Category Archives: Poem of the Day

Christmas on Mulligans’ Farm by Louise McCarthy

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At a quarter to seven on Christmas morning,

The farmyard choir commenced performing.

The hens lead-in – Bok bok begin.

Then bar by bar the sheep joined in.

A donkey brayed, some horses neighed,

The cows crooned moo, an egg was laid!

Then Tom the cat and Mrs. Mittens,

Meowed and purred with their three kittens.

 

Ensuing this; a quiet rest,

A morning banquet; the very best!

A cup of tea; a fruit mince pie,

Good hay and grain to feed the choir.

 

The singers resumed; fine-tuning their voices;

For Handel’s Messiah; what fine Christmas choices!

The lead dog howled Bach, and the others joined in;

A Christmas Oratorio fit for a king!

The audience cheered, the dog took a bow,

So too the others, and finally the cow.

 

Then onto the stage- the pièce de résistance;

The turkey arrived; a special appearance.

She sang with such joy; her small repertoire;

Each Christmas her singing gets better by far.

 

And so – this is Christmas on Mulligans’ farm.

And the gift is quite simple and has so much charm.

This story’s a gift and the wish is for you;

For peace and for hope the whole year through.

 

By Louise McCarthy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jingle Bells by Sioban Trimmer

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Sioban Trimmer

The Stray, Christmas morning by JR Poulter

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Teacher Notes:

English writing skills

Write a short description of what you would feel if you woke Christmas morning to not one present. Compare this to finding your Christmas wish granted had been granted.

 

Drawing and emotional intelligence

Draw a four frame comic showing the changes a thoughtful gift can make to a sad person’s facial expression.

 

Team work:

List ways the class could work together to make a difference in the lives of less fortunate folk this Christmas. With your teacher’s guidance, implement one of your class’s projects.

Sequencing:

Make a photo diary of how you all worked to achieve your outcome as a class.

 

Pic and poem and teacher notes by J.R.Poulter

Opening presents by Jenny Erlanger

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We place our gift in Grandpa’s hands,

he’s having so much fun.

He reads his card and then he stands

and hugs us, one by one.

 

He says he’s feeling very proud,

he says we’re all so dear.

and then he reads his card out loud

so everyone can hear.

 

The ribbon’s lovingly untied

then folded in his lap.

The sticky tape is slowly pried

from every paper flap.

 

And now it’s time for us to start.

We can’t wait any more.

We rip our wrappings wide apart

and drop them to the floor.

 

Our fumbling fingers tug at strings

to get to what we need.

We open up our pile of things

at record-breaking speed.

 

The day slips by, it isn’t fair!

Why must it go so fast?

I wish I had my Grandpa’s flair

for making moments last!

Jenny Erlanger

 

Someone’s living in my Christmas tree! by James Aitchison

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A monster lives in my Christmas tree;

he shakes the branches at half-past three.

The tinsel swings from side to side,

the decorations slip and slide,

Jingle-dingle!  Jingle-dingle!

Tinkly dingles intermingle.

 

Even if I stand up on a chair,

I can’t see him — but I know he’s there!

Then I gave him a monstrous cake,

and now he’s got a tummy ache.

There’s no more monster in my tree

so Santa Claus can come to me!

 

James Aitchison

A Prickly Issue by Jenny Erlanger

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It’s great for mind and soul, they say

but look how scratched my nose is!

I came away so sore that day

I stopped to smell the roses.

Jenny Erlanger

Chocolate Box Planet by Celia Berrell

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Let’s hope this won’t come as a shock

but Earth’s not made of solid rock.

Instead it’s like those fancy chocs

you sometimes get inside a box.

 

The centre’s dense and very hot.

And hard just like a hazelnut.

It’s mostly made from iron ore.

We label it the Inner Core.

 

The Outer Core’s a liquid goo

like runny toffee soft to chew.

The iron’s melted here as well

but wouldn’t taste of caramel.

 

The Mantle is a bit bizarre.

A kind of squishy-tough nougat.

It’s sometimes liquid sometimes not.

We call it semi-solid rock.

 

And finally the chocolate coating.

Thin and crisp and kind of floating.

Made from rocky plates that thrust

some bumps upon our choccy’s Crust.

 

Although our World’s too big to eat

and wouldn’t taste much like a sweet

a nutty chocolate compares

with eating through Earth’s many layers.

 

My Christmas Story by Kylie Covark

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I’m writing a Christmas story.

It feels like Winter snow.

I’d better get a move on;

Just six more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It sounds like Ho Ho Ho.

I’d better get my skates on;

Just five more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It smells like cookie dough.

I’d better get a roll on;

Just four more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story,

But it’s not the one I know.

I’d better pull the reins in

With three more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It smells like fresh mango,

I’d better take it easy;

Still two more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It sounds like the sea’s flow,

It’s time to take a rest now;

Just one more sleep to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It feels like Summer’s glow.

And today I’ll live that story;

A Christmas of my own.

 

By Kylie Covark

 

“Christmas Confusion” by Louise McCarthy

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Christmas Confusion.

Exhausted I was – one Christmas Eve,

After putting out presents for Santa – Indeed!

I sat on the sofa and ate Santa’s supper.

Instead of the milk – I had a hot cuppa.

 

I started to doze, I started to dream.

I dreamt I was flying as one of a team.

It was cold; it was freezing; my nose – it was red!

Then someone roared “Rudolf!” And I turned my head.

 

“To the top of the porch…”

“Yes I know how it goes.”

And instinctively up off the ground I arose.

Dashing here, there and yonder,

With no time to ponder.

Delivering presents all made by the elves.

 

And when the night ended,

And at last we descended;

I wearily lay down to rest on the hay.

I started to doze, I started to dream.

Then someone yelled “Dad! Where have you been?

Santa’s left presents! Mum’s set the table…

Why are you out here asleep in the stable?”

 

 

The Visit by Pat Simmons

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Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,

carefully avoiding the creaks,

we stop

and take each other’s hand.

At the bottom we tiptoe,

trembling,

towards the door.

Almost afraid to breath

we slowly, gently, push it open.

Beneath the twinkling lights

sit the gifts.

‘He’s been,’ we whisper

‘He’s been.’

 

(Published 2014 by Celapene Press, Short and Twisted and Thynks Publications Bards at Blidworth and Beyond Anthology of Poems)