I wake up one morning,
The smell wafts through the air
Bringing the feeling
Of the great things soon to bear.
A growling starts
Deep down in my tummy
My mouth starts to water
For tastes that are yummy.
I jump out of bed
Find my mother a baking
I shiver and shake
And my legs start a quaking.
Anticipation grows
I know the reason,
The holidays approach
It is the cookie season.
There are cookies on plates
A thousand tins galore
Just so many kinds,
A bezillion or more.
There are ones that are round
And some look just like noodles
There are oodles and oodles
Of those snicker doodles.
There are ones that have raisons
And some that have spice,
There are dozens of shapes
All taste rather nice.
There are some that have nuts
And some that have sprinkles,
Some with white frosting
With a whole lot of wrinkles.
Some have wonderful shapes
And some look like drips
But I think that my favorite
Has the chocolatey chips.
I watch with one thought
The cookies make so clear
I hope she made enough
To last the whole year.
by Geoff Weilert
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All children think
Christmas just happens
But parents work tirelessly
To bring it about
Months in the planning
Putting things away
Things to add to a special day
Shopping and wrapping
Dressing and decking
Super market shopping
The prices heart stopping
Journeying from shop to shop
For the latest must have toy
All made worth while
To see a face lit with joy
by Paul Curtis
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Upon the wooded hill
The forest sentinel stood
Made from wind falls
Wooden scraps and ullage
Skillfully fashioned
To become, complete with binoculars
The birdwatcher
But all was not as it seemed
For the sentinel
Destined to forever study
What fell before his gaze
Every autumn
Turned his attention upon
His favorite birch tree
Who when the autumn wind blew
Began to shed her leafy canopy
All the year round he studied
In detail her fully covered form
But in the autumn he could
Revel in her nakedness
The sentinel spoke to himself
Oh I’m getting a woody
And with that his sap began to rise
Oh no too soon, too soon
Then all too suddenly it was over
So upon the wooded hill
The frustrated forest sentinel stood
Staring through his binoculars
And telling himself
There’s always next year
by Paul Curtis
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The autumn leaves fall
Like flakes of gold
Drifting to earth like surreal snow
In the golden harvest
As they fall they dance
Wildly in the breeze
To autumns tune
Before coming to rest
Then on peaceful mornings
They gather in the quiet corners
That pepper the autumn landscape
Cast like a threadbare cloak
Spread by mother natures hand
And in the misty morn
The golden harvest
Lays deep and undisturbed
Like collected thoughts
In the corners of my mind
The watery sun slowly burns away the mist
And Illuminates the October landscape
Before the wind disturbs the peace
And chases the leaves away
Scattering them like my dreams
by Paul Curtis
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Night
Is when moon takes over
Rule of the sky
Night
Is when darkness
Envelopes the sky
Night
Is when stars
Canopy the sky
Night is when owls hoot
And fly free in the sky
Night
Is when hustles and bustles get burnt
And the smoke goes into the limitless sky.
by Ahmed Salisu
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Though the snow came down.
As the pond was frozen.
Our skis were waxed.
As our feet were clothin’.
The crowd showed up to win the gold.
But the silver shined on.
As the bronze took hold.
A metal of honor.
We wear at our neck.
Ski board in hand.
So what the heck.
The torch burns bright.
As it travels its distance.
Lighting our skies.
For the Winter Olympics…
by Mr.Kim Robin Edwards
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‘Twas the night before something
But alas to my dismay
In these politically correct times
What it is, I can’t really say.
Whatever I utter,
These days someone gets offended,
Even though I’m just talking
And no offense was intended.
I should stick to national holidays
But it would probably be my fate again
To wish someone a Happy 4th of July
An end up offending some Canadian.
So I’ve decided to just talk
And speak my mind out much bolder
So stop being so sensitive
And get that chip off your shoulder.
Though differences there are
In custom, language, and name,
When you take everything off
We’re all pretty much the same.
So the generic holiday character
These days now loudly exclaims,
As he whistles and calls out
The politically correct names
Now Tyrone, now Herschel,
Now Tatyana, now Juan,
On Melissa, on Devesh,
On Mohammed and Kwan.
If I have written anything
That has caused you some strife,
I say a Happy Holiday to all,
And just get a life.
by Geoff Weilert
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The day of thanks is almost here
When thanks are said or chanted.
Here are some things I’m thankful for
We mostly take for granted.
That there is only one Monday in each week
I couldn’t take another
That my nose has two little holes
Otherwise, I would probably smother.
For duct tape that I can easily use
To hold things together that won’t.
To WD-40 for us to spray
When things should move but don’t.
For words, that are so very important
For without them I’d have nothing to say
For tomorrow that very unique time,
That yesterday was today.
For the button on the top of the clock
So I can shut off that annoying alarm.
For my two hands what wonderful things
To attach to the end of each arm.
That my two feet can touch the floor,
When I stand up and try to walk.
For caller id, attached to my phone,
So I can choose to whom I will talk.
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