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A Happiness Recipe

 

If you want to be happy

As happy can be,

Try not to keep asking

“What’s in it for me?”

Enjoy what you have,

(Perhaps quite a lot)

And give far less thought

To what you have not.

 

Be happy you live,

Be happy you grow,

Be happy you learn

What many don’t know,

Be happy to help

A person in need,

Be happy you’re loved.

That’s happy indeed!

 Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #23

Poetry Prompt #22

Monty says: Like adults, children can look for happiness in the wrong places and become disappointed and disillusioned with life. My aim in the poem was to offer a simple recipe for a different outcome.

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12 days of Dogness

 

On the first day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

Last year’s Christmas stocking

In the bottom was a pea

 

On the second day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A chewed up Christmas decoration

For our brand new tree

 

On the third day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A dug up bone from last year

And dumped it by my knee

 

On the fourth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

An old Santa hat

Found under the old settee

 

On the fifth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A bit of Christmas cake

To go with my cup of tea

 

On the sixth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A striped candy cane

Stolen from the tree

 

On the seventh day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A string of Christmas lights

He thought needed to be freed

 

On the eighth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

A potato from the vegie patch

One less for Christmas tea

 

On the ninth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

A freshly baked mince pie

And eyes that pleaded “feed me”

 

On the tenth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

An old nativity book

Pages ripped out for me to see

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

Santa’s special cookies

Left out for Santa’s feed

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A heart of Christmas cheer

Which was really all I need

Jeanie Axton

 

 

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Fly to the Moon

 

Fly to the moon and share with me

Your dreams and angel dust

We’ll touch the stars and fill the air

With sparkles light and such.

 

Fly to the moon, look down and see

Blue oceans surge and swell

The fish will dance in moonglow,

Salty secrets yet to tell.

 

Fly to the moon and watch the earth

From way up high above

Turning ever turning

All magnificence and love.

Patti Bourne
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #50

poetry-prompt-50

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We Wish You a Merry Birthday

 

My name is Noelle and I’m sorry to say

that I was born on Christmas Day,

after the presents but before the singing

(nonsense about sleigh bells ringing).

My father claimed he’d had a hunch

that I’d be born right after lunch

and so it was: Mum gave a shout!

Pudding went in, I popped out.

I wish, I wish, I really do

she’d held on for a week or two.

Each year I share my special day

with that festering, festive holiday.

Instead of balloons I get baubles.

My head aches as my family warbles

Christmas carols all day long—

I never get a birthday song

and though each year I get a cake

it’s always fruit, for goodness sake.

I always thought it couldn’t be worse

than a birthday with a tinsel curse

till my sister made my birthday cool—

she was born an April fool.

Jessica Nelson

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #49
    poetry-prompt-48Jessica said: I was guilty of having a baby on Christmas Day last year, and I’ve been filled in on the potential downsides of a birthday overshadowed by Christmas. I hope she always finds her birthday special, and I’ll be sure to sing her Happy Birthday every year.

 

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The Christmas Garden

 

Right across from my house is a garden sublime,

where it looks like it’s Christmas there all of the time.

There are several old pine trees all bushy and green,

with the largest brown pine cones that you’ve ever seen.

There’s a seat on the lawn that just looks like a sleigh,

simply waiting for reindeer to pull it away.

There are statues of angels turned up to the sky,

sculptured wings all out ready to fly, oh so high.

And then peeking round flowers quite pleased with themselves

are some colourful gnomes that could pass for the elves.

Now this garden belongs to a fellow called Dawes,

who looks very much like, the real Santa Claus.

He is jolly and round, with a beard snowy white

and he works in his workshop late into the night.

Each December he puts on a Christmas display,

that brings people to visit from far and away.

On the pine trees are baubles and lights that all shine.

There is tinsel, and snowflakes and gold stars divine.

Harnessed up to the sleigh stands a proud reindeer team,

with big Rudolph out front – his red nose all a-gleam.

All the angels now stand singing carols and hymns,

while the elves wear red hats each with festive white trims.

Now lean over close and I’ll whisper to you

a secret that’s known but to only a few.

A tale so amazing you may not believe

that magic takes place there on each Christmas Eve.

When darkness has fallen and shadows are deep,

the elves and the reindeer awake from their sleep.

All the angels fly over the sleigh sprinkling gold

and transform the old seat to a sight to behold.

A sack is now filled to the brim with bright toys,

for kind little girls and good little boys.

Mister Dawes dressed in red, then strides out to his sleigh,

quickly takes up the reins and flies quietly away.

It is just as the sun starts to rise Christmas morn,

that the reindeer fly quietly back onto the lawn.

In the instant they land things are back how they were,

All except for old Dawes, who is still dressed in fur.

As he’s done every year for a very long while,

He now looks to my window and gives me a smile.

I then nod and I wave as I sit there relieved,

again pleased that in magic, I’ve always believed.

Caroline Tuohey
  • Submitted in response to poetry prompt #49

poetry-prompt-48

Caroline said: This poem was inspired by the garden of my mum’s friend Sue – she loves Christmas and each year, when I was a child, we’d visit her in the lead up to Christmas Day.  Her house and garden were always full of beautiful decorations and it seemed a totally magical place – as close to the real Santa’s house and garden as you could get.

 

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Last night

Last night I saw something that

I’d never seen before.

This something that I’d never seen

was right outside my door.

 

It made me gasp aloud with shock

the moment that I saw it.

The something was so big and red

I couldn’t dare ignore it.

 

I quickly jumped out of my bed,

tip-toed across the floor.

I had to know about this thing

I hadn’t seen before.

 

As soon as I crept close to it

my heart began to race.

I saw the thing was not a thing

because it had a face!

 

My body shook from head to toe,

my mind was full of fear.

There was someone that I’d never seen

and he was very near.

 

I stared in shock at his red coat,

his boots of blackest black.

I saw the pompom on his hat,

the bulging big red sack.

 

And then I had to laugh out loud.

You know why, I’m sure.

That someone was not scary at all.

It was Santa that I saw.

Kristin Martin
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #49

poetry-prompt-48

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The Visit

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 breathe

we slowly, gently, push it open.

Beneath the twinkling lights

sit the gifts.

‘He’s been,’ we whisper

‘He’s been.’

Pat Simmons

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

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #49

poetry-prompt-48

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The bigger picture

 

The wavelet had frolicked for hours that day

with no cause at all to be wary

when met by a vision just metres away

so dire and so terribly scary.

 

A larger wave surging from somewhere behind

could sense little wave’s consternation.

It said, “You look anxious and if you don’t mind

let’s pause for a brief conversation”

 

“But look at that beach and you’ll see what’s in store,”

said little wave, helplessly crying.

“Those waves up ahead have all crashed on the shore.

I tell you, we waves are all dying!”

 

The little wave quivered in utter despair.

“I’m frightened to death,” it persisted .

“I know I’ll expire on that sand over there

with nothing to show I existed.”

 

“Relax”, said the larger wave, “go with the flow,

there’s no need for all this commotion.

You’re not a forgettable ripple, you know…

you’re part of a beautiful ocean.

 

Jenny Erlanger

Jenny said: This poem is based on a tale told by  Morrie Schwartz in the book, “Tuesdays with Morrie” by Mitch Albom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sharing the Secret

Psst. Listen to this, Sis!

I’m going to whisper in your ear,

Because I don’t want Dad to hear.

This secret’s just come straight from Mum:

She’s got a baby in her tum!

No one must know, but you and me

And Mum, of course, but just we three.

I said to Mum I wouldn’t tell,

So you must promise me as well,

Then when Dad hears the baby’s cries,

He’s going to get a huge surprise!

 

Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #48

prompt-48

Monty says: Children find secrets so exciting, they do find it hard not to share them.

Sun Worshippers by JR McRae

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sun-worshippers