Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

-Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863) wrote the poem Twas the night before Christmas in 1822.

From Special Guest Iman Assad…

I can see life smiling at me and hear its words of love. I am fully present with my body and soul, totally committed to my dreams, not losing a single precious moment, living every instant with dedication and clarity of mind….

I have no doubts, I trust life and know well that whatever I might encounter or have already encountered so far, were divine gifts sent to me by the heavens and for that I am grateful.

All the pain and tears, all that tiny bits of happiness are equally cherished in my heart; for how could I be what I am today without those parts that have made my life and made me ?!

I am a divine soul, living in the heart of God, protected by him, inspired by the truth of our being.

I move in light

I move in love

I move in gratitude

Opening my heart and mind to all possibilities, firmly believing that I am making my destiny with my own will.

You can find Iman on Facebook

From Special Guest S Lynne Horton…

Alone in a vast field, forgotten by the forest,

Inhibited by the bursts of a violent wind,

Stands a weather beaten and scarcely foilaged tree.

Lacking grandeur befitting the majestic woods,

Banished to wither in this forlorn field alone.

Torrential rains did come and attempt to wash the tender sapling away.

Fiercest winds sought to strip it of its delicate adornments.

Tender and vulnerable a young sapling was adrift in the floods,

Roots sprang forth, tendrils seeking depth in the loose soil carrying it away.

What seemed only a field of weeds,

Offered an embrace in their tangled existence.

That young sapling accepted what was offered in grace,

Caught it became in a field to remain lost and forgotten but growing beneath the surface

Hidden away in the shadows of the swaying wild growth that knew no defeat.

A lone tree sought out light through the untamed hazy cover.

Defying the odds, though misshapen by vicious elements,

It grew and though small and lacking vibrance, it stands alone.

Its roots though hidden beneath the tangled web of unsightly weeds,

Grow deep, holding on tightly to what little it was given,

Accepting grace though found in the dark,

Though not found majestic and stately of beauty,

Testament it gives to more valorous plight,

It is not lost among a luscious forest,

Its beauty is that noticed it has become because it stands alone.

S. Lynne Horton is a thoughtful poet, writer and artist and author of the novel the Emerald Curse. She can found on her blog or via Facebook.

Creeping dismay turns into passion,

power and obsession.

What I need is what I need.

And the passage of the midnight sun

reveals the true essence of being.

And the light shines on forever,

trailing like after-thoughts of today.

And the moment shines on,

like a diamond in the sky,

tracing the spaces of time,

harrowing the thoughts of none.

And I speak only from truth.

Oh boy, do I try.

And soon the fiber will pass through me,

becoming one with me.

And by the passage of the midnight sun

creeps slowly faster, every new day.

The journey never ends and has only just begun.

I sail on the rays of fire, shot down from mars.

And the passage of the midnight sun soothes me,

once again.

Forever and forever and forever – this is my mantra.

Forever in this life and forever in the next,

I will learn because I can and because I will.

Seething the guttural responses and reactions without any thought,

only action and my objection will follow me like a dog.

And by the blind passage of the midnight sun

I am blinded only when I look away.

To see the truth, to inhabit the reality,

imaginary as real, and all I want to do is play tag once more.

And the field is full as usual, yet no one really wants to play.

Yet here I am, cut like a knife, ready to make my stand,

knee deep in the most dangerous place in the world.

By the blind passage of the midnight sun,

I look on in revelation, my true moment has yet to come.

And the moment is building, waiting for me to grab hold,

as it is already there, waiting like the moon of the shadow,

translucent and all bearing,

For all too see, for all to witness,

in this glorious moment and the next.

From Carl Michael Hohol Jr…