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4 Santa Poems

  1. Santa’s Stocking
    Dame Snow has been knitting all day
    With needles of crystal and pearl
    To make a big, beautiful stocking
    For Santa, her merriest son;
    And now in some wonderful way
    She has hung it, by twist and by twirl,
    On the tip of the moon, and sits rocking,
    Old mother, her day’s work done.How long and how empty it flaps,
    Like a new, white cloud in the sky!
    The stars gleam above it for candles;
    But who is to fill it and trim?
    Dame Snow in her rocking-chair naps.
    When Santa comes home by and by,
    Will he find — O scandal of scandals! —
    No Christmas at all for him?Dear Saint of the reindeer sleigh,
    At his tink-a-link-tinkle-a-link,
    The evergreens blossom with tapers;
    ‘Tis Christmas by all the clocks;
    And wherever he calls, they say,
    The most polished andirons wink,
    The sulkiest chimney capers,
    And Baby kicks off its socks.

    His pack is bursting with toys;
    The dollies cling round his neck;
    And sleds come slithering after
    As he takes the roofs at a run.
    Blithe lover of girls and boys,
    Bonbons he pours by the peck;
    Holidays, revels and laughter,
    Feasting and frolic and fun.

    Who would dream that his kind heart aches
    — Heart shaped like a candied pear,
    Sweet heart of our housetop rover —
    For the homes where no carols resound,
    For the little child that wakes
    To a hearth all cold and bare,
    For Santa, his white world over,
    Finds Christmas doesn’t go round!

    Dame Snow has been knitting all day
    With needles of crystal and pearl
    To make a big, beautiful stocking
    For Santa, her busiest son;
    And now in some wonderful way
    She has hung it, by twist and by twirl,
    On the tip of the moon, and sits rocking,
    Old mother, her day’s work done.

    Let us bring the dear Saint from our store
    Fair gifts wrapped softly in love;
    Let all gentle children come flocking,
    Glad children whose Christmas is sure;
    Let us bring him more treasures and more,
    While the star-candles glisten above,
    For whatever we put in his stocking,
    Santa Claus gives to the poor.

    By Katherine Lee Bates

    Read source at : http://www.reindeerland.org/christmas-poems/santas-stocking.htm

  2. Goody Santa Claus
    Santa, must I tease in vain, Dear? Let me go and hold the reindeer,
    While you clamber down the chimneys. Don’t look savage as a Turk!
    Why should you have all the glory of the joyous Christmas story,
    And poor little Goody Santa Claus have nothing but the work?It would be so very cozy, you and I, all round and rosy,
    Looking like two loving snowballs in our fuzzy Arctic furs,
    Tucked in warm and snug together, whisking through the winter weather
    Where the tinkle of the sleigh-bells is the only sound that stirs.You just sit here and grow chubby off the goodies in my cubby
    From December to December, till your white beard sweeps your knees;
    For you must allow, my Goodman, that you’re but a lazy woodman
    And rely on me to foster all our fruitful Christmas trees.

    While your Saintship waxes holy, year by year, and roly-poly,
    Blessed by all the lads and lassies in the limits of the land,
    While your toes at home you’re toasting, then poor Goody must go posting
    Out to plant and prune and garner, where our fir-tree forests stand.

    Oh! but when the toil is sorest how I love our fir-tree forest,
    Heart of light and heart of beauty in the Northland cold and dim,
    All with gifts and candles laden to delight a boy or maiden,
    And its dark-green branches ever murmuring the Christmas hymn!

    Yet ask young Jack Frost, our neighbor, who but Goody has the labor,
    Feeding roots with milk and honey that the bonbons may be sweet!
    Who but Goody knows the reason why the playthings bloom in season
    And the ripened toys and trinkets rattle gaily to her feet!

    From the time the dollies budded, wiry-boned and saw-dust blooded,
    With their waxen eyelids winking when the wind the tree-tops plied,
    Have I rested for a minute, until now your pack has in it
    All the bright, abundant harvest of the merry Christmastide?

    Santa, wouldn’t it be pleasant to surprise me with a present?
    And this ride behind the reindeer is the boon your Goody begs;
    Think how hard my extra work is, tending the Thanksgiving turkeys
    And our flocks of rainbow chickens — those that lay the Easter eggs.

    Home to womankind is suited? Nonsense, Goodman! Let our fruited
    Orchards answer for the value of a woman out-of-doors.
    Why then bid me chase the thunder, while the roof you’re safely under,
    All to fashion fire-crackers with the lighting in their cores?

    See! I’ve fetched my snow-flake bonnet, with the sunrise ribbons on it;
    I’ve not worn it since we fled from Fairyland our wedding day;
    How we sped through iceberg porches with the Northern Lights for torches!
    You were young and slender, Santa, and we had this very sleigh.

    Jump in quick then? That’s my bonny. Hey down derry! Nonny nonny!
    While I tie your fur cap closer, I will kiss your ruddy chin.
    I’m so pleased I fall to singing, just as sleigh-bells take to ringing!
    Are the cloud-spun lap-robes ready? Tirra-lirra! Tuck me in.

    Off across the starlight Norland, where no plant adorns the moorland
    Save the ruby-berried holly and the frolic mistletoe!
    Oh, but this is Christmas revel! Off across the frosted level
    Where the reindeers’ hoofs strike sparkles from the crispy, crackling snow!

    There’s the Man i’ the Moon before us, bound to lead the Christmas chorus
    With the music of the sky-waves rippling round his silver shell —
    Glimmering boat that leans and tarries with the weight of dreams she carries
    To the cots of happy children. Gentle sailor, steer her well!

    Now we pass through dusky portals to the drowsy land of mortals;
    Snow-enfolded, silent cities stretch about us dim and far.
    Oh! how sound the world is sleeping, midnight watch no shepherd keeping,
    Though an angel-face shines gladly down from every golden star.

    Here’s a roof. I’ll hold the reindeer. I suppose this weather-vane, Dear,
    Some one set here just on purpose for our teams to fasten to.
    There’s its gilded cock, — the gaby! — wants to crow and tell the baby
    We are come. Be careful, Santa! Don’t get smothered in the flue.

    Back so soon? No chimney-swallow dives but where his mate can follow.
    Bend your cold ear, Sweetheart Santa, down to catch my whisper faint:
    Would it be so very shocking if your Goody filled a stocking
    Just for once? Oh, dear! Forgive me. Frowns do not become a Saint.

    I will peep in at the skylights, where the moon sheds tender twilights
    Equally down silken chambers and down attics bare and bleak.
    Let me show with hailstone candies these two dreaming boys — the dandies
    In their frilled and fluted nighties, rosy cheek to rosy cheek!

    What! No gift for this poor garret? Take a sunset sash and wear it
    O’er the rags, my pale-faced lassie, till thy father smiles again.
    He’s a poet, but — oh, cruel! he has neither light nor fuel.
    Here’s a fallen star to write by, and a music-box of rain.

    So our sprightly reindeer clamber, with their fairy sleigh of amber,
    On from roof to roof , the woven shades of night about us drawn.
    On from roof to roof we twinkle, all the silver bells a-tinkle,
    Till blooms in yonder blessèd East the rose of Christmas dawn.

    Now the pack is fairly rifled, and poor Santa’s well-nigh stifled;
    Yet you would not let your Goody fill a single baby-sock;
    Yes, I know the task takes brain, Dear. I can only hold the reindeer,
    And so see me climb down chimney — it would give your nerves a shock.

    Wait! There’s yet a tiny fellow, smiling lips and curls so yellow
    You would think a truant sunbeam played in them all night. He spins
    Giant tops, a flies kites higher than the gold cathedral spire
    In his creams — the orphan bairnie, trustful little Tatterkins.

    Santa, don’t pass by the urchin! Shake the pack, and deeply search in
    All your pockets. There is always one toy more. I told you so.
    Up again? Why, what’s the trouble? On your eyelash winks the bubble
    Mortals call a tear, I fancy. Holes in stocking, heel and toe?

    Goodman, though your speech is crusty now and then there’s nothing rusty
    In your heart. A child’s least sorrow makes your wet eyes glisten, too;
    But I’ll mend that sock so nearly it shall hold your gifts completely.
    Take the reins and let me show you what a woman’s wit can do.

    Puff! I’m up again, my Deary, flushed a bit and somewhat weary,
    With my wedding snow-flake bonnet worse for many a sooty knock;
    But be glad you let me wheedle, since, an icicle for needle,
    Threaded with the last pale moonbeam, I have darned the laddie’s sock.

    Then I tucked a paint-box in it (’twas no easy task to win it
    From the Artist of the Autumn Leaves) and frost-fruits white and sweet,
    With the toys your pocket misses — oh! and kisses upon kisses
    To cherish safe from evil paths the motherless small feet.

    Chirrup! chirrup! There’s a patter of soft footsteps and a clatter
    Of child voices. Speed it, reindeer, up the sparkling Arctic Hill!
    Merry Christmas, little people! Joy-bells ring in every steeple,
    And Goody’s gladdest of the glad. I’ve had my own sweet will.

    By Katherine Lee Bates

    Read source at : http://www.reindeerland.org/christmas-poems/goody-santa-claus.htm

  3. Santa Claus And His Works
    A Santa Claus Poem by George P Webster
    This nice little story for Girls and for Boys
    Is all about Santa Claus, Christmas and toys.
    So gather around me, but speak not a word
    For I mean what I say, by you all will be heard.In a nice little city called Santa Claus-ville,
    With its houses and church at the foot of the hill
    Lives jolly old Santa Claus; day after day
    He works and he whistles the moments away.You must know, he is honest, and toils for his bread,
    And is fat and good-natured with nothing to dread.
    His eyes are not red, but they twinkle and shine,
    For he never was known to drink brandy or wine;But day after day at his bench he is found,
    For he works for good children hard, all the year round.
    Though busy all day he is happy, and sings
    While planning and making the funniest things,

    Such as wagons and horses, and dishes and ladles,
    And soldiers and monkeys, and little dolls cradles.
    And garters and socks, and the tiniest shoes,
    And lots of nice things such as doll babies use.

    (See, the top of his head is all shining and bare –
    ‘Tis the good men, dear children, who lose all their hair.)
    With many things more, for I can not tell half –
    But just look at his picture, I’m sure you will laugh,

    With trumpets and drummers, farms, sheep, pigs and cattle,
    And he makes the pop-guns and the baby’s tin rattle;
    Then he takes the new dolls that have long curly hair,
    And, setting the table, seats each in a chair,

    And he makes them pretend they are taking their tea –
    He’s the jolliest fellow you ever did see,
    And can make a queer codger jump out of a box,
    Or will make with his knife and new parrot or fox,

    Or sit with his spectacles over his nose
    And work all day long making little dolls clothes,
    Such as dresses and sashes, and hats for the head,
    And night-gowns to wear when they jump into bed;

    With his dog standing near him, and spy-glass in hand,
    He looks for good children all over the land.
    His home through the long summer months, you must know,
    Is near the North Pole, in the ice and the snow.

    And when he sees children at work or at play
    The old fellow listens to hear what they say;
    And if they are gentle, loving and kind,
    He finds where they live, and he makes up his mind

    That when Christmas shall come in cold frosty December
    To give them a call, he will surely remember;
    And he’s sure to have with him a bundle of toys
    For the nice little girls and the good little boys.

    Oh, if you could see him start out with his team
    You would doubt your own eyes, and would think it a dream –
    Wrapped up in a bear-skin to keep out the cold,
    And his sleigh covered over with jewels and gold,

    While his deer from the mountains, all harnessed with care,
    Like race-horses prance through the cold winter air.
    ‘Tis fun just to watch them and hear the bells tinkle,
    E’en the stars seem to laugh and they look down and twinkle.

    And the hungry raccoon and the fox lean and shy
    Give a wink as they hear him go galloping by;
    For they know by his looks and the crack of him whip,
    And his sleigh-load of toys, he is out for a trip.

    Then the fox steals the farmer’s old goose for his dinner,
    Which you know is not right – but the fox is a sinner,
    And his morals are bad and his habits are loose,
    For he’s never so gay as when stealing a goose.

    Ah! Here is a picture. Oh, children, just look
    At the names of the good little girls in his book,
    And a long list of names of the good little boys,
    Who never disturb Pa and Ma with their noise.

    There is Tommy, who tended the baby with care,
    He gets some beautiful books for his share;
    And Eliza, just think how bright her eyes will twinkle
    When she looks in her stockings and finds Rip Van Winkle.

    And Georgie, you know, is the five-year-old dandy –
    Wont he strut with his pockets all filled up with candy?
    There the old fellow stands with a queer knowing look,
    Till he has in his mind every name in the book;

    And he would be kind to them all if he could,
    But he gives his presents to none but the good.
    An army he gives to the boy who is neat,
    And never cries when he wants something to eat.

    And a farm to the boy who goes smiling to school,
    Who keeps out of the mud and obeys every rule;
    And all the good girls will get presents, we know,
    And the boys who behave will have something to show.

    When Christmas Eve comes, into bed you must creep,
    And late in the night, when you all are asleep
    He is certain to come, so your stockings prepare,
    And hang them all close to the chimney with care,

    And when in the morning you open your eyes
    You will meet, I am sure, a most pleasant surprise;
    And you’ll laugh and you’ll giggle and call to Mamma,
    And keep up the noise till you waken Papa –

    And of this for one morning will be very nice,
    But the rest of the year be as quiet as mice.
    How funny he looks as he stands on the round
    And gathers the toys that hang far from the ground.

    He is large round the waist, but what care we for that –
    ‘Tis the good natured people who always get far.
    The grumbling wolf who lies hidden all day,
    And the fox that at midnight goes out for his prey,

    And the serpent that hides in the foliage green,
    And all of them ugly, ill-tempered and lean;
    But Santa Claus comes in his queer looking hat,
    And we know he’s good-humored because he is fat.

    So when you grow up I would not have you slim,
    But large round the waist, and good natured like him.
    Just think, if the ladder should happen to break
    And he should fall down, what a crash it would make;

    And that is not all, for besides all the noise,
    It would frighten the dolls and would damage the toys.
    I told you his home was up north by the Pole:
    In a palace of ice lives this happy old soul,

    And the walls are as bright as diamonds that shone
    In the cave, when Aladdin went in all alone
    To look for the lamp we have often been told
    Turned iron and lead into silver and gold.

    His bedstead is made of ivory white,
    And he sleeps on a mattress of down every night;
    For all the day long hew is working his best,
    And surely at night the old fellow should rest.

    He uses no gas, for the glimmerying light
    Of the far polar regions shines all through the night.
    Should he need for his breakfast a fish or some veal,
    The sea-calves are his, and the whale and the seal.

    Where he lives there is always a cool pleasant air,
    Last summer, oh! Didn’t we wish we were there?
    He’s a funny old chap, and quite shy, it would seem,
    For I never but once caught a glimpse of is team;

    ‘Twas a bright moonlight night, and it stood in full view,
    And, so you see, I can describe it to you.
    See! Christmas has come, and he toils like a Turk,
    And now the old fellow is busy at work –

    There are presents for Julia and Bettie and Jack,
    And a bundle still left on the old fellow’s back,
    And if Evrie behaves well and don’t tear his clothes,
    And quits teasing the cat, why he will, I suppose,

    Find on Christmas a horse or a gun or a sled,
    All ready for use when he gets out of bed.
    But see he has worked quite enough for to-night,
    He must fill all the stockings before it is light.

    With his queer looking team through the air he will go,
    And alight on the roof, now all white with the snow,
    And into the chimney will dart in a trice,
    When all are asleep but the cat and the mice;

    Then will fill up the stockings with candy and toys,
    And all without making the least bit of noise.
    When the labors of Christmas are over he goes
    Straight home, and takes a full week of repose;

    And then when the holyday frolics are o’er,
    He goes to his shop and his labors once more,
    And all the long year with his paints and his glue,
    He is making new toy, little children, for you.

    So now I must leave you – but stand in a row –
    Come Julia, and Bettie, and Louie, and Joe,
    And Gracie, and Fannie, what are you about –
    Get ready, I say, for a jolly good shout.

    Now, three cheers for Christmas! Give them, boys, with a will!
    Three more for the hero of Santa-Clausville;
    When know he is old, and bald headed and fat,
    But the cleverest chap in the world for all that,

    And jollier codger no man ever saw –
    But good-bye, merry Christmas, Hip, Hip, Hip Hurrah!

    By George P. Webster

    Read source at : https://www.carols.org.uk/santa-claus-poem.htm

  4. Here comes Santa
    It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!
    We should be ready
    Here comes Santa Claus
    Crawling through chimneysHe is generous
    We must be thankful
    Giving gifts to everyone
    This Christmas will be meaningful

    Gifts under the tree
    We must be glad
    Count one, two, and three
    And thank God for what we have

    By Dianne Galande

    Read source at : http://hellopoetry.com/words/9099/santa/poems/

One comment

  1. I LOVE your ideas. I’m actually going to don the apron you made me, instead of a tutu, but I’m hoping it helps me feel like cleaning. I hae7#&n821v;t felt like that in weeks. Or maybe years. We’ll see. 🙂

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