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[WreckWench]

Some Holiday Poems.......

A Moment of Nativity

- Virginia Kimball

It is a tender grasping little fist
That wraps her finger mightily that day,
So small and warm, holding tightly on ...
Timely bond of mother with newborn life.
This mother's love is ageless, a sweet kiss
On a son's cuddled, moist head her way ...
Discovering a gift of love upon
A red birthing mat in that darkened cave.
I He's a gift of light from God...of touching,
A truth divinely lent as she nurses,
Creation's miracle always spinning
At fresh moments of eternal birthing.
So fondly in a brief glimpse of clutching,
The infinite bubbles out. And curses
Of darkness, cold separation in winds
Of loneliness from God, are bathing
In the midwife's washing pool
Which thrusts her child, like a fool
Into frigid water of our days
Soon surely swirling with the Spirit's warmth.
Can we remember what the prophet says?
We forget. Forget ...As the mother's breast
Spills calming milk into his rooting mouth,
We hope for God's strength in the coming test.
She smiles. Timeless little one gurgles.
Through that door of hope, a door ajar,
Life forms creation's gentle realm of flesh,
Enlightening the mother's waiting heart,
Insight to GLORY in the Christmas creche ...


Christmas Eve

Let the door be open wide
And no blind be down at all,
For maybe she'd be walking
With the child within her shawl;
And how could we be bearing
The weight of shame and sin,
If she'd pass upon the roadway
With no light to guide her in?

Let the chair be readied now,
And the fire kept burning bright;
For sorely she'll be needing
The rest and warmth this night.
The rushes too be spreading
Upon the earthen floor,
To make it sweet and wholesome
Her blessed feet before.

Full oft I've heard the story
How once this night were known
To rest within a shieling
Three strangers meek and lone;
But dawn did yield no tidings
Of man, or maid, or child:
T'was Joseph's self was in it,
And Christ, and Mary mild.

So set the candles burning
Upon each window high,
And leave the door wide open
To guide their footsteps nigh:
Right warmly they'll be welcome
To share our hearth-fire bright-
For Mary's sake in heaven-
Who walk the wilds this night.



Let Me Come In

- Richard Bugg

Two nights before Christmas I sat on my bed,
And more than just sugar plums danced in my head.

Our savings depleted; my job quite unstable;
My wife wanting clothes and a new kitchen table.

The kids were all fighting about who was first
On Santa's long list. My head nearly burst.

"Is Santa a Fake?" the ten-year-old cried.
"Cause I'd hate to think that dear Daddy has lied."

"Of course Santa's real," answered mother with glee.
"When Christmas day comes, just look under the tree."

"Oh, Good!" the kids cried. "'Cause St. Nick at the mall
Said he'd bring not just some of our list -- but all!"

My head started pounding; my temples were throbbing.
Then I heard the faint sound of my three-year-old sobbing.

"Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy! How will Santa Clause guess
That me and my doll need the same pink silk dress?"

I turned to my wife -- a long pleading look.
She put on their jammies, while I found their book.

I read them a story then tucked them in bed
With posters of Mickey and Simba o'erhead.

While Mama in her nightshirt and I in my skivvies
Collapsed on the bed and turned on the TV.

The news was all bad -- the economy down.
The grimace* on my face now distinctly a frown.

I shut the thing off and turned out the light.
With my wife on the left I rolled to the right.

A grunting of sorts was my tender goodnight.
Then I screwed shut my eyes to chase cares from sight.

Two minutes? Two hours? I couldn't be sure.
When I heard a noise that made my blood stir.

I ran to the window, threw open the drape.
Well, I saw a sight that made my mouth gape.

The moon on the breast of the five-day old slush
Made the yard as appealing as six-day old mush.

When what to my dull aching eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

Yes, Santa was there, but him I expected.
The shock came when all of the rest I detected.

The Cratchits, with Scrooge, and young Tiny Tim.
King Arthur and Merlin, plus Old Madam Mim.

The Whos all from Whoville, the Grinch and ol' Max.
Young Dr. Doolittle there with his Yaks.

The muppets there doing their whole Christmas thing.
While Alvin and Chipmunks started to sing.

And Jack with his beanstalk just starting to grow.
The poor little match girl asleep in the snow.

Frosty was singing and Rudolph was glowing,
The drummer boy drumming. And I had trouble knowing

Just what I should do. If I had a choice
I'd go back to bed. But I heard a voice.

"Let me in," the voice said. What an odd piercing line.
I immediately looked for a wolf and three swine.

Not the voice of a wolf though, I knew from the start.
But a voice that could best be heard in the heart.

"Let me in," came again, and the crowd seemed to hear
And turned to a manger that lay at the rear

Of my untidy lawn. How embarrassed was I
That the sod was unfinished. I started to cry.

But not for the lack of good grass nor from shame,
But because that sweet voice had called me by name.

The Cratchits, Miss Piggy, the whole motley scene
All fell to their knees in a manner serene.

The girl in the snow awoke from her dream
And lit her last match as a lamp for her King.

I ventured to walk down the stairs and go out.
As I walked through the crowd I started to shout

"Oh, help me, please help me. I have bills to pay.
My job is in trouble and I've lost my way."

"We've too many mouths to feed and to dress.
I'm just a failure, a wash-out, I guess."

I said what I felt. I said it out loud.
And I looked for support from the odd-looking crowd.

But their faces were filled with contentment, not thought.
They had not the depth for the comfort I sought.

Nostalgia, some laughs, and some heart-warming plots,
All the magic of childhood -- of this there was lots

In my friends just behind me. But they don't possess
The power of true love; the power to bless.

My friends faded then -- fairy tales all.
But the Lord of All Hosts was still at my call.

I fell to my knees, folded hands at my chin.
I heard the voice say, "Please, let me come in."

I awoke in my bed and turned to my wife.
Her snoring repose took away all my strife.

The day of all days, Christmas Eve came.
We sat round the fire and called them by name,

"On Dasher, On Dancer, On Prancer and Vixen."
We sang Jingle bells. The kids got their licks in.

The Grinch carved his Beast. Tiny Tim God-Blessed all.
Then we looked at the painting I'd hung on the wall.

I opened to Luke. We read of His birth.
We read of His life, and His works here on earth.

We read of our Lord, of our Savior, my friend,
Then prayed to the Father and asked that he send

All the spirit of Christmas; the Spirit of Love;
All the blessings befitting us, down from above.

Christmas day came, and Santa Clause too.
And our own little Whos never cried Boo-hoo.

In fact, though their list had been shortened a tad
They whispered together and then asked me, "Dad,

"Is there someone out there, some girl or some boy,
Whom we could help out with a game or a toy?"

I did lose my job, then along came a better.
And we paid all our bills to the dot and the letter.

Our home now abounds not with money, nor fame,
But with unfettered love for the Holy of Name.

I remember the stress and the fear that has been,
But my soul now rejoices, 'cause I let him in.



Mary of Christmas

I know not how, dear Lady love,
To offer you my praise,
I cannot fashion as I wish
The words that I world raise.
You stand afar, celestial Queen,
The stars are in your crown,
They spangle at each gesture's path
And dust upon your gown.
Perhaps I might recall the night
You knelt beside the crib,
The night when doors and casements shut
And left a mountain's rib,
Alone, exposed, to hoard you close
Beside the new-born Child
And seek in Joseph's kindly eyes
For something worldly-mild.
To counteract such mundane chill
I hereby set my heart,
Dim mirror of an Infant's warmth,
Its flaming but a part,
A small, sad part of Endless Love
That came on Christmas day
To show a mother wonder-bright
To guide us on our way.


That Midnight Hour

The Virgin Mother kneels upon the floor
And holds her baby in her arm,
Her heart is gladder than her lips can say,
To keep her new born baby snug and warm,
A babe more sweet and fair and dear
Than any rose bud in the bright sunshine,
Whose little eyes look straight into her own,
O, blessed maid, God's son is also thine.
Twas holy midnight, when He came to earth:
As pours a sun ray through a limpid glass,
Not leaving any mark upon its face;
A drop of dew upon the fresh green grass,
A little star that fell upon her lap,
A cooing babe, that seeks her virgin breast.
The hopes of all the sin-cursed world
Upon this baby's eyelids rest.
And ever since the midnight hour is holy,
And millions of human hearts are stirred
To wonderment and love for Him who came,
To save the world, God's own incarnate Word.
He came in darkness, He who was The Light,
His godhead shone from clear blue baby eyes,
The curse of earth's first sin was lifted then,
That midnight hour reopened paradise.



The Christmas Silence

Here in the cloister they who seek discover
A wandered fragment of the Christmas silence
That hid itself from the disquieted earth:
The silence of the Virgin bending over

The little Uncreated Innocence
Upon the bed of a most hidden birth,
The silence that was Joseph's sacrament
Through years that were a threshold to this hour

And which was seed and stem to the white flower
That blossomed on his rod,
The speechlessness of the unlettered shepherds
Who stood amazed before the Lamb of God.

The angels sang at Christmas, but their music
Was like a stillness to the inner ear,
And soft as petals from a shaken bough.
They who go walking in the Christmas silence

Through any season of the changing year
Come to a Man with peace upon his brow
And see the Mother and the Infant near.
This house, as once the Saint of Alcantara

Said of Teresa's, is the little hospice
Of Bethlehem.
Cloister or cave- its solitudes shall be
The dwelling of a human trinity
And they who enter learn a wordless language
And the Divine Untold addresses them.


The Gift of God

There was seen a radiance
Glowing one night
Near the little maiden Mary
In blue and white.

"Lilies are not fairer,
"Roses more red,
Than the Child she sings to slumber,"
An angel said.

So the shepherds ventured
Through the white cold,
And their eyes beheld the Infant,
An hour old.

Long they gazed and wondered,
Awkward in awe,
At the paramount perfection
Within their straw.

"Diamonds are but trifles!
"Rubies no gem!"
Cried the hearts that slaved for pittance
Near Bethlehem.

So it was forever,
After the night
When the little maiden Mary
Wore blue and white.


Wonder

There is faint music in the night,
And pale wings fanned by silver flight;
A frosty hill with tender glow
Of countless stars that shine on snow.
A shelter from the winter storm,
A straw-lined manger, safe and warm,
And Mary crooning lullabies,
To hush her Baby's sleepy sighs.
Her eyes are rapt upon His Face,
Unheeded here is time and space;
Her heart filled with blinding joy,
For God's own Son--her little Boy!