Click below to hear a song about the Christmas story
ADVENT EVENINGS IN THE TOWN
The night is soft as velvet,
But the wind has steely chill
As it cuts the human rivulets
Of shoppers shopping still.
The windows gleam like treasure,
They glow as warm as toast;
Small eyes are huge with pleasure
To spy what they want most.
There are strung illuminations
Above the taxi rank
That join in celebration
The bookshop to the bank.
The market chaps are cheery,
The shop girls hasten chat,
The hand-held child looks weary;
There could be a fuss about that.
Shops are bright and stuffy;
Outside is black and biting.
Hats are hot, scarves are fluffy,
And the cafes seem inviting.
There’s a scent of spices baking,
The trees are leaved with lights,
There’s a sense of winter awaking
In these glittering, reclaimed nights.
There’s music in the misting,
There’s twinkling in the skies,
There’s warmth and life and listening,
And seeing with children’s eyes.
HAPPY CHRISTMAS
Little girl and little boy,
May this Christmas bring you joy,
May it bring you special treats,
Gifts of toys, of games and sweets;
But chocolate melts, the toys will crack,
In twenty years, when you look back,
It is the love and care that will
Stretch down the years and be there still.
FESTIVE COFFEE SHOP
I know what time of year has come around
When coffee shops are like a warm caress;
I know it by the hubbub’s cheery sound,
I know it by the idle busyness;
The rustling of the bloated shopping bags,
A glinting cabinet full of fat mince pies,
With wall to wall enchained by tinselly swags
And little lights that catch the children’s eyes.
Fool’s gilding and an ancient ritual sandwich,
Like the Cranberry and Turkey out to eat;
Remembered music binding like a bandage,
The glow the cafe throws onto the street.
December dusk demands a coffee shop;
There could not be a better place to stop.
KING’S COLLEGE: Nine Lessons and Carols
Beyond the pulsing surge of Christmas trading,
Beneath the dense December sky,
And as the cheery queue winds by,
The chapel’s halo burns, with daylight fading.
Gilded pipes pitch sound into the street;
From creamy stone a headless crown
And fearsome dragons look on down
At sheepish coughers, coats and shuffling feet.
The velvet hammer of the sacred word,
And soaring heights of solo song
Bring moods of Christmas, rolling on
With every candle seen and carol heard.
The shiny heads of boys in surplice drapes
Are magnified by time and place.
Devotion sates one watching face
Until, by Lesson Six, a yawn escapes.
Heaven trickles down the funneled vaults,
And cultured English taps the ear.
Majestic the mystery honoured here
To lift us from the mire of our faults.
One baby born – amongst the millions hurled,
To die, to live and to inspire,
With dancing glass and dulcet choir,
One glorious building singing to the world.
CHRISTMAS SPIRITS
Can you hear the sleigh bells jingling?
Can you hear the snow crunching
Beneath your feet?
Can you see three kings processing
Through the concrete conglomeration?
Can you spy the frosted berries,
Can you smell the chestnut roasties
Through the smog?
Can you see celestial twinkles
Through the neon illumination?
I can hear the sleigh bells jingling,
I can feel the snow crunching
Beyond my senses;
I can see Christmas spirits coming
Through the flat grey streets.
IF YOU SEE FATHER CHRISTMAS
Watch the video, or read the poem below.
If anyone sees Father Christmas,
There’s something he really should know;
The builder’s extending our kitchen
And he said that the chimney must go!
I’m worried that when Mr Christmas
Comes flying along in his sleigh,
He’ll find there’s no longer a chimney
At 54 Cranberry Way.
And the only way in is the chimney,
The windows and doors will be locked.
He might move straight on to the neighbours
When he finds his old entrance is blocked.
I could hide him a key by the dustbin,
But how do I make Santa see?
If nobody spots Father Christmas
He won’t know I’ve hidden a key.
I suppose it’s become quite a problem,
With far fewer chimneys about,
And they often shove stoves at the bottom,
Which must make it hard to get out.
Perhaps it’s a strange kind of magic
That saves Father Christmas from knocking.
My friend doesn’t have any chimneys
And she always gets stuff in her stocking.
Yes, I’ve heard of the “magic of Christmas”,
So perhaps there’s a wand in his cloak,
A mysterious stick tipped with snowflakes,
And the presents appear at a stroke.
So don’t bother about Father Christmas,
I expect it will sort itself out,
For he’s even more likely to skip us
If we’re peeping when he is about.
AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS
Below red roofs and the silver thatch,
The children circled, bright from Santa beds.
A walk to the rock of Church in opal sun;
Parents marched with turkeys in their heads.
Wreath weaves and pyracantha spray;
All should be well on Christmas day.
Upon concealed gifts round a coaxed fire,
Some eager fingers pounced with gleeful speed;
But the deepest joy was in the parents’ watch –
They’d planned surprises with such loving need.
Haloed fir and hollied paper bright;
All may be well by fairy light.
Around plump spread of the Christmas meal,
The family gabbled, tasting all good things;
The cracker paper crowns and the crimson wine
Went to their heads and made them high as kings.
Packed puds and sapphire brandy flame;
All must be well to feel the same.
Amongst ripe sloth in the lapsing day,
The bodies dozed, by leave of Queen and light,
And thoughts went creeping on from a starred dawn
To cold meat and a colder, aweless night.
Christmas leaves as Winter beats its drums;
But all will be well, for Christmas comes.
CHRISTMAS TREADS
(These words were put to music by composer, Judy Whitlock, and the resulting song was performed by Norwich Cathedral Girls’ Choir.)
Christmas treads on the dregs of the tumbling year,
It lights hearty fires in the twigs and leaves,
It grows with glossy green and rosy cheer,
And the cold-choked world breathes.
Christmas runs to the hopes of the coming times,
It calls tomorrow’s dreams from angels’ wings,
It claims joy and rings it out in chimes;
In the dark night it sings.
Christmas leaves in a gentle, rounded sleep;
It wakes, small, in a great expectant dawn.
It gives birth and feels the death-step creep,
And pricks us with a thorn.
CHRISTMAS REVISITED
Can you find Christmas in a bottle, like a genie?
Can you mold it from the plastic of a credit card?
Does it materialise by switching on a TV?
What happens to it when life gets really hard?
Are the stars on Christmas Eve the ones you’ve always seen,
And is December snow the same as falls in January?
Is the tree just a felled and dying evergreen,
And is holly just a branch of vicious leaves and a berry?
Without some sort of stocking hanging on a door,
Without the shopping, without the pleasures of the wealthy,
And if Christmas pudding were banned for being unhealthy,
Would it still be a feast which we are hungry for?
Does Christmas hold power in the mystery of its fable,
Or is it just the comfort that tradition gives us?
If we told of a Teletubby born in a stable,
Could that do? Could that be enough?
Would that be Christmas?
CHRISTMAS TREE
On a morning faded with mist,
We brought in the tree,
And it grew in the space that it filled.
We set it at last, with a twist,
In a stand, and were free,
With it tethered, to do as we willed.
We tamed it with tinsel and lights,
We made it our own
With the bows and the bells and the spheres,
The lure of chocolate delights,
And a gold-painted cone
We had used at the treetop for years.
It shone with rich life in the gloom;
Like treasure it shone;
But by Christmas some needles were shed,
Though its scent wove a spell in the room.
But Christmas was gone
When we saw, through the gleam,
It was dead.
DEAR FATHER CHRISTMAS
Dear Father Christmas,
I’ve been good;
I’ve done the things they said I should:
As long as you don’t poke your head
Into the space beneath my bed,
In case I’ve let some dirty washing
Slip under there; and don’t be squashing
In between my bedroom wall
And chest of drawers – I think a ball
Might well have fallen down the slot.
And it’s not my ball. It’s my sister’s. So what?
If the ball is genuinely missed
She can put one on her Christmas list.
It’s possible I’ve got a stash
Of sweeties, and some secret cash;
They’re just emergency supplies
I’m keeping safe from prying eyes.
Now when the bedtime lights go out
I’m straight to sleep, without a doubt;
Well, mostly. And it’s true for sure
On Christmas Eve you’ll hear me snore.
And if you’re speaking to my teacher,
(She’s really old, called Mrs Meacher),
She might have words about that drawing –
It was only ‘cos she makes Maths boring.
The situation is, you see,
That there are kids way worse than me,
So I will keep my list quite short,
And as I’m really keen on sport,
But sometimes need some indoor fun,
I think I need an X-Box One.
WRAPPING PRESENTS
Thin paper beauty
Hid the dullest things with surprise;
Ties and socks and bargain buys,
Purchases of duty
Turned to treasure,
Cubes and blobs of pleasure.
And it was all in the paper.
CAROL SINGING
A whirling, gusty Christmas Eve,
Snowless, damp and milder than might be;
Wrapped , in spite, in wool and fur,
And all the season’s childhood dreams,
The singers longed to set their carols free.
Beneath the haze of amber lights
They gathered, cheerful, waking throats and eyes;
They hurled their notes towards the stars
That glitter on all Christmas nights,
Though hidden then by clouds of rushing skies.
A porch light lit, a window shone,
A curtain twitched; and watching them unseen,
An eager gaze from up above,
Which hurried Father Christmas on,
Excited that the carolers had been.
Through glowing doors the listeners came,
And warmer hands small stacks of coins surrendered;
Then at the largest house of all
Were offered pies; that year the same
As every other Christmas Eve remembered.
“Unto us is born a son”
Where Bethlehem lies still in silent night;
And holly bows with ivy grow.
These dozen days will always come,
With all the faithful following the light.