Christmas Poetry Competition Final

[Scheherazade]

Here are the poems taking part in our Christmas Poetry Competition!

Please vote for the poem you like best to win!



PS: The identity of the contributors will remain anonymous till the end of the competition and please refrain from commenting on the poems not to influence others' decisions.

[Scheherazade]

GINGERBREAD MEN

Aunt Marion for Christmas
Makes Gingerbread Men
Their bodies outlined
In vanilla icing.
Their eyes and coat buttons
Are Red Hot candies.
We hang them
In the tree
My brothers and sisters
And me.
Eight Gingerbread Men
Hang from the tree
Dangling
Waiting to be eaten.
I can't sleep!
Where are you Santa?
I'm hungry!
And then I remember!
The Gingerbread Men
We are not to touch
Till morning!
I can't take it so
I crawl into the
Living room.
At first I eat
My brother's leg.
And then I twist off
The arm of my sister's,
And pop Red Hots into
My mouth until
My tongue burns!
I am full now so
I crawl back to bed
Unnoticed until-
Awoken by a scream!
Seven brothers and sisters
Tears in their eyes and
Accusations!
-He did it!-
-She did it!-
Silence. Then
All eyes
Upon me.
Father and Mother
Towering over me
Until I point at
The little girl and say,
-Hey, she did it!-
She can't talk much.
She's only two.
I forgot she can't
Reach the Gingerbread Men
And I forgot to bite
My own!
I'm busted.

The End

[Scheherazade]

I’d like to write a Christmas poem
It really would be nice
To put in candy canes and toys,
Tall trees and dreams of ice.
I’d like to write a Christmas poem
Which would convey the joy
Of rushing down in early morn -
Gifts for each girl and boy.
But Christmas doesn’t come this year
It never has, or will
No sweet striped sticks to suck on,
Living room empty still.
To watch here all the windows
As they fill up with lights –
And sitting home inside my room
On Christmas Eve and Night.
Decorating others’ trees
With tinsel and bright bells
Watching Nativity scenes
The stories that they tell . . .

Yet Christmas-time inside my room
Is one small price to pay;
I have eight nights to rejoice
They have but one day . . .

Menorah on the windowsill
To shine away the cold
And staying until every candle
Has grown dim and old;
Family and friends and all
To be here by my side
For eight full days to tell stories
Of Solomon the Wise –
Or how a lamp with but a day
Of oil in its shell
Burned until more could be found
To refill its dry well.
Even if you don’t believe,
Or do not have a God
No holiday to celebrate
No songs with which to nod
Still you have people to love –
I know without a doubt,
That even with no gifts at all,
That’s what Christmas’ about.

[Scheherazade]

Holy Night

The rocking motion of the beast
Jiggles the belly,
Wobbles the amniotic sac.

They reach a barn,
Granted privilege,
Poor beast watered and fed.

Husband cushions wife in hay,
Breathing of bestiary only sound,
Marital understanding between eyes
In silent consecration.
Wife slips into sleep.

Husband ventures out for midwife
An evening which may bring
Fatherhood or widowhood,
Returns unaccompanied,
Wood being easier to shape.

Returns with evening meal,
Some bread, some wine.
Returns to screams of wife,
Eyes wide, teeth glaring,
Preagonal motions of enfeebled ritual.

Water, then, to rinse her face
To cool her arms, unwrapping her clothes,
Bathes pre-maternal breasts,
Spreads arms out to refresh pilous pits.

Her hands grip to fists
Contraction strikes through belly
An unclothing to light
Lifts her legs to release, to release—

Beasts clench to screams
Husband strokes her head
Sweat pastes black hair to crown
Naked on her back with streaks of heat
With bulge of belly below.

And the water that flows from her groin
And the pain—to release
Like a crucifixion.

And water—
And lifts her legs—
To release—
And pain—
To a crucifixion—

Will it bring death this life
In some invisible double?
Or will life bring death?

And then release to final pain
To feel arms and feet glide
Through her opening.

And then release of blood,
Release to pure light
Babe swaddled with pain of cry
Wet and bloodied in father’s arms.
Husband covers her with beast’s blanket.

Feels ease of numbness,
Eyes close once again
Crosses legs to close pain
Passes to ethereal sleep.

Hours later she wakes to morning light,
To look at eyes of love.

[Scheherazade]

---------

[ONCE UPON A TIME] on a gray
and cold Christmas night, in a
small town with tree-lined streets
overlooking the cacophony of
burning neon lights to the city that
never sleeps...

I saw a face with loneliness
framed in a second-story red brick,
eyes set far back raging
and yet so calm; a face
worn to translucence, with lines
that flowed in every direction.

I saw a face with loneliness,
through glassy eyes I could see a father
who had waited in bread lines asking
himself over, "Why?" these eyes hers that
welled up a younger brother [who had
volunteered for WWII] a-cross the Rhine
and into France, and under an impassive
White Cross where he remains.

I saw a face with loneliness march over
serrated shadows of old Vietnam to
Cambodia; into Peru she scaled maccu
piccu heights, and with the howl of a
magenta horizon, thought of flowers.

My numb hallucination, a rift between
snowflakes mingling and a knife-wind; like
an April shower caught in a season not its
own, she whispers discreetly, "Kiss me
mister before I wade off into a cold
homecoming wind."

With a fuzzy scarf pulled over my breath
steam, I turned away into the misty bone of
night [learning some years after] in that time
clap she smiled down to me had as soon
swiftly gone, to be bathed by an angel's
tears [they said]. How the body emancipates
itself to dawn's disbelief; even on a gray
and cold Christmas night.

[Virgil]

Oh great. Another contest. When will voting end?

[Scheherazade]

You should be able to see when the voting closes in your part of the world on top of the poll.

[Virgil]

You should be able to see when the voting closes in your part of the world on top of the poll.

Oh thanks. :)

[Virgil]

**Bump**

People, you only have a couple of days to vote.

[Madhuri]

Only two days!!

I have to read four poems, and then think and decide. Its too less....:( Anyhow i'll try my best....

[Virgil]

I wonder if there is a min post counted needed to vote on this? Does anyone know?

[Janine]

Well, so far I am dismayed to see there has only been 4 voters. Maybe most people can't find this thread.

[Scheherazade]

Going once...

[Pensive]

Great Poems, everyone!

Every poem was well-written, and especially choosing between A Christmas Poem and Holy Night was immensely difficult for me.

[Petrarch's Love]

Just found this thread. I hadn't seen anything about this Christmas Poetry Competition. I thought they were all good and, like Pensive, was especially torn between "A Christmas Poem" and "Holy Night." But, since I have to choose just one...

[Janine]

Yes, I was torn between the two, like Petrarch and Pensive - I liked the others as well, but thought these two were most complete and to the point. I have voted and can't wait for the final decision but so far not enough people have seen the poems so better to wait a bit. Good job - posters of poems! Not easy writing one so fine, during the holidays.

[jon1jt]

democracy, ah.

[Janine]

Scher, When will the winner be picked? Tomorrow?

[Madhuri]

I have narrowed down to two poems, and, I have to now decide which one is more relevant in terms of the theme. I'll cast my vote by evening (IST) today. :)

Good Luck to the contestants! :thumbs_up

[Scheherazade]

Going twice...

[Janine]

So....who's the winner....does he get a crown or an award or a metal or something?

[JackShea]

Holy ******. I Lost! Seriously, a very good job. See you next Christmas...Jack

[Janine]

Which one was yours Jack? Everyone did a fine job! I wanted to know now, who wrote which ones.

[Scheherazade]

http://www.snitchseeker.com/vb3/images/smilies/party-smiley-050.gifCongratulations to Virgil, who is the winner of Christmas Poetry Competition!http://www.snitchseeker.com/vb3/images/smilies/party-smiley-050.gif

Holy Night

The rocking motion of the beast
Jiggles the belly,
Wobbles the amniotic sac.

They reach a barn,
Granted privilege,
Poor beast watered and fed.

Husband cushions wife in hay,
Breathing of bestiary only sound,
Marital understanding between eyes
In silent consecration.
Wife slips into sleep.

Husband ventures out for midwife
An evening which may bring
Fatherhood or widowhood,
Returns unaccompanied,
Wood being easier to shape.

Returns with evening meal,
Some bread, some wine.
Returns to screams of wife,
Eyes wide, teeth glaring,
Preagonal motions of enfeebled ritual.

Water, then, to rinse her face
To cool her arms, unwrapping her clothes,
Bathes pre-maternal breasts,
Spreads arms out to refresh pilous pits.

Her hands grip to fists
Contraction strikes through belly
An unclothing to light
Lifts her legs to release, to release—

Beasts clench to screams
Husband strokes her head
Sweat pastes black hair to crown
Naked on her back with streaks of heat
With bulge of belly below.

And the water that flows from her groin
And the pain—to release
Like a crucifixion.

And water—
And lifts her legs—
To release—
And pain—
To a crucifixion—

Will it bring death this life
In some invisible double?
Or will life bring death?

And then release to final pain
To feel arms and feet glide
Through her opening.

And then release of blood,
Release to pure light
Babe swaddled with pain of cry
Wet and bloodied in father’s arms.
Husband covers her with beast’s blanket.

Feels ease of numbness,
Eyes close once again
Crosses legs to close pain
Passes to ethereal sleep.

Hours later she wakes to morning light,
To look at eyes of love.


:) I would like to thank everyone who has contributed in the competition and voted! :)

Those finalists who would like to receive criticism on their poems can do so by posting their poem in a separate thread.