Showing posts with label Christmas Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas Poem. Show all posts
Wednesday, 24 December 2014
From 'Christmas' by John Betjeman
Christmas
....
And is it true? And is it true?
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's he,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the starts and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?
And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant.
No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this simple truth compare -
That God was Man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.
John Betjeman
Tuesday, 23 December 2014
Christmas Poem by 8 year-old Alexander Coulson
Advent Candle
Commander of wax
Waiting Alone
Running from darkness
Chameleon of light
Brightest star
Flame dancer
Most beautiful
Flowing like a wave
The most powerful energy.
Alexander Coulson
Aged 8
December, 1999
Monday, 22 December 2014
Spike Milligan's Christmas Poem
Christmas 1970
A little girl called Sile Javotte
Said: 'Look at the lovely presents I've got.'
While a little girl in Biafra said:
'Oh what a lovely slice of bread.'
Spike Milligan
Sunday, 21 December 2014
There is no Rose 15th Century Christmas Poem
There is no rose of such virtue
As in the rose that bare Jesu;
Alleluya
For in this rose was
Heaven and earth in little space
Res Miranda.
By that rose we well may see
That he is God in persons three,
Pari forma
The angels sungen the shepherds to:
'Gloria in excelsis Deo.'
Gaudeamus.
Leave we all this worldly mirth,
And follow we this joyful birth.
Transeamus.
15th Century Christmas Poem
Anon
* * * *
Translation.
Res Miranda. A thing to be marvelled at.
Pari forma. Of the same form.
Gloria in excelsis Deo. Glory to God in the Highest.
Gaudeamus. Let us Rejoice.
Transeamus. Let us Depart
Saturday, 20 December 2014
Favourite Christmas Poem
I Sing of a Maiden.
15th Century.
I sing of a maiden that is makeless,
King of all kings to her son she ches.
He came also stilly there His mother was;
As dew in Aprille that falleth on the flower.
He came also stilly where is mother lay,
As dew in Aprille that falleth on the spray.
Mother and maiden was never none but she -
Well may such a lady God's mother be!
Anon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
