We might complain but nothing’s shocking
Just wish we could hang around more often
Filling the family more often with joy
When life is too heavy, our presence would soften
For us, too, there’d be more to enjoy
Just to come out only once, a year
To hang on a hook and wait our turn
To so briefly, unceremoniously, appear
Doesn’t make us applaud our return
And yet this is how we live
I guess we should be grateful
It is ultimately our joy to give
We do love it when we’re ripe and full
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
Cute and sweet, and great perspective!
I do love this, Janet! The girls always looked forward to the stockings, and every last little bauble had o be wrapped to draw the suspense out completely. A brilliant perspective!
This is wonderful, Janet. Poor neglected stockings.
How I See It…. A Haiku Collection
On the tree I’m hung
For all who pass by to see
Look but do not touch
I’m a Christmas tree
Seven seasons I’ve stood tall
I’m fake but pretty
I’ve been cut and taped
Wrapped lovingly on presents
Soon I will be trash
Short with pointy ears
We make the toys that bring smiles
Singing happy songs
If it weren’t for me
The old man would stay in bed
But that’s our secret
The world in one night
Milk and cookies ‘til I burst
Rolaids for breakfast
I’m still the reason
No matter how they spin it
Merry Christmas all
I would encourage anyone to add to this. Let’s have some Haiku fun. Oh, and Merry Christmas y’all.
This is fun. I especially like Santa’s. Here are a couple:
Faster than lightspeed
We pull the sleigh and presents
Rudolph leads the way
Covered in candy
Held together with frosting
I’m not built to last
Nice. Thanks for participating. Hope to get more. Haikus are a lot of fun, even with the non-traditional rules.
Great idea, Earl! I especially got a kick out of the Giftwrap, and Mr. and Mrs. Claus. 😀
Good ones! The Gingerbread House final line is just excellent.
but never to broke to give
haiku for Christmas.
What a fun idea, Earl! Thanks for the inspiration! 🙂
bright as we can be
like a true living rainbow
winning all young hearts
ANGEL ON THE TOP OF THE TREE
her silence echoes
as if we should aspire
to follow her lead
CHOCOLATES AT CHRISTMAS
any age grasps them
(c) Janet R. Carnahan 2021
Pingback: Do You Hear What I Hear? | Experience Writing
GIFT ALL DAPPER AND PRETTY
Here I sit—
All dapper and pretty.
Giggling amidst the dazzling,
dancing, sparkling lights.
Here I get—
to be all dapper and pretty.
Topped with a cherry red bow,
slapped gorgeously across my head.
Here I lit—
their spinning smiles all giddy.
Appreciated, feeling all the love.
Gift wrap opened and shred.
THE MANTRA OF RED CHRISTMAS LIGHTS
Shine, shine, shine!
Every year, every time.
I dupe them in red light,
like sweet holiday wine.
The use of “dupe” throws me in this piece, Benjamin. Maybe I am missing the point? I’ll blame Covid brain. 😀
It speaks of how easily we fall for “in love” every year in the holiday season because of all the beautiful lights.
Oh, I see. Thank you!
View from the Star on Top
I do not burn-
but passion stirs
in the heart of the boy
who kneels at the foot of the tree.
I do not burn,
but I listen
to a litany of his wishes
while his parents watch.
I do not burn,
and I’m only turned
on for the night
until the house grows still.
I do not burn
and when the family
goes to bed
I live in shadows.
I do not burn
but each night
I watch wrapped gifts
to be given as tokens of love.
I do not burn
but I glisten
in the eyes of a child
as he unwraps the gifts..
I do not burn,
and the light I share
when the season ends.
I do not burn
but live in the stories told
as if they have a life of their own,
and I wait another year..
I think this is masterful, even majestic.
So visual and full of import– each stanza its own nugget of Christmas– //I live in shadows// — such a loaded line!!
This is a beauty, Mike. Love the repetition and sentiments.
How she fingered
my voluminous paper
skirt ran her thumb down
the curls of gilt ribbon following
the curve of my wings and how
she wanted to kiss
my tiny china face before
her Momma tucked me in
to the white box and folded
over sheets of star spangled tissue
an angel for her little girl’s Angel
Guardian her Momma’d called me
her little one sitting third row
fourth seat first grade classroom
and the teacher spotting the child
having barely perceptible but
lethal micro-seizures that others
had yet to notice and then how
the woman had gently asked
if anyone had seen what she saw
and how heads nodded with maybe
and then the challenging diagnosis
and how the teacher’d cried to
know she’d not imagined it all
but knew the little girl would get
the best care possible to live
her best life and now how I sit
the highest part of the Christmas
tree every year still in that
teacher’s house and the little girl
all grown up here or hereafter
(since I’m only paper I can’t know)
the teacher long retired but me
not so much reposing in my star-
spangled box until time to soar
above the butterflies and birds
the blue tinsel that rivals the sky
but now my papery skirts cup
Scotch pine needles and my china
eyes see again that mother’s eyes
brimming with tears of uncertainty
and love as she presented me to
the teacher my face still imprinted
with the finger and thumb of the
little girl and the teacher remembering
it all as she places me yet again atop
the fresh-cut tree pausing to whisper
her prayer for another mother and child.
Oh, Pat …. I had to read this twice to grasp. William’s use of “masterful” for some poems is what comes to my mind for this one. Masterful, deep, emotive, visually stunning … brings tears, this one.
Yup; it’s all of that.
Very good Pat. 👏
This touches the heart, Pat.
You fellas, so shiny–
bright globes of
Christmas color. May
you all last as long
as I. My top cap
is askew, so I cannot
hang as straight
as you. I am the first
ball they ever purchased.
Fifth Avenue Hallmark
store. One side says
the other, 1979–
the year they were
This is so sweet! The top cap askew brought a smile to my lips. I picture it exactly, and it is just a charming image of this important ornament. Love this little poem!
This is a perfect word-vignette.
You give the first ornament voice. Nice.
Welcome back, Marie!
Thank you, Sara! Great to be back!
The box of Christmas Ornaments
When I was very small
We had an old box of Christmas Balls
Shaped like a tear drop.
With lit candles and wreath of holly berries
On green, or red or blue or gold glass balls…
I could not touch them…
Ma bought one Christmas a new box
And inside was wonderous Christmas balls
In mixed colors and shapes…
They were hot pink, and two-toned ones
With glitter and sparkles on those glass balls.
I still was not allowed to touch them.
For years they decorated our trees at Christmas…
They also began to break
Until only a few remained…
For some reason Ma moved the boxes
With Christmas ornaments and I have never found
Her hiding place for them.
Knowing her, she may have given them away…
All our ornaments are gone except a few of mine.
I have the memories of beautiful trees…
Hanging with beautiful ornaments…
Never had the heart to buy new ones.
People say each year you need to decorate…
But how do I say… all that I had is gone,
I am not looking for pity…
It is a fact of my life
Dealt with it for years…
Ma hid things
Sometimes years before I found those-
No wonder her ghost still
Besides I have memories of trees,
And miss little at Christmas…
Mary Elizabeth Todd
December 20, 2021
Very nice. 👌
thanks this was hard to write… I have spoken to no one about the missing ornaments.
CHRISTMAS TREE BRANCHES
Perch upon me, if you will.
Make your home upon the east
and west, upon the north and the south.
Adorn me well, if you will.
With the finest of glitter, and the glamour
of bright stars and the purest of gold.
Dress me with joy, if you will.
Electrify the passerby by the windowsill—
the passing of cars, amidst the snow and cold.
This recalls for me an old song:
The Silver Tree
Da loved Christmas…
Ma was not as fond of the mess…
She bought a tinsel silver tree
Not as tall as me
When I was nine.
Da was on a business trip
When she bought that tree.
It was all set up when he got home.
She told him it would do.
I could tell by Joe and Da’s faces
They did not think it would.
I thought it looked like a fairy tree,
And I imagined fair steeds
That dance in their silver bridles
Carrying the fairy king…
We only used that tree
And Ma was thrilled the mess
Was all gone by New Year’s Day,
When we moved,
Da and Joe went to get a tree,
And they pulled out the decorations
While the little silver tinsel tree
Sat lonely on Ma’s sewing machine
In our den…
It looked quite forlorn,
And the story of the fairy king
Was lost in the tattered tree
She had become.
One year she was too tattered
And was thrown into the garbage.
Ma never tried to get an easier tree to manage
And the Fairy King was long gone
With the memories
A once beautiful little tree.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
December 21, 2021
Love this one, Mary!
The War of the Christmas Trees
It was second Christmas after Da died.
I wanted a tree… Ma did not.
She thought with Da gone
That foolishness was over…
I wanted a tree.
I engaged a reluctant nephew, George.
I knew the tree we would cut.
Just needed his help to carry it.
It was pine tree growing in the wrong place.
I thought it was a pretty tree.
Ma did not, but she didn’t want a tree.
The war of the Christmas trees
Had begun and Ma won the first battle.
I still wanted one.
I came home from work
And she had cut a “Charlie Brown Tree.”
I said that tree was not going to work,
For that tree could not hold our ornaments.
I won the second battle.
I still wanted a tree.
We decided to go search for our tree.
Every tree I liked; she didn’t.
Every tree she liked; I didn’t.
We had walked for over an hour,
And I had about given up.
When we came into a clearing
And there stood a sweet gum tree
Because if you chew a twig
It has a sweet clean taste.
It was shaped perfectly like a Christmas tree
Except it had no needles or leaves…
It was bare.
Our lives had been bare without Da.
It fit somehow.
We stood for a moment and Ma looked at me
Her eyes were dancing, and I began to smile…
We had found our tree…
We began to laugh,
And laughed at how the family
Would look at us strange,
But we didn’t care…
We had made a peace agreement
And isn’t Christmas about peace
Mary Elizabeth Todd
December 21, 2021
Thank you and I did one of my Christmas stories on this little war…
Lovely tale, well told, Mary!
UNDER YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE
Somewhere under your Christmas tree
you will find me in your silent night.
The star shines very bright and I long
to be present when you unwrap my love.
Pretty paper and bows and God knows
I want to be the gift your life requires.
The burning yule log fires your heart,
that flame keeps giving you joy, somewhere
under your Christmas tree.
I could be everything on your list.
As if you had been kissed by true love’s lips.
Gentle sips of your honeyed buss,
I must have more. There on the floor,
under your Christmas tree you will see
what I had brought to you in the night.
It was a determined flight I made
to serenade you with Christmas love.
The room is quiet.
The night is still.
I will be stirring as only love will and can.
I will be the man who brings peace
to your aching heart and your mind.
You will find me. Somewhere.
Under your Christmas tree.
LOve this and Love to you Santa
Feels like a benediction, this does.
You are the best Santa ever! I love this poem, Walt.
THE YULE LOG SPEAKS
I tend to glow golden or orangey-red
with whispering snaps as I lie in my bed;
I dress up the room with my presence, but then
I’m not much for heating, though roasting’s my ken.
I’m the perfect companion when Christmastime’s here:
I recall once again the departed and dear
and do so with fragrance that scents and delights
these days of long shadows that fade to long nights.
What a perfect item for a poem. Warm and lovely, William.
In 1977 a dear friend said she was going to make her Christmas cards… and I decided to do my first one that year… She never made another one and I have made my cards ever since that Christmas… I now paint one card and take to a printer… I wish I could post the picture of my card… In 1996 I added a story, and though I can’t show the card, and Merry Christmas to you all
Memories are gifts….
Christmas is not the only time we have memories. Sometimes in the summertime there are memories that ties us to others for they shared a time in our lives. In the last few months, the two other women who were involved with me that night have brought up that one particular memory we all shared.
I was thirteen. My cousin Beverly was eleven and had come to spend the summer with me. Our neighbor had his niece Nancy from New Jersey come to spend the summer with him and his wife. Nancy was twelve. Often Beverly and I were over at Chock and Della Pickle to visit with Nancy. I had fanciful dreams. I was going to be a famous writer and make money. Nancy and Beverly were not so fanciful, but they would listen to me each day I read from the novel I was writing. Sadly, the day before I went to college, I burned that novel.
One day we had been down to the creek below the Pickle’s house playing in the water. We were wet from head to toe. We were laughing and Mrs. Pickle told us we had to stay out until we got dry. I loved Mrs. Pickle. She worked in a school library and brought me discarded books to read. I still have many of those books. Mr. Pickle came out to listen to us chatter and talk about what we could do next.
I am not sure how it came about, but Mr. Pickle began to talk about how he loved to eat frog legs. We were all curious and asked him about it. He told us we had to go out at night when the moon was high in the sky and catch the frogs. He called it frog gigging. We girls began to beg him to take us out at night to catch some frogs. Mrs. Pickle was standing at the door laughing at us. Mr. Pickle was smiling. He said that Nancy could go but we had to ask Ma, if we could go.
We were almost dry. Beverly and I went to ask my mother. She was dubious about us going to catch frogs in the dark of night. Ma did not like the dark. We told her that Mr. Pickle was going with us. Ma was not sure. Da came home later and thought it would be good experience for us. He asked us if we were going to eat frog legs, and both of us said no.
Ma asked, “Why are you going then?”
I said, “Mr. Pickle will eat the frog legs. It is being neighborly.”
Ma said, “I think it something you thought up.”
“I swear Ma, I didn’t.”
Ma was not convinced.
I am sure that she called the Pickles to ask if it was fine with them.
The next day we were over at the Pickles to tell Mr. Pickle we could go. He laughed and said, “Well, we just can’t do it any night. It has to be a night when the moon is full. I will let you girls know.” He got up and said, “I got to get to work.”
I am afraid we three girls pestered him to take us out to hunt frogs. Then a few weeks later, He said to us, “I think tomorrow night will be the best time to catch some frogs.”
Beverly and I were over at the Pickles after it had gotten dark. We were dressed in shorts and tops and wearing tennis shoes. We laughed and giggled and played tag as we went down to the spot we were going to get into the creek.
Before we did, Mr. Pickle had a bag, a pillowcase actually, and a flashlight. He told us that he would shine a light in a frog’s eyes, and we had to catch them with our hands. We made so much noise getting into the creek that Mr. Pickle had to remind us we were hunters and needed to be quiet.
We had not gotten too far, when he said. “There’s a frog. Catch it.”
We raced to the frog, and he hopped away. We fell into the water trying to catch it. We were laughing, making noise.
Mr. Pickle was chuckling at us, and said, “Let’s keep going we can find another frog.”
The frogs were faster than we were and escaped, and we fell into the water, and splashed around. Mr. Pickle reminded us to keep going.
We were almost to a small waterfall. It was a place we often played in the water to get cool in the summer. At the waterfall there was another frog, and this time Nancy caught it. I had decided I didn’t want to touch it. She put it in her uncle’s bag saying, “Here’s you one Uncle Chock.”
But we weren’t done, because there was that waterfall, and we sat on it and slid down over and over into the small pool of water as the moonlight danced on the water with us.
Mr. Pickle just stood there letting us be girls. We would all be women soon and have to make the choices that women have to make in life. But that night we were still girls loving life with the knowledge that Chock Pickle would keep us safe.
It was a time of innocence. It was before the times we live in when we view those around us as being guilty. I understand because I held dark secrets then but that night, I was a girl trying to catch frogs with two friends. I clung to that innocence. The children today do not have that kind of innocence, and that thought makes me sad. Ma used to say that we are children for such a short time in this life, and grown up for most of our lives. We need to keep children as children for as long as we can. She said this to young people trying to grow up and sometimes to mothers trying to push their children into being grown.
I asked Mr. Pickle few weeks later did he ever eat the frog legs we caught for him. He said he froze them to eat later, but I suspect that he took that one lone frog back down to the creek to live out its life croaking in the moonlight.
The gift Mr. Pickle gave us that night was to let us be silly girls without fear of being judged or harmed. Every girl needs someone that will be that person for them. I remember years later when I was returning to college knowing that my home was no longer my home for, we were moving again. I went over to the Pickles to tell them goodbye the evening before because they would be in church when we left the next morning. I talked to them about that night and how much I loved them for the books and the memories. I told them I would miss them. I walked down to that creek after leaving their home and waded into that creek, and I wanted to be that girl wading in that creek in the moonlight again because saying goodbye hurt me to the core.
I thought moving was the worst thing to happen to me, but it wasn’t. I met new people. My life was blessed by those people. It took years to realize that was what I needed. I believe people are placed in our lives for a reason. I am thankful for The Pickles, Nancy and my cousin Beverly and that night of catching frogs.
Years have passed, and life has had its hardships for each of us, but the gift of that night was always there to remind us that things as simple as wading in a creek in the moonlight can make bonds and give us hope for joy all our lives. I am thankful for that night. I am thankful for those bonds.
Normally, I list those that have died in the last year, but I am not doing that anymore. I am looking to the future and whatever it might bring to me. I will tell you that I have finished writing my third novel and am looking for an agent. It will happen at the right time.
Blessing on all of you and remember with your children that you can create memories that are simple and ordinary, and will in later years bring them joy.
Wonderful; puts being “in a pickle” in a whole new light.
thank you… they were wonderful people….
My Christmas Cards
I was mid-twenties, and
My friend Gracie said,
“I am going to make
My own Christmas cards.”
I thought it was a cool idea, and
Decided to do the same…
She did a simple card
With a dove of peace.
I took my crayons
And did a rainbow
“You are my rainbow.
Because of you, I have seen the colors.
You are my bread,
Because of you I have tasted life,
And you are my benediction,
Because of you, I have been blessed.”
Inside I said a simple, “Thank you.”
Over the years
I wrote about the earth,
And faith and hope, and love,
And attempted to do mercy…
That one still eludes me.
I painted or drew each card…
The one I did for my father’s death,
Broke me as I typed each card.
He had died in November, and I wrote
In my journal two days after he died
The poem that I used.
When I was mid forties
I added a story…
I later turned into a poem.
When my brothers died two years
Before the century changed,
I took my cards to a printer…
In the last few years
I have failed to send out my cards…
I was weary, and lost, and deeply sad…
This year I feel simply that I am blessed
By each day, each hour, and each minute
I am living. I want to be more
Than weary or lost or sad…
For I am more, and I have hope.
I have complied a scrapbook
Of my cards…
It is actually two scrapbooks, and
To finish I need to buy a third…
Why do I do it?
My cards are a gift to those I love,
The people who bless me,
And are my benediction.
It is the way I say, “Thank You”
Ever in Christ’s love,
Mary Elizabeth Todd
December 22, 2021
this is the first story turned into a poem
In April of this year, I took a journey
Into the mountains of Western North Carolina where I was born.
I had always been a wanderer.
I found my way to a place I had not been since I was very small.
I found my way to Fontana Lake.
It was early morn. The water was a deep mint green.
The mists were rising, and the wind was cold.
Above the lake in the pines on the other side,
I heard the cry of a hawk.
As I walked along the edge of the water,
I listened to the songs of the morning.
I was alone with it all.
I stood at the water’s edge for a long, long time,
Watching the mists rise, listening to the wind and the hawk,
I have always been a wanderer.
And I had been taught that part of wandering
Was waiting and accepting whatever journey may come.
On the edge of the lake on that cold April morn,
I accepted that my journey had just begun.
I had come here alone.
I had been in the same place for such a long time.
I had heard the wind rising for years.
It had begun in the woods outside my home.
I heard the wind early one morn.
I heard it and stopped and thought for a moment,
But I did not listen to its voice.
I heard it again in Scotland one moonlit night along the Firth of Forth,
And again, about twilight in a meadow in Ireland.
This time I listened to the restless voice calling to me.
I had listened but had not followed.
I heard it again over the lake and in the mists that April morn.
I have long been a wanderer.
I wait for whatever journey may come,
For wherever my heart calls me to wander,
This time I will follow.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
November 1996 for the Christmas card that year and rewrote as a poem
Jingle all the way,
a one-horse open sleigh with
I know she’s the boss
and I am only the Claus.
She likes it that way!
It surely does glow
and so you know, batteries
are not included.
And then there’s the list.
Not a single soul is missed,
not naughty, nor nice.
Ah, the Claus that refreshes. Love these.
Just wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas! Wishing the best to each poet and hopefully, you know it! Enjoy your time, thanks for every rhyme . . . see you next time! And on it goes! 🙂
Mele Kalikimaka to you, too.
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