Art and the philosophy of life

Archive for the ‘Christmas’ Category

Christmas bunny…

Pet Rabbit Sitting on Couch next to Pillow and Blanket

Photo:  Lena Glukhova

Merry, Merry

Photo:  Lisanto

Tonight…the reindeer fly…

Deer, Squirrel, Winter, Antler, Lamp


Empty boxes…a poem

Lights, Holiday, Bright, Glow, Celebrate

everything sparkled
gift boxes
were beautifully wrapped
with the finest paper
tied with gorgeous ribbons
holly and silver bells
the final touches
the tree
stood straight
and tall
covered with lights
and ornaments
collected throughout her life
candles flickered
and music played
but the boxes were empty
and her lovely table
was set for one
any dancing
would be done alone
and the night ahead
was waiting
to be filled with
memories of the past
when strong arms held her
and words of love
were whispered softly
in her ear



Picture: Oixabay

Have fun…from Bored Panda…

50 Times Pets Made Christmas Better For Everyone (But Sometimes Their Owners Would Disagree)

A Christmas…story poem…

he never minded
when children on the street
stopped and
told him what they wanted
for Christmas
he was good natured
and listened attentively
nodding when appropriate
and smiling now and then
parents would sigh
and look at him
with gratitude
while they waited
for their children
to finished talking
child after child
asked him for this or that
asked for gifts for those they loved
asked for their mothers
or fathers
to return
some days he stayed inside
their requests
their desires
and hope
were simply too much
to endure
he started carrying second-hand coats in his bag
so when children without them
stood shivering before him
he had something to give them
he adopted a mutt
for a child who was left alone
most of the time
and watched
the dog
tail wagging
walk away with his new boy
it was after a long day
filled with happy
and tearful children
that he decided
to become
not the true Santa
of course
but the Santa in his neighborhood
the Santa who would help
whenever possible
and try to make life better
for those kids
who didn’t have very much
from then on he saved his money
so that every year
he could give
to those who believed in him
a merry Christmas
he didn’t know that the real Santa
is the person who gives from his heart
everyone knew who he was
everyone knew who he had always been
there was never a Santa
more real than the man standing on the corner
zipping the coat of a child
in the middle of winter



Photo:  Unseen Histories

Santa…a poem about Christmas

man's portrait photography

came to America
and found that
the streets weren’t paved
with gold
they were covered
with corruption
and homeless people
and racism
and hatred
the haves
and the have nots
someone hit him
took his
his red suit
and his hat
he was cold
his stomach rumbled
hunger and thirst
made him tired
he had no cookies
or reindeer
no sleigh
he thought about the presents
he left for the children
useless things
when what they needed
was safety
health care
and he wept
for he had none of those things
to give
but after sitting in an alley
next to a sleeping man
he realized
that he could do something
he could take
instead of giving
he could
become a new
Robin Hood
taking from the rich
and giving to the poor
he could leave coal
at the homes of those
in the government
he could change
yes, yes
he could do that
he could make America
a better place
but first
he needed
to find his way home


Photo:  Donald Teel

Witches…a story poem

don’t disappear
after Halloween
we’re always here
in spite of the fact
that men tried their hardest
to wipe us out
are healers
spirit guides
witches are everything
and with our sisters
we celebrate Yule
a holiday
stolen from us
by men
whose hatred
has never weakened
and continues
to this very day
but the light is coming
it can’t be stopped
and believe me when I say
neither can we



Photo:  Sierra Koder

Mabel and Hugo…a short Christmas story

Guinea Pig, Rodent, Mammal, Smooth Hair

“What’s with this whole Christmas thing?” asked Hugo.

“You know humans,” said Mabel.  “They always have to be doing something.”

“Have you ever seen a manger?”

“What’s a manger?”

“It’s where they put their kids when they’re born.”

“You mean a playpen?” asked Mabel.

“Maybe.  I’m not sure.”

“I’ve seen a playpen,” said Mabel.  “They have them so that their kids don’t run away.”

“Humans like to cage things.”

“They even cage themselves.”

“I do like the tree and the lights,” said Hugo.

“So do I.”

“What about the guy in the red suit?” said Hugo.

“What about him?”

“He’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?  He keeps saying HO HO HO, whatever that means.”

“And he wears the same thing every year,” said Mabel.

“Styles change, but he’s always wearing that red suit.”

“I’m glad I’m not a human.  It must be exhausting,” said Mabel, softly.

“They don’t eat enough seeds or grass,” said Hugo, knowingly.

“Do you want to run through some tubes for awhile?”

“Sure.  Then we can take a nap and dream of sunflower seeds.”

“I love you,” said Mable.

“I love you too,” said Hugo. “I’ll give you a head start.”

“In your dreams big boy,” squeaked Mabel, taking off at a run.




Another Christmas Story…a short story (rerun)



I have known joy and laughter, parties and love.  I was well cared for, admired, beautiful.  People ran their hands over my banisters, marveled at my staircases, stood gazing out of my windows into the rose gardens that surrounded me.  I remember the patter of feet running up and down my stairs, the giggling, as children spied on their parents and their guests.  I was awake at night for sick children and early morning feedings.  I watched over my charges and kept them warm, dry and safe from harm.

Most of all I remember Christmas.  Trees in every room, lights, brightly wrapped gifts and the sound of carols and gratitude drifting through my rooms.  Guests would arrive, bringing gladness and good cheer.  Fires roared in my fireplaces and delicious aromas filled my kitchen.  Dogs barked and chased each other, sometimes gouging my shiny floors, but no matter, that was just life and I was a part of it, holding those I loved close, enveloping them in my love.

But things changed.   The children grew up and moved away.  My people fell on hard times.  There were fewer and fewer parties until finally, there were none at all.  I was cold, and my fires were rarely lit.  There was no laughter, no joy, no warm and delicious aromas in my kitchen.  Few words were spoken, my windows were foggy with grit and dirt, my banisters dull and dry, my gardens dying and filled with weeds, my roses a thing of the past.  But I continued to protect my loved ones, as best I could.

My mistress talked to me late at night, telling me how much she loved me, how grateful she was for all I had done.  She reminded me of better day and laughed about hiding in my closets, as a child, to avoid seeing her dreadful aunt when she came to visit.  She said that she knew how much I loved her.  She apologized for letting me down, for being unable to protect me and care for me as she should but she said she was old and poor and didn’t know what to do.

I held her tightly, sang to her, as I did when she was a baby, rocked her within my walls and whispered that everything would be alright.  I told her that I understood, that it was a gift to have her live within me and raise her children in my heart.  I told her it didn’t matter that I was worn and in disrepair, my job was almost finished.

She sighed, and sat on the floor by the French Doors, as she did when she was ten, watching the crows roost in the tree.  She told me that I was beautiful, she said that she loved me and would never forget me and then she closed her eyes and left.  I saw her blinding light walk through the doors and into the garden.  She stopped, turned and blew kisses at me, as she had done for years.   Then she waved and was gone.

I’m still here, but no one visits anymore.  I’m considered a beautiful ruin but that’s only on the surface.  In my heart and walls, I’m alive with memories of wonderful times and people who truly loved me.  In spite of my condition, I’m happy.


Moral of the story:  Never take your house/living space for granted.  Love it, care for it, thank it, tell it hello when you come home and goodbye, and when you’ll be back, when you leave.  Your house loves you and should be part of everything you do.  Houses are alive, they have spirits and feelings and we need to be grateful for all that they give.  No matter how large or small, our houses are a part of us and we are a part of them.  Love them, be grateful, they are beautiful and a reflection of you.


Photo:  Pixabay

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