Christmas Poem 1

3 December 2025

We turn from depressing nightmares to the happiness of Christmas. . . .

6 December 2012

Since we have entered that joyous holiday season, I thought to post some things related to Christmas. I have over the years written several poems, Christmas-themed, in an attempt to encapsulate (a very interesting word!) the feelings associated with the season. One good example of art of this kind is everyone’s favorite Christmas movie, A Christmas Story, which captures this feeling successfully (and comically), of a kid at Christmas. Adults of my generation (and older) relate so well to what is described in this Christmas film for it conveys a sense of the season that is no longer present, a magical, child-like wonder that was, for us, the essence of Christmas. Poetry attempts to recapture feelings present only in memory, and so is another medium for recapturing these feelings.

The poem that follows, “Christmas, ca. 1970″ is one of my attempts to capture, condense, and express this spirit of the season, written one Christmas day a few years ago:

Christmas, ca. 1970

I sat staring
as I often did
out of the classroom
window
watching snow
swirling
along pavement
cars rushed by
11th ave. front of
Webster Elementary
I prayed
snow would stick
pile up
cover ground
close
school streets
Ritual repeated
day after day
after week
after week during
winter months whenever clouds
darkened sky
lowered
threatening snow almost
to no avail
except for one memorable
winter snow fell slowly
gained
momentum falling
faster clouds
obscuring the Hill
falling
faster darkening sound
echoed
dully cars
creeping ill-prepared
for this onslaught kids
frolicked waited
foggy breath grass
disappearing
waxing runners
anticipating
sledding, snowforts
snowball fights.

I had a paper route
mornings
for the Tribune
up at 4 a.m.
walked or rode
my bike to
area west of
Pioneer Park.
Bitter cold followed
snow Christmas
morning below zero
I reluctantly rose
borrowed
dressed in Dad’s
insulated hunting
pants–too big but
warm–boots
crunched
I walked to
small store
half of a duplex
served
as drop point
bundle of papers
along with two others’.
Opened my bundle
slid
frosted papers
Christmas headline
into front & back
canvas delivery back
Tribune logo
slung
over my head
fingers already
numb
in spite of
wool socks inside
mittens nose
cheeks tingling
from cold.
I hurried without
running
along my route
finishing
across from
park Garden
City Apts. stairs
cracking
popping under
my slight weight.

Back home, all others still
sleeping I
plugged
tree lights in
admired
brightly wrapped
packages under
the tree saw
one large
flat rectangular
box–younger
brother must have
gotten the bike
he wanted I
wondered
how my parents
of meager means
had managed all this then I
paused
to look at the tag
astonished
to see my name I
grinned.

In the kitchen I
poured
hot water into mug
prepared
powdered mild & Ovaltine
held mug in still numb
hands sat in
living room
slowly drinking hot
chocolate
thawing
waiting
for siblings to rise
begin ritual
waking
of Dad on Christmas morning.

Later, after hearing younger
brother swear
tags mixed up
opening
my mini pool
table his chin
on his chest, he
argued
well-ahead of his
half-a-dozen, or so,
years, IQ near
140
that Dad must
be Santa Claus
because he had
used
Christmas bonus
to buy
all these presents for
five children he
knew
we couldn’t
afford. Chin
smacked
chest second
time when Dad
produced
crisp new
bill from his
wallet.