Life Is Not Billable

Light Night

Little Miss Sophie

Mr. Santa Claus

Would You?

By Ruth Somers

“Would you like to hold the baby?”
The gentle Mary might have said
To the shepherds who were kneeling
By her Holy Infant’s bed.

“Would you like to hold the baby?”
She might have asked those men of old,
Three wise men who had offered Him,
Myrrh, frankincense and gold.

“Would you like to hold the baby?”
She might ask of us today,
“Hold the blessed Christmas spirit
Deep within your hearts to stay?”

No Gifts Please

So many of you asked us (since Yuletide’s drawing near)
“What do you want for Christmas? What can we give this year?”
If we say, “We want nothing!” you buy something anyway,
So here’s a list of what we’d like; believe now what we say:

Pajamas for a little child, food to feed the poor.
Blankets for a shelter, and we ask but little more

Peace of Winter, A

Ten miles east of the Rocky Mountains
i light a cigar, lean back in my chair
choose a moment and breathe
will my sight and energy out of focus

Those white giants rise
blend with the mist of the sky
i am offered a tenderpeek of shadow
blessed vapor of faces
the smiling eyes of my Children and brother
my wife and hers in that kind distance
apparent transparent Mother

This place of my birth
some times too cold to cry
offers yet a bit of peace
that we might gather ourselves
create a loving space here
set down our troubles and give
one to the other of self

i accept and expect
that there was a man
a nomadic wanderer
who chose to carry love on his back
to teach the art of caring for others
pure pride born of being humble
the great gift of self… sharing

Now the Children of mine Children
come to see thee ten thousand lights
hug me warm, “Oh Papa”

Let us go inside
It is the Christmas
We are creatures of the mountain
candles in her night

copyright 2002
Thomas Paul

Sparkle of Christmas, The

by Rose Standish Kellogg

The very name ofChristmas
has sparkle in it’s sound.
It has the shine of tinsel,
of crisp and frosty ground.

It prickles with a fragrance
of spicy northern pine,
whose fresh and pungent perfume
is part of Christmas time

It rustles with gay secrets,
with gifts and mistletoe.
It tinkles with the silver
of bells across the snow.

It smells of goose and turkey,
of walnuts, cakes, plum jam,
of mincemeat from the storeroom,
of ruby jell and and ham.

It spells a brighter brilliance
of stars in heaven’s blue,
as if angels, keeping Yuletide,
are lighting their trees too.

It has the shine of tinsel,
Of crisp and frosty ground,
The very name of Christmas
has sparkle in it’s sound.

My Beautiful Mary Ann

When peace was declared and the war was done,
I found myself living in France,
They said I owed my survival
To the hand of the Lord, not to chance.

I’d been brought in with no dog tags,
My hands were too burned for prints,
There was no way to ID me,
Not a thing to give one a hint.

I tried to remember what happened,
My mind was a total blank,
No name – no serial number,
No clue to position or rank.

The only thing they found on me
Was a picture grasped in my hand,
A beautiful child in a velvet dress,
Inscribed, “Daddy, With Love, Mary Ann.”

The picture, though crumpled and crushed,
Was still clear enough to see,
Yet it did not awaken my mind,
Nor stir any memories for me.

Who was this beautiful Mary Ann?
Was she really a child of mine?
And what of her mother – where was she?
Oh, so empty my poor heart and mind.

Well, a good many months later,
I was physically healed, they said,
Just a few scars and blemishes showed,
But no sign of the wound in my head.

Then, they shipped me back to the states,
With hopes that my past could be learned.
Amnesia is sometimes reversible,
Something triggers a memory’s return.

I still had my picture with me,
My beautiful Mary Ann,
But where was this precious child?
So big and so vast was this land.

Time for me passed too slowly,
Not much work could this veteran find,
No one, it seems, was hiring,
A man with a part of a mind.

Summers, I played Chess in the park,
Winters, I played in a hall,
But every night I went back to my room,
Alone and depressed overall.

My beautiful Mary Ann’s picture,
Now sat in a frame at my side,
I wondered where was this sweet child?
Where in this world did she hide?

One day a man came into the hall,
He said he had work for a few,
Of all of the guys, he picked me out,
Saying, “Hey – you with the beard – you’ll do.”

The beard I’d grown to cover my scars,
Was now bushy and nearly white,
I laughed at his reason for hiring me,
He cared naught of my mental blight.

Playing department store Santa,
Was not really my cup of tea,
But my heart brimmed over with joy,
At the smiles the kids gave to me.

And God, in His mysterious ways,
Performed a miracle one night,
For late afternoon of Christmas Eve,
You-know-who came into my sight.

My beautiful Mary Ann appeared,
Though older, I knew her at once,
The beautiful child that sat on my lap,
Meant the end of my tireless hunt.

“And, what do you want for Christmas?”
As Santa, I asked this sweet one,
Her wistful reply was, “Oh Santa,
I just want my daddy to come.”

I looked at the end of the walkway,
Her dear mother, I recognized,
Oh yes, I knew that fair lady,
The one with the tears in her eyes.

In a second, the power of love
Filled a man’s empty heart and soul,
And joined a family on Christmas Eve,
And made what was broken now whole.

Not the miracles of science,
Nor the skills of doctors’ hands,
Held as much healing power,
As my two beautiful Mary Ann’s.

Santa (two merry)

Two merry blue eyes
A queer little nose
A long snowy beard
And cheeks like a rose
A round chubby man
A big bulging pack
Hurrah for Old Santa
We’re glad he’s come back!

Next Page »