A very distant cousin of mine who is an English professor sent out an early holiday letter this year with a contest to write some sort of Christmas poem. The winner will get his or her poem published in their December holiday letter and a prize of $100. At first I tossed the letter to the side, but then I got to thinking…an extra $100 would be awfully nice. The deadline is tomorrow, so of course I procrastinated and wrote the poem today. I love to write, but poetry is not my thing. However, I came up with a light-hearted little ditty that I’m hoping will spike me to the top of their short list (OK, what I’m really banking on is that no one else bothered to write a poem). So here it is:
(Oh, I need a title. Any ideas? And…I think the ending is a little weak, so any suggestions before I officially submit the poem tomorrow would be greatly appreciated. And my last request for advice: do you like the <sigh>towards the end of the poem or should I cut it out?)
(If, based on the advice you give me, my poem is accepted as the winner, you will receive my sincere gratitude but not one penny of the prize money.) 😉
…NOT to be sung to the tune of “Oh, Christmas Tree,” btw…
Oh, Christmas Tree. Oh, Christmas Tree.
How lovely are your branches.
My little son pulls you down
In ornamental avalanches.
The fat little Santa from my first year
The bulb from my great-grandma
Are crushed and how I long to cry
With loud holiday drama.
The next morning, though, I awake
With sweet anticipation.
The art of cookies must be passed
Down to the next generation.
Hours later I emerge
Sticky and flour-y and sick,
And decide that perhaps next year
A bakery might just do the trick.
I decide to go and Christmas shop.
My babysitter bails.
We scuttle from the mall
Amid toddler tantrums, screams, and wails.
We escape the mall as fast as I,
My bags, and child are able.
I decide we need to spend some time
With the baby in the stable.
In awe I lead him by the hand
To gaze with reverence at the manger.
I do not know that holy child
Is cloaked in mortal danger.
The baby curled up in the hay
Looks like a soft, fun ball.
In horror I watch as with delight
Jack hurls him down the hall.
I could give you cookie crumbles
Or a half-wrapped Christmas gift,
But instead let’s think about
How my priorities need to shift.
So I will wrap up for you
Some faith, family, hope, and joy.
These gifts will last much longer
Than a transient Christmas toy.