Christmas Poetry

I have a confession to make. I’m not a huge poetry fan. I try, really I do, but usually it’s a no-go. It makes me feel bad, too, because some of my closest friends write and publish lots of poetry so I know someone thinks it’s good.

Just not me.

However, when I add in song lyrics and Dr Suess, my ratio of  poetry I like does inch skyward.

So I wanted to share with you my very favorite Christmas poem and one of my favorite holiday decorations we put up every year — a poem written by Bill Watterson, of Calvin and Hobbes fame. I think we own every book he’s published because we love Calvin and Hobbes more than is reasonable for grown-ups, but this particular one was published long ago in the Sunday funnies.

My husband attached it to  sturdy foam backing and we set it out every year. When we were decorating this year, I flew into a low-grade, two-pronged panic when I couldn’t find it. First, how could someone as organized (some might say ‘anal’) as I lose a Christmas decoration?? And worse, how could it be my favorite one??

Luckily, it just got stuck under something in a box I thought was empty so Christmas wasn’t ruined after all.

May your winter night be cozy, and if it’s not, turn to warm whatever’s not.

Merry Christmas!

0 thoughts on “Christmas Poetry

  1. Lisa

    very nice!!! thanks for sharing it! here is my favorite for you!
    Merry Christmas to all of you!

    Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
    The New York Sun – 1897

    We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

    Dear Editor

    I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
    – Virginia O’Hanlon

    Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

    Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

    Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

    You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

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