Poetry

12 Days of Christmas Blessings: Day 12 – ‘A True Love’s Locket’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

What if on the 12th day of Christmas, some girl’s true love gave her a locket?
And what if she lost it?
Here’s what I hope would happen:

HEART NECKLACE - GOLD

 

I found a locket nestled 'neath a tree.
It sparkled, and it twinkled, and it surely winked at me.

It looked forlorn, forgotten, skimmed with dew,
And I felt an intruder as I wondered what to do.

At last I reached and plucked it from the grass.
The chain was fragile – I could tell – and had a broken clasp.

A lovey heart, engraved on back and front,
Showed me it was a gift of love that someone still would want.

I opened it with tender, loving care,
And found, all safe and snug inside, a single lock of hair.

The curly tress was of the darkest brown,
And I felt so entranced by this small mystery I'd found.

But I was in a quandary what to do:
How to locate the rightful owner I had not a clue.

Then finally I thought, “I'll advertise,
and if the owner sees my ad, there'll be a nice surprise.”

I tucked it in my pocket, nice and warm,
And, eager to relay my news, I headed quickly home.

I couldn't help but sing a little song,
So happy I could have a part in helping love along.

~~~

As we come to the real close of the Christmas celebration, I hope you and your loved ones have enjoyed a happy, healthy, love-filled holiday season. And may you carry all that happiness, health, and love throughout this new year.

 

 

~~~

Merry Christmas in Verse

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Christmas TreasuresK'S GINGERBREAD -- TIGHT TRIM

Gingerbread and stockings …
Christmas trees and holly …
Loving friends and family …
Peace and hope and laughter …
These belong to Christmas.

God’s rich love for mankind …
Word made flesh incarnate …
Coming for just one purpose …
Dying that I could have life …
Christmas belongs to me!

~

Longing For Them Now

CHRISTMAS CAT - SEARS - 1962 - LARGERBright flashes of blissful moments,
Fluttering pages of Christmas memories
Drifting through my mind.

Pages of memories of childhood beam
With living, expectant Christmas dreams.
Longing for them now.

Remembering how each page was able to ignite
My imagination, which brought each one to life.

Oh, happy, happy days!
Bright daydreams and wishes,
Make-believing magic,
Found within the pages –
The Christmas catalogs.

~

Who Is This Babe of Bethlehem?

MARY, BABY, LAMB - EDITEDAt His birth,
A tiny, helpless child;

At His death,
A lamb so meek and mild;

At His grave,
A conqueror supreme;

At His coming,
Universal King!

~

Christmas Cinquain

Exif JPEG# 1

Carols:
Floating music,
Making merry sound waves,
Singing happy tidings from God
To man.

# 2

Stockings
Hung with great care.
Tots on best behavior
Wake on Christmas morn to find them
All filled.

# 3

Kissing
‘Neath mistletoe,
Icing Christmas cookies,
And hanging lights with tinsel bright
Make fun.

# 4

Christmas:
I wonder why
Some call it by false names.
It’s sole identity resides
In Christ.

~

What Will Christmas Bring?

MANGER AND CROSS - NO WORDS gold“What will Christmas bring, Mom?”
“Why, Son, ’twill bring you lots of toys and joys.”
“What else will Christmas bring, Mom?”
“Well, fun and games with other girls and boys.”

“But later on in life, Mom,
Will Christmas mean a lot when I am grown?”
“Oh, yes, it will mean more, Son.
For as you grow, a great truth you’ll be shown.

“You’ll learn that Jesus came, Son,
Not just to be a babe in manger sweet,
But to grow up a strong man,
Horrible death and suffering to meet.

“He came to take our sin, Son
And pay the price for it on Calvary.
So God could look upon us all
And shout, ‘From sin and all its curse you’re free!’”

“But I love the little babe, Mom.
I don’t want to think He died for me.”
“That’s what makes Christmas grand, Son:
That Jesus came and died to set us free.”

“You mean, the little baby, Mom?
He had to die and never live again?”
“No, Son, on Resurrection Day,
He rose victorious o’er death for all men.

“This truth of Christmas time, Son –
I now think you begin to understand.
It was the birth of death to sin,
And of eternal life for every man.”

~
STAR & PATH OF LIGHTHis Star

Wise astrologers did travel from the East.
“We saw His star and followed to His place of peace.
We bowed ourselves before Him there on bended knees
And offered homage to the Babe, Creation’s King.”

Throughout the heavens, multitudes of brilliant stars
Have burned for centuries and led men near and far.
But only one celestial light can guide the heart,
And men who would be wise still follow Jesus’ star.

~~~

~~~

Christmas Bells

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

On Christmas Day, 1863, in the midst of a war that was ripping apart the very country his own forefathers had sacrificed to create – a war that was stretching his own personal faith in God to its very limit – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow penned words to a new poem. This Christmas, in the face of what looks like a world being ripped apart by that same kind of evil, may the solace and renewed faith that Longfellow found and shared be rekindled in your heart as well through his words:

 

CHRISTMAS BELLS - GOSPELGIFS
“I heard the bells on Christmas Day,
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet, the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along th’unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

soldiers-and-copter-for-blog
And in despair I bowed my head:
‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said.
‘For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.’

DANCING MUSICAL NOTES WITH STRIPES
Then peeled the bells more loud and deep:
‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.’”

 

~~~

Christmas Cinquain — You Knew I’d Have To Do It

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Christmas Village.JPG - larger

# 1

Carols:
Floating music,
Making merry sound waves,
Singing happy tidings from God
To man.

# 2

Stockings
Hung with great care.
Tots on best behavior
Wake on Christmas morn to find them
All filled.

# 3

Kissing
‘Neath mistletoe,
Icing Christmas cookies,
And hanging lights with tinsel bright
Make fun.

# 4

Christmas:
I wonder why
Some call it by false names.
It’s sole identity resides
In Christ.

~~~

Getting Away With It

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

HAND WRITING.JPG - greenWriting provides a means of misbehaving.
Subtle opportunities to break the rules.
To do and say some things the trusty conscience hides,
Writing offers handy, beneficial tools.

Create a story set within the printed world,
With characters who get away with awful deeds.
Or frame a poem lightly metered, gently rhymed,
That tells a ghastly tale, or implants evil seeds.

Making use of words that in our normal life
Would get our mouths washed out with bitter soap.
But placed within the covers of a published book
They’re labeled art while huddled safely between quotes.

Our guys and gals can get away with awful crimes:
Can steal, molest, and plunder, rape, and kill.
Atrocities abounding can be made life-like,
Yet all is well if readers get a thrill.

Yes, in real life, we have to mind our manners well,
And smile and bow and act as though we’re saints.
But on the printed page we can write brazenly
And be forgiv’n for throwing off restraints.

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

Cinquain On the Brain

| Sandra Pavloff Conner
Courtesy of Jon at pdphoto.org. (Edited for post)
Courtesy of Jon at pdphoto.org. (Edited for post)

SENTRY

Darkness.
Black storm clouds roll.
Wind-driv’n waves hurled at land.
But high on knoll, sentry stands firm:
Lighthouse.

~

BLOWING KISS editedREWARD

You call,
And, servant like,
I run to do your wish.
‘Twill always be, and all I ask:
Your kiss.

~

HOLDING HANDSSECURITY

Please take
My hand in yours.
It’s warm and strong and sure,
And when you hold mine tight, I’m not
Afraid.

~~~

Another Cinquain Day

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Okay, so call me strange. I love cinquain, but I’m always looking for new and slightly unusual subjects for that form of poetry. Today I was caught up in thoughts about the animal/insect kingdom, and decided to just give vent to some of my personal feelings. No offense intended.

MOSQUITO 2BUGGED

Pesky!
Bad mosquito!
Buzzing around my head.
I raise my hand, and with one slam,
You’re dead!
`

MONKEY_1SWINGERS

Monkeys!
I detest them!
All wiry arms and legs,
Ugly faces; grating chatter —
They stink!
`

BIRD BENEFITS

PARROT_3Bird talk.
That’s what you get
When you own a parrot.
And that’s not all they do for you:
Poop too.

~~~

Poems From My Past

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Decided to visit some poems from my past.  I had almost forgotten about writing some of these, so I dusted them off and stuck them into a brand new post for all the readers who are new to my site in the past couple of years. Hope you enjoy them.

 

CARTOON WRITER, b & w - CLOTHES, HAIRWELL, I’LL BE BLOGGED!

I think I have a lot to say —
Too much to finish in one day.
If I record a daily log,
I’ll have the skeleton of a total blog.

And if I flesh that skeleton out
And give it life, I have no doubt
Readers will gather round about
And greet each shining post with joyful shout.

I’ll shock the timid, cheer the sad,
Enrage the liberal and make him mad,
And all I write, be it good or bad,
To cyberspace my own two cents will add.

 

A B C BLOCKSA POEM WITH ONLY FOUR VOWELS

Sometimes I write too long.
Sometimes I write too short.
Sometimes I write to make a point.
Sometimes I write for sport.

Now WordPress challenged me
To write a post that’s strange.
Cannot be done the easy way.
I have to make a change.

They say but twenty-five
Of letters are allowed.
And if I’m brave, they then advise
That I leave out a vowel!

So in this little poem,
One vowel I’ll avoid.
I hope it won’t be sorely missed,
And my good name destroyed.

Let’s see, what can I choose?
There’s only five to start.
Oh, my, this is a challenge real.
WordPress, please have a heart!

Okay, I’ve made my choice.
So happy I can be.
The vowel I’ve chosen to ignore
Lives between ‘T’ and ‘V’.

 

THE LAST SUPPER - LEONARDO DA VINCICONTEMPLATIONS ON LEONARDO DA VINCI’S  THE LAST SUPPER

Behold the blessed, holy convocation,
Preserved for us to ponder as we gaze.
In transient elements, the artist painted
Eternal substance; impartations that amaze.

We look upon the faces art has captured
As loved disciples try to understand
The Master’s words; He speaks of sacrifices
And of His blood and body freely given for man.

Their eyes – so full of love, yet consternation,
Trying to grasp full meaning of this meal.
All other Passovers remembered history,
But now the sacrifice sits here with them, so real.

In colors both subdued and yet alive,
The artist welcomes me to come join in
Our Lord’s last supper and His revelation:
He’ll now go forth to pay the price for all my sin.

 

BORED GIRL

BORED

I am bored … so bored.
I need something else to do.
Wrack my brain … the pain.
What will help? Don’t have a clue.

Talk on phone … endless drone.
Do my nails until they gleam.
Clean desk drawer … fun chore:
Found lost candy and hand cream.

Still I’m bored … so bored.
Without something else to try,
I’ll have no choice … guilty voice:
Must start my real work by and by.

 

REQUIEM

MUSIC SHEET - NEGATIVE

What? You ask how was this keyboard
Torn asunder piece by piece?
I admit it was my doing:
Thought perhaps my pain ‘twould ease.

For I cannot find my music;
Cannot hear the melody.
Cannot feel the beat, the rhythm;
And, of course, no harmony.

Still, my soul keeps searching, reaching;
Won’t believe the gift is gone.
It once coursed throughout my being;
Every breath exhaled a song.

Every heartbeat set a tempo;
Notes cascaded from my mind;
Even in sleep, my dreams invaded —
Nocturnes delicate, sublime.

Now, I’ve only fleeting memories
Of creating symphonies.
Tragedy beyond my bearing:
There’s no music left in me!

LONGING FOR THEM NOW

Bright flashes of blissful moments,
Fluttering pages of Christmas memories.
Drifting through my mind.
Pages of memories of childhood beam
With living, expectant Christmas dreams.
Longing for them now.

Remembering how each page was able to ignite
My imagination, which brought each one to life.

Oh happy, happy days!1952-sears-christmas-book-page001
Bright daydreams & wishes,
Make-believing magic,
Found within the pages –
The Christmas catalogs.

The Cinquain Mood Has Struck Again

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Exif JPEG
The gun.
I must work fast.
I’ll have to hide it well.
At least the deed is fin’lly done.
I’m free.
*

MAN WITH BIG EYES CROPPED sepia

Your hair!
It’s a new cut?
What do you call that style?
What do I think?  Well – uh – I’d say –
Unique!
*

Exif JPEG

Dasies
Are happy flowers.
My very favorites.
Bright white petals; sunshine middles.
Pure joy.
*

~

Success

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I’ve never touched a star;
Never tried to reach that far.
Perhaps my goals are all too short, too frail.

My dreams are all mundane:
Never seeking wealth or fame,
Nor for great contributions to be hailed.

But when all’s said and done,
I’ve loved folks – one by one –
And in the end, it’s Love that will prevail.

~~~

A Weighty Problem

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

MAN ON TRACK MACHINE
There was a young  fat guy named Jim
Who longed to be handsome and slim.
But Jim loved to eat:
Three square meals, loads of treats.
So weight loss for Jim looked quite grim.

But one day the new girl in town
Looked him over and gave him a frown.
Poor ol’ Jim was in love,
And when push came to shove,
He determined to get his weight down.

He refused all desserts and all treats;
Spent ten months at the gym down the street.
He jogged, and he ran;
He followed the plan,
‘Til finally he turned out quite sleek.

So in his new suit and fine hat,
He stood on the girl’s “Welcome” mat.
When she came to the door,
Poor ol’ Jim hit the floor.
She had grown quite disgustingly fat.

~~~

Farmer Webster’s Oak Tree

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

OAK TREE - WALKING IN MIST - CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE -- FREE
The giant oak had reigned supreme o’er farmer Webster’s woods.
But there’d been talk of late that ‘neath those woods lay soil quite good.

And then one day bulldozers came and men with churning saws,
The wood did spew; trees fell – not few – into bulldozers’ jaws.

The giant oak shook to his roots; his life he held quite dear.
And closer as the enemy came, he trembled hard with fear.

To be cut down and sawed into – the thoughts he could not bear.
And oh the shame of being transformed into some wimpy chair.

But when a dozer plowed his way and scoured to left and right,
It passed him by and left him there, his roots still clinging tight.

Soon all around had been laid bare: a sorry sight to see,
But then one morn, before the sun, came planters bearing seed.

And week to week, with gentle rain and warmest, friendly sun,
The seeds did sprout and then did bear their harvest one by one.

Now mighty oak stands solitary sentry o’er that field,
And season after season hungry folks receive its yield.

And farmer Webster often stops to rest beneath Oak’s shade,
And blesses God for giving land and food for which he’d prayed.

~~~

If some of you think this poem sounds familiar, you are correct. I did post it in the past as part of a NaPoWriMo challenge. But I sat reading it today and just fell in love with it again, so I decided to post it once more for all the visitors who didn’t get to read it the first time.

Photo: “Oak Tree – Walking in Mist” – Creative Commons License — Free.

`

Chicken

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Public domain image from www.public-domain-image.com
I want to be a wild thing,
But I don’t think I know how.
I want to be a wild thing —
Maybe just not right now.

I want to be a wild thing,
And my reputation blow;
I want to be a wild thing,
But I’m such a timid soul.

I want to be a wild thing,
To throw caution to the wind;
I want to be a wild thing,
Want to shock all of my friends.

I want to be a wild thing,
In wild living take my part,
But I can’t fly like wild things
‘Cause I’m chicken in my heart.

I want to be a wild thing,
But this longing’s bound so tight.
The wildest thing I’ll do is
Claim this poem’s copyright.
~~~

(Okay, I know this is a repeat of a poem written a couple years ago, but it just caught my attention again today, so I decided to enjoy it again. Hope you do too.)

 

~

Waiting On Tomorrow (a poem)

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

WATCHING HOURGLASS

If I had known in days gone by
The things I know today.
I’d have thought and felt and acted
Sometimes, in different ways.
If yesterday’s tomorrows had not
come ahead of time,
But waited ’till I’d learned some more
And made it to my prime,
I would have done a better job
Of living properly.
If wisdom from today had been
Unveiled back then to me.
And now, I’d like to put a hold
On life’s full speed ahead,
Just until tomorrow brings me
Knowledge from up ahead.

Why, I could guarantee success!
I could live the perfect way!
Could I just get my tomorrows
To become my yesterdays!

~~~