Christmas Poems

Innocent’s Song.

Who’s that knocking at the window,

Who’s that standing at the door,

What are all those presents

Lying on the kitchen floor?

Who is the smiling  stranger

With hair white as gin,

What is he doing with the children

And who could have let him in?

Why has he rubies on his fingers,

A cold, cold crown on his head,

Why, when he caws his carol,

Does the salty snow run red?

Why does the world before him

Melt in a million suns,

Why do his yellow, yearning eyes

Burn like saffron buns?

Watch where he comes walking

Out of the Christmas flame,

Dancing, double talking:

Herod is his name. Charles Causley

To a Lady saying Grace in a Station Buffet.

Step nearer to my canvas gracious traveller

That I may paint a portrait of you

Sitting tranquilly against a backcloth

Of trains and timetables,

As mindful of Cana, you offer thanks

For lukewarm coffee

And the veiled hostility of slab cake.      Sheila Nottage

Lord Finchley.

Lord Finchley tied to mend the Electric Light

Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!

It is the business of the wealthy man

to give employment to the artisan.       Hilaire Belloc


Prayer is like watching for the

Kingfisher. All you can do is

be where he is likely to appear, and


Often, nothing much happens;

There is space, silence and


No visible sign, only the

Knowledge that he’s been there

And may come again.

Seeing or not seeing cease to matter.

You have been prepared.

But when you have almost stopped

Expecting it, a flash of brightness

Gives encouragement.         Ann Lewin

Bird Psalm.

The Swallow said,

He comes like me,

Longed for; unexpectedly.

The superficial eye

Will pass him by,

Said the Wren.

The best singer ever heard.

No one will take much notice,

Said the Blackbird.

The Owl said,

He who is , who is he

Who enters  the heart as soft

As my soundless wings, as me.      U. A. Fanthorpe

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