As promised in my previous post, here’s a poem by John Paisley. It’s titled ‘Christmas’:
Out of a light preceeding
Light, into a darkness which is ours,
A spark, an ember from His fire
Falling, breathed on by lips invisible,
Fuel for a furnace tended by
Viewless hands and deep
Inside, molten like steel,
Plastic like clay,
This glowing, throbbing lump,
This helplessness, this
Hope, this fancy.
Did the mountains bow their peaks
Aged with snow, or the black
Earth heave for joy?
Did the rivers pause in their
Headlong rush to the sea?
Nothing spoke the immutable
Hills or the sky,
And the world moved on
Relentless, making its money and its
Love, minding its own business.
Even that brilliant star tracking
Across the night was observed
By few, and three unknown
Astrologers in a distant land were
All that thought to follow it.
Out of a light preceeding
Light, into a darkness which is ours,
He came, and still he comes;
Silently, imperceptibly: and
At that moment a world is born
Anew, while knowing nothing
Of its own deliverance.
jasongoroncy.com 
Your choice of poetry is always wonderful Jason.
Here’s a Christmas poem I like. It’s a wee bit secular! (Or is it?)
Christmas Poem by Adrian Stirling
Last Christmas
Your father did his impression
Of a Chinese person
Your mother wore a see-through dress
And served up salad
Made of grated carrot and sultanas
Your brother gave us tickets
To the monster trucks
Then his allergic children
Who were high on cordial
Knocked a bottle of red wine
Into my lap
Everybody laughed and said:
‘What are you going to do, Adrian?’
‘Go and write a poem about it?’
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