A COVID Christmas

A COVID Christmas

Boggle, gurgle, woozle fizz!

Professor Fuzz is a science whizz.

You’ll find him in his lab for sure,

Working day and night for a COVID cure.

Cynthia Small wasn’t tall,

But she worked the wards and all,

Nursing COVID patients there.

Many knew her tender care.

Worker Lim was making time,

Manufacturing masks on a production line.

An order came for him from the top.

“Your afternoon is free so you can stop!”

When Cynthia went to her coffee room,

People everywhere dispelled the gloom,

All department stores were there around,

With Christmas Carols providing the sound.

“You cared for our colleagues and grandmas too,

So we brought the shops to you!”

In a place quite far way,

A Son looked down in love upon that day.

Although he seemed so far apart,

Somehow, he’s also in our heart.

He remembered back to a manger and stable,

Where he was born when no inn was able.

That when he had come to birth.

To bring peace to hearts and joy on earth.

Prose addendum: Here’s a fun fact for reader’s. My maternal Grandfather, Patrick Anthony Thomas “Pat” O’Reilly, was known to write verses for his mates at bowls and in the then local newpaper. He died on 1 December in the early 1950s. On 1 December 2020 I woke to the beginnings of this poem rattling around inside me!

Simon C.J. Falk  1 December 2020

A Christmas Crib at Aleppo – posting for #peace

A Christmas Crib at Aleppo

As we gather in our places of peace, we are mindful of the people of Ankara, of Berlin, of Aleppo. Peace, Shalom, Salaam.

A Christmas Crib at Aleppo

 

As Advent passed through Aleppo,

It was hard to see,

People living in any peace,

Or children roaming free.

The buses sent to save them,

Were lying as charred remains,

Who could come and deliver?

Them from many months of pains.

Buildings strewn as ruins,

Gardens left in a mess,

The poor and hungry dwell in squalor,

Awaiting a redress.

The children of Aleppo,

Have no toy shops to see,

They have no electronic gadgets,

For their internet’s not free.

And they have no fairy Christmas lights,

Shining on a Christmas tree.

Their families struggle for Church or Mosque,

To go and pray in peace,

From the constant sieging,

It appears there’s no release.

But what if something happened,

To enkindle a little hope?

Might it make a trifle of difference?

And help some families cope.

What if among the rubble,

Of their old, majestic city,

There might be respite from the trouble,

Some reverie a touch more pretty?

What if a Dad and Mother,

With their little family in tow,

Looked amidst the shattered buildings,

For a place to go?

What if there were a spot,

Away from lines of fire,

Where the family could be

In a place of restful retire?

What if in that place,

The mother then with child,

Could have her baby with her husband?

What if other children came and filed

In upon the scene

Of that modern nativity?

That among the broken buildings,

And the shattered lives,

There might be a little light,

To glow for husbands and wives.

And that the children dwelling near,

Who had no presents to receive,

Might behold a very precious gift,

And then may come to believe,

That among the cruel fighting,

And from their ruptured dreams,

The little, battered pieces,

Had edges made for seams,

To make a new mosaic,

And to build further dreams.

Visions within the struggle and the squalor,

That a child for us was born,

To keep holding life before us,

That on all true peace may dawn.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 19 December 2016

The Gnome from Santa’s Home

We now live in an era where there are a variety of worldviews.  For some this time of the year means happy holidays.  For others among us it is a time to celebrate Christmas. These next series of posts are about The  Gnome from Santa’s Home and other tales.  The Gnome has been busy this time of year working on stories on Christmas themes in both poetry and prose.  He also found ‘The Shepherd’s Daughter’ and ‘The Little Angel’.  Another one, ‘A Christmas Crib at Aleppo’, is coming soon.

The Gnome from Santa’s Home

 

The Gnome from Santa’s Home,

Sat across from his table,

He responded to all tasks,

As soon as he was able.

He answered many letters,

He fielded lots of calls.

He helped dear old Santa,

When he had his falls.

Gnome was a jolly butler,

For Santa to have around,

Supplementing the work of the elves,

And cherishing their merry sound.

One job he did enjoy,

Was to call us back,

Beyond the commercial ploy,

To the original Christmas tack.

Always looking for a story,

To delight the young and old,

Of the King of Glory,

The greatest story ever told.

He knew of The Shepherd’s Daughter,

And the Little Angel’s speech,

He’d patted The Kelpie Dog at Christmas,

And the Golden Grain was within reach.

He was onto a new story,

In our world’s trouble spot,

A Christmas Crib at Aleppo,

Better than a violent plot.

He will never cease his searching,

To catch the Christmas story,

For his job is to share the message of Christmas,

With people like you and me.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 19 December 2016

The Little Angel

We now live in an era where there are a variety of worldviews.  For some this time of the year means happy holidays.  For others among us it is a time to celebrate Christmas. These next series of posts are about The Gnome from Santa’s Home and other tales.  The Gnome has been busy this time of year working on stories on Christmas themes in both poetry and prose.  He also found ‘The Shepherd’s Daughter’ and ‘The Little Angel’.  Another one, ‘A Christmas Crib at Aleppo’, is coming soon.

 

The Little Angel – a back story inspired by the Gospels

 

As shepherds left the angels,

The night that Christ was born,

One shepherd, after a time,

Become quite forlorn.

As he looked upon his flock,

A lamb was gone from view.

He looked across the field,

He looked behind the rock,

He followed a little rivulet,

He looked and did not stop.

At last, he heard a bleating,

Which had his heart quickly beating,

And he followed the sound,

Down and down,

Into a ravine.

When he came upon the spot,

There unfolded a scene.

A dainty little angel,

In bright and glowing sheen,

Was the most wondrous thing,

This shepherd had ever seen.

And as he gazed upon the sight,

He beheld something below,

For there it was, the little, lost lamb,

Under the angel’s toe!

 

“Dear shepherd,” spoke the angel,

“Tonight you saw a sight,

Emmanuel, the Son of David,

Was born to put all right.

He will give hope to the afflicted,

He will welcome each lost sheep.

He is the comfort of the addicted,

The embrace of those who weep.

Although a little baby now,

His day will come to shine,

With the Holy Spirit,

And his reign will be divine.

Go and tell your family,

Before the break of dawn,

For this child’s the hope of hope,

The saviour has been born!”

 

The shepherd thanked the angel,

And gathered the lamb in his hands,

While choruses of angels

Resounded across the lands.

He saddled up his donkey,

He took home his sheep.

He went to his family,

And woke his daughter from her sleep.

Now, the shepherd’s daughter,

Is another tale,

To inspire families,

That peace may prevail.

 

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 19 December 2016