An Online Literary Journal for Poetry and Flash

Tag: rhyme

Sounds of Christmas

Poetry by Brian Billings

When we reach December,
the sounds begin to change.
The steady hum of daily life
moves to a higher range.
The beats become staccato
while chording starts to swell.
These are the sounds of Christmas I know well.

The Santas manning city blocks
collect the coins that clink.
Laughter spills from coffee shops
where good friends share a drink.
Bags of presents crinkle.
Chimes on front doors tinkle.
Swishing brooms push flakes away
where snow’s begun to sprinkle.

Cheery fires crackle
where families abide.
Wintry breezes howl and hiss
while lovers kiss inside.
There’s a fizz within the whiz
of shoppers all pell-mell.
These are the sounds of Christmas I know well.

An organ roaring “Allelu!”
will leave you feeling jolly; you
can hear good tidings when the rafters ring.
The glockenspiel and carillon
will help high spirits barrel on
when either instrument begins to sing.

The snap of bursting popcorn
locked in a box of glass.
The piping of a cardinal.
A greeting as you pass.
Not one of these dear novelties
is just a bagatelle.
These are the sounds of Christmas I know well.


Brian C. Billings is a professor of drama and English at Texas A&M University-Texarkana. His work has appeared in such journals as Ancient Paths, Antietam Review, The Bluebird Word, Confrontation, Evening Street Review, Glacial Hills Review, and Poems and Plays. Publishers for his scripts include Eldridge Publishing and Heuer Publishing.

Thrift Shop Santa

Poetry by Melissa Wold

Santa, my man. How did you wind up in this place?
Santa, my man. How did you crack your face?
Tossed amid dusty knickknacks, chipped china plates.

Did Mrs. Claus catch your paws on the photo gal at the mall?
Did Mrs. Claus without pause pack your bag? What gall!
Now you sit lost on a shelf without an elf or Ken or Barbie doll.

Santa my man, come on home with me.
We’ll boogie round the tinseled tree.
Santa, my man, come on home with me.

Did you take to bettin’ on reindeer races?
Did you take to bettin’ on penguins running bases?
Money squandered on plastic roses in cob-webbed vases?

Did you binge on Jim Beam at the corner bar?
Did you still white lightning in a mason jar?
Serendipity plunked you into a martini glass tucked in a boxcar.

Santa my man, come on home with me.
We’ll boogie round the tinseled tree.
Santa, my man, come on home with me.

Did you and the elves have a spat?
Did they pull your beard? Did you rip off their hats?
Letters flake off a weather-worn welcome mat.

Santa, my man, hang your head in shame.
Santa my man, fess up, who’s to blame for your flagging fame?
Ninety-nine cents buys you and a sea-shell picture frame?

Santa my man, come on home with me.
We’ll boogie round the tinseled tree.
Santa, my man, come on home with me.


Melissa Wold is retired from a career in student services area of higher education. She writes with a group affiliated with Mobile Botanical Gardens in Mobile, Alabama. She shares her poems with Rocket, her rat terrier. He is quick with his barking critiques. Read her first published poem in The Bluebird Word from November 2022.

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