Category: Christmas

Here’s December, Christmas season:
I don’t like it–if that’s treason,
Then I oughta hang, it’s true;
Hear me out before you judge me,
Then if you can blot and smudge me,
I don’t give a dang, do you?

Scrooge, we figure, was a poet;
‘Though the record doesn’t show it,
That it’s true we’re pretty sure;
Only in the month December,·
If our Dickens we remember,
Did he veer from simon-pure!

I for one can hardly blame him;
Would-be poets rarely shame him,
Struggling vainly, writing verse.
Have you tried for bread and butter
Rhyming shutter, gutter, flutter?
(Would there nothing any worse!)

For what the heck’ll rhyme with Christmas,
Save the that corny, oft-used “isthmus”?
There’s one even worse, because
Find me one that goes with “Santa”–
Oh, of course there’s still “Atlanta”,
Perhaps the place for Santa Claus!

And again, consider “reindeer”–
What’ll go with that but “pain, dear”?
See why poets and their kin
Hate the sight and sound of Christmas?
Hold ‘er right there, sonny, this must
Be the place where I came in!

Scrooge and I don’t hate Christmas the way people think–
It’s just the @!?**l rhyming that causes the stink!
If you’d like to see both of us happy (though queer)
Skip the presents and wish us a HAPPY NEW YEAR!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, October 14, 1942

With Christmas but a week away,
Appeared the other night
An Angel in a dream to me:
Robed in holy white.
Displeased, I thought his countenance,
But when he spoke, at last,
I sensed compassion in the voice
That to me cried, “Hold fast!”

“Despair not mortal–grasp thy Faith
When Right’s just light grows dim;
The Wings of Peace shall once more beat
If hold we fast to Him.
Though Christmas finds the world upheaved,
Perhaps ’tis for the best;
Our Lord in past great things hast wrought
Through seeing wrongs redressed.”

My dream made end, but not before
The moral did unfold:
”Hold fast to Faith”, the Angel said,
“And it will thee uphold!”

by Ray Romine Tuesday, December 8, 1942

No home for the new baby Jesus, no bed,
No place but a manger for his little head.
No sign of a welcome from still-sleeping earth,
For the world does not know of the small savior’s birth.
But far in the distance an Angel Choir sings,
To tell of His coming–the Greatest of Kings!

by Ray Romine Monday, June 7, 1954

The winter stars are winking timidly
To shine, this Christmas, on a peaceful world:
A globe adjusting to a harmony
That dates to Christ, when “Peace On Earth” was hurled
Too soon to heedless Man, who must see tried
Solutions of his own for all his ills,
Which blots his copy-book, but saves his pride
The while it sharpens all his baser skills.

Yet when his gains shall go, and friends shall turn
The haughty cheek, in high disdain away,
There is a Refuge, when we humbly learn
The price the Prince of Peace would have us pay:
A selfless attitude, a turn to Faith–
That makes of Christmas more than just a wraith.

by Ray Romine Thursday, November 22, 1945

See those bright red stockings hanging
On our fireplace? I count nine.
I’ll tell YOU, but don’t tell Santa–
Everyone of them is minel

I can’t wait for Christmas morning
To see how my trying went.
I am not a PIG exactly:
This is an ex-PER-i-MENTl

by Ray Romine Thursday, June 10, 1954

Discussion fills the air–ah, me!
We’re shopping for a Christmas tree.
There’s the usual annual stir
Which to purchase–pine or fir?
Father wants one slightly smaller;
Sister says a little taller.
“That one’s skinny,” pipes up brother.
“Too few branches.” This from mother.
On height and shape and kind and size
At long, long last, we compromise–
Not so much for tension-easing
As to relieve us–we were freezing.
But hope for early peace is dimmed
By the fact the tree’s untrimmed…

by Ray Romine Wednesday, December 12, 1951

I think we forgot one distant cousin;
Buy one more card–make it a dozen ,
For there’s Aunt Hattie and Uncle Mike
We overlooked, and Beth and Spike-
And Mrs. Wimbleton–she ‘ s a dear
(I’m sure she sent us one last year).
Sending a yacky one to your mother
Is one impulse I’ll try and smother,
Something drippy for grandma’s taste;
For Great-aunt Helen, something chaste.
Loren will like it, if it’s risque,
Catch-as-catch-can, or come-what-may.
One with a Santa for little Pete;
For the next-door neighbor, something sweet.
Jonesy ‘s daughter, we overlooked her-
Christmas cards are just mur-DER.
Send ’em by hundreds, or by the score,
When you think you’ ve finished, there’s just one more!

by Ray Romine Thursday, January 5, 1950

“Christmas, as we older grow,
Diff’rent is from long ago–“
IS it different? Has it changed,
Or have we become estranged?

Christmas spirit changes not:
From our time to Camelot
Same it has been; but, I fear,
WE change every passing year!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 24, 1942

Here, where the fire is warm and bright,
We trim our Christmas tree tonight
With cones, icicles, lights and bells
And tinkly things with Christmas smells.

But best of all, awhile ago
I peeked outside, to see it snow!
Our Christmas dreams will all come true–
The snow is trimming outdoors too.

by Ray Romine Saturday, June 12, 1954

What picture paints your mind at once when Christmes time is mentioned?
What mem’ry looms from out the past, of effort well-intentioned?

Stores a-bulge with shopping folk, crowds of cheerful people?
Bells thet echo over town, rung from frosty steeple?
Smell of spruce tree freshly clean, awaiting noisy trimming?
Look on brother’s eager face–with good behavior brimming?
Stamp of snowy feet outside, “Merry Christmas!” shouted?
Stirring carols from the street, and dad from slumber routed?
Loads of cards that cheer us, though the postman’s getting cranky?
Gaily wrapped and ribboned gifts from cedar chest to hanky?
Glow of lights on baubles there, colors flung back dancing?
Santa’s never-failing charm–childhood’s dream enhancing?
Tinsel, holly, mistletoe, icey windows lighted?
Baby sleeping, high-chair-slumped, new toys feeling slighted?
Curve of snow-filled evergreens, synonym for beauty?
Turkey, mince pie, candy, nuts, fruit cake, tutti-frutti?

All these things ere proof enough that people still remember
Christmas for a week or two, the middle of December;
But do we pause end offer thanks for Him whose birth gave reason
To joyful be and celebrate the Happy Christmas season?

Though Chaos reigns in world today, and Hate from battle station
Directs the bloody slaughter there, with nation fighting nation,
Christ’s coming taught us Peace shall rule–a distant time foreseeing,
Keep we our faith, there’s comfort there for every human being.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, December 9, 1941