Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs

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The tools are designed to be cool and entertain, but also help aspiring writers create a range of different media, including plots, lyrics for songs, poems, letters and names. Some generated content parodies existing styles and artists, whilst others are based on original structures. Our first generator, Song Lyrics Generator was launched in as a student magazine project. After it proved popular, we expanded to include plots, and the project grew from there. We're proud to see work we've helped you create pop up on blogs and in fun projects. I put on specs to read your face.

Whispering Sweet nothings to your glistening eyelids, Am I outspoken compared with you? You sleep While I carry you to our elderly beech. Your forefinger twitches inside its mitten. Do you feel at home in my aching crook? There will be room beneath your fontanel For this branchy diagram of winter. I take you back indoors to the Christmas tree. Dangling for you among the fairy lights Are the zodiac's animals and people. The power to annihilate Our public and our private fate Is sleeping in a manger. Be you sage or shepherd, stranger,.

Lean close, then leave before he wakes And his clear gaze clear judgment makes On all your works and days, The little terror, born to raise. The dead and, yes, the living dead, The bled by bankers, the unfed, And every mortal soul That labours for its daily dole. Of pittance from the pitiless Unceasing rasp of dailiness, That shivers like a child When the nocturnal wind goes wild. About the outhouse and the things Left out to dry.

An angel sings And all of us are hushed By something that will not be rushed,. The sweetness pure as heather honey, The fortune never told in money, This little scrap will bring. Yes, you have heard an angel sing:. Now go you, you have seen enough To carry this good news through rough Terrain to careworn days, New angels, with unending praise. What you having? The more we are together the merrier we will feel the weather. So come in your glad rags — go with the flow. Good tidings hiding under the mistletoe. Welcome, welcome one and all. Just follow the holly around the hall.

Outside Jack-Frost might be nipping. Yes, Robin Redbreast my Christmas card hero. We should make them pay, The idle herd who spoil the view by getting in the way. Soon we shall have altered the meaning of "estate" When all these charvers line up on the wrong side of the gate. They don't just want an orange, they want a bag of nuts — I should bloody coco.

Let them live on cuts.

Let them dine on cardboard, lie down in a ditch. Will they never listen? Jesus loves the rich. Whip them through the parish, close the work-house door.

The Origins of 10 Popular Christmas Carols

Oh let us be realistic: all they are is poor, And therefore not quite human — nothing left to sell. Merry Christmas, darling, and the rest can go to Hell. Oh, the snow keeps falling, and the cold is cruel. There's a thought — why don't we use the poor for fuel? Stack them up like firewood, burn them in the street, So when my love's in Knightsbridge she may warm her feet.

Christmas Songs, Prayers and Plays

Alice Oswald Blackbird fretting in the frozen hedge In the first Slow-fall of the year when wind Stuck in a Slow-drift lags behind The twilight's trailing edge. As if engrossed by inward awkward things The tick tick tick of leaves Keeps losing time the Bleak Sky barely breathes All evening long a Slow-cloud drips and grieves.

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In the New Year the wind will blow The world be shaken the shadows grow But on this Slowy night nothing but Slow Which if it lasts nothing will be but Now. Why Is the Mute Swan Singing? Brian Patten How calm the snow, how white it is,. Why is the old fox smiling, Trotting through the snow? What is the rabbit dreaming In the warren deep below? Why is the mute swan singing? Why is the wren so bold? Why are the wild geese staying And the spider weaving gold?

Christmas is coming

Why are the black crows cawing, That were once so numb with cold? From amongst the ice-flecked branches What can they see unfold? Why are they so excited On such a winter's night? And why is the stable glowing With such translucent light? Robin Robertson He has come from the garden, leaving no shadow, no footprint in the dew. She bows to him, slightly, arms crossed over, shielding herself. He bends one knee, folding his hands below his chest, to mirror hers.

They hold each other's gaze at the point of balance: everything streaming towards this moment, streaming away. A word will set the seed of life and death, the over-shadowing of this girl by a feathered dark.

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But not yet: not quite yet. How will she remember the silence of that endless moment? Or the end, when it all began — the first of seven joys before the seven sorrows? She will remember the aftersong because she is only human. One day she'll wake with wings, or wake and find them gone.

Grace at Christmas Jean Sprackland Not only for the way the whisky flames in the glass and thaws the blood; not only for the rattle of hailstones down the chimney and doused by fire; not just for the way the brand-new ring, slipped cool on a finger, flushes with life; or the warmth of the bed, and the warmth of another, when streetlamps are spinning snow outside. But also for the good, true cold, shocking us back to all our senses: the broken-off star of ice in the hand, the sting of the wind and the quickening heart. For the splintering light, and the frost in our voices, striking, and making the strung air ring; December cold with its wilder gifts — for when are we more alive than now?

Deserts freeze and oceans glaze, The polar sun turns blue, Then on winter's whitened page A single star prints through.

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I haul my catch into the world, I shake him into breath, His cry, so clear it splits the skies, Could wake a man from death. He cries for milk who gave it taste, He aches for touch of skin, Yet he spun every human hair, And ushered love begin. I wrap him in my thickest shawl, Bound tight to keep him here. My hands have cradled many heads, Cut countless cords and cauls, But never held eternity Within such fragile walls. The maker of all worlds is made, Infinity becalms, From speed of light to feet of clay, My saviour in my arms.

An angel sang in a holly tree On a cloudy Christmas morning. I'm bored with heaven the angel sang The angel sang The garden rang I'm bored with heaven the angel sang Can I share your human Christmas? I'll help you set the tree up straight Then fly to the top And shimmer atop I'll help you set the tree up straight And get those lights a-working. I'll smile when I'm in the checkout queue And take my cue To say thanking you I'll smile when I'm in the checkout queue So the girl won't feel so weary.

I'll write all your Christmas cards Christmas cards Best regards I'll write all your Christmas cards And none shall be forgotten. To each mall and square a choir I'll bring A choir I'll bring And how we'll sing To each mall and square a choir I'll bring And gently unplug the muzak. The earliest version of the song dates back to the 16th century, when Melchior Franck wrote a folk song about the tradition of bringing a small fir tree into one's home to decorate and sit beside the seasonal nativity scene.

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This decorating tradition and its celebratory song moved from Germany to the U. As Christmas tree trimming caught on in the s, "O Tannenbaum" grew in popularity. This religious carol tells the tale of the birth of Jesus, and was inspired by a pilgrim's moving Christmas Eve experience in the Holy Lands. Phillip Brooks was a distinguished man of faith and intellect. A Boston-born Episcopalian preacher, he'd earned a Doctorate of Divinity from the University of Oxford, taught at Yale University, and publically advocated against slavery during the Civil War.

But he's best known for penning " O Little Town of Bethlehem " after a life-changing journey.

LBB Lyrics

In , Brooks rode on horseback from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, where he participated in the Church of the Nativity's five-hour long Christmas Eve celebration, complete with hymns. Returning home, this experience proved so profound that he channeled it into the song sung in churches to this day. Its first public performance was held three years later, performed by the children's choir of his church on December Judy Garland sings the bittersweet song to her little sister, trying to cheer her up as both lament their family's move away from their hometown. But Garland and director Vincente Minnelli weren't happy with Martin's early, much more maudlin drafts.

Martin initially refused to revise the lyrics, but a blue talking to from actor Tom Drake set him straight. For Ol' Blue Eyes, he changed "We'll have to muddle through somehow" to the more jolly "Hang a shining star upon the highest bough. In addition to discovering about previously lost words, they also unearthed new etymological information about a word you definitely already know: leprechaun. After an animal sacrifice and a few other weird activities , two possibly naked boys would run through the city streets whipping women with thongs made from the skin of the sacrificial animal, which was said to increase fertility.

Maybe the Irish storytellers who originated that fable broadly interpreted the purification theme from Lupercalia to be more literally related to water. Or, maybe the element of Lupercalia they co-opted for their Irish mascot was the idea of small people specifically male causing mischief in the streets, which pretty calls to mind our current conception of leprechauns as tiny tricksters. Today, September 23, the whole world will experience a day and night of equal length when the sun shines directly over the equator—the midpoint of Earth.

For , this moment will happen at a. In the Northern Hemisphere, we call this the fall or autumn equinox, and it marks the first day of fall. Around the world, people celebrate the day with ceremonies, some of them ancient, and some less so. You might be wondering two things.

Why on almost every other day of the year the vernal or spring equinox being the exception do different parts of the world have days and nights of differing length? And, what do they call the fall equinox in the Southern Hemisphere? The answer to each of these questions resides in Earth's axial tilt. The easiest way to imagine that tilt is to think about tanning on the beach. Stay with me here.

If you lay on your stomach, your back gets blasted by the sun. You don't wait 30 minutes then flop over and call it a day. Rather, as you tan, every once in a while, you shift positions a little. Maybe you lay a bit more on one side. Maybe you lift a shoulder, move a leg. Because you want the sun to shine directly on a different part of you.

You want an even tan. It might seem a little silly when you think about it.

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The sun is a giant fusion reactor 93 million miles away. Solar radiation is hitting your entire back and arms and legs and so on whether or not you adjust your shoulder just so. But you adjust, and it really does improve your tan, and you know this instinctively. Earth works a lot like that, except it's operating by physics, not instinct. If there were no tilt, only one line of latitude would ever receive the most direct blast of sunlight: the equator.

As Earth revolved around the sun, the planet would be bathed in sunlight, but it would only be the equator that would always get the most direct hit and the darkest tan. But Earth does have a tilt.

Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs
Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs
Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs
Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs
Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs
Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs
Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs Christmas is Coming: A Book of Poems and Songs

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