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Found 18 results

  1. Santa MikeE

    A HAM's Night Before Christmas

    Yes, I know that I promised myself to only post every week or so, but I can't help myself. This definitely doesn't fit in elsewhere in the Forum, but I thought you might enjoy it anyway. As I mentioned in my introduction, I am an Amateur Radio (HAM) Operator (KK4ETS), and have a number of contacts in that field. One of the local hams (Gary Pearce KN4AQ) wrote this variation of The Night Before Christmas. Not the only Ham Radio related version, but the only one by a person I have met personally. I've linked to a UTube of Gary reading the poem too. Enjoy! A Ham's Night Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas, And all through two-meters, Not a signal was keying up Any repeaters. The antennas reached up From the tower, quite high, To catch the weak signals That bounced from the sky. The children, Tech-Pluses, Took their HT's to bed, And dreamed of the day They'd be Extras, instead. Mom put on her headphones, I plugged in the key, And we tuned 40 meters For that rare ZK3. When the meter was pegged by a signal with power. It smoked a small diode, and, I swear, shook the tower. Mom yanked off her phones, And with all she could muster Logged a spot of the signal And the DX Packet Cluster, While I ran to the window And peered up at the sky, To see what could generate RF that high. It was way in the distance, But the moon made it gleam - A flying sleigh, with an Eight element beam, And a little old driver Who looked slightly mean. So I thought for a moment, That it might be Wayne Green. But no, it was Santa, The Santa of Hams. On a mission, this Christmas, To clean up the bands. He circled the tower, Then stopped in his track, And he slid down the coax Right into the shack. While Mom and I hid Behind stacks of CQ, This Santa of hamming Knew just what to do. He cleared off the shack desk Of paper and parts, And filled out all my late QSLs For a start. He ran copper braid, Took a steel rod and pounded It into the earth, till The station was grounded. He tightened loose fittings, Resoldered connections, Cranked down modulation, Installed lightning protection. He neutralized tubes In my linear amp... (Never worked right before- Now it works like a champ). A new, low-pass filter Cleaned up the TV. He corrected the settings In my TNC. He repaired the computer That would not compute, And he backed up the hard drive And got it to boot. Then, he reached really deep In the bag that he brought, And he pulled out a big box. A new rig? I thought! A new Kenwood? An Icom? A Yaesu, for me?! (If he thought I'd been bad It might be QRP!) Yes! The Ultimate Station! How could I deserve this? Could it be all those hours That I worked Public Service? He hooked it all up And in record time, quickly Worked 100 countries, All down on 160. I should have been happy, It was my call he sent. But the cards and the postage Will cost two month's rent! He made final adjustments, And left a card by the key: "To Gary, from Santa Claus. Seventy-Three." Then he grabbed his HT, Looked me straight in the eye, Punched a code on the pad, And was gone - no good-bye. I ran back to the station, And the pile-up was big, But a card from St. Nick Would be worth my new rig. Oh, too late, for his final Came over the air. It was copied all over. It was heard everywhere. The Ham's Santa exclaimed What a ham might expect, "Merry Christmas to all, And to all, good DX." (c)1996 Gary Pearce KN4AQ Permission granted for any print or electronic reproduction.
  2. Santa Jason

    Soldier's Silent Night

    From the album: Christmas ART

    This is a drawing I made to the Poem "Soldier's Silent Night." Still working on a background to it.

    © Taylor Made

  3. Michael Rielly

    Merry Christmas, My Friend

    Every year around this time, some variation of this poem is circulated online. The poem is generally credited to “a soldier stationed in Okinawa” or more recently since September 11, 2001, “a Marine stationed in Afghanistan”. However, the poem’s true author is Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt. Originally entitled, “Merry Christmas, My Friend”, Corporal Schmidt wrote the poem in 1986 while serving as Battalion Counter Sniper at the Marine Barracks 8th & I, in Washington, D.C. That day the poem was placed in the Marine Corps Gazette and distributed worldwide. Schmidt’s poem was later published in Leatherneck (Magazine of the Marines) in December 1991. Below is Corporal Schmidt’s original version as printed in Leatherneck in 1991. Merry Christmas, My Friend by Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone, In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone. I had come down the chimney, with presents to give and to see just who in this home did live As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see, no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree. No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand. On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land. With medals and badges, awards of all kind, a sobering thought soon came to my mind. For this house was different, unlike any I’d seen. This was the home of a U.S. Marine. I’d heard stories about them, I had to see more, so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door. And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone, Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home. He seemed so gentle, his face so serene, Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine. Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read? Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed? His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan. I soon understood, this was more than a man. For I realized the families that I saw that night, owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight. Soon around the Nation, the children would play, And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day. They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year, because of Marines like this one lying here. I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone, on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home. Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye. I dropped to my knees and I started to cry. He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice, “Santa, don’t cry, this life is my choice I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more. My life is my God, my country, my Corps.” With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep, I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep. I watched him for hours, so silent and still. I noticed he shivered from the cold night’s chill. So I took off my jacket, the one made of red, and covered this Marine from his toes to his head. Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold, with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold. And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride, and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside. I didn’t want to leave him so quiet in the night, this guardian of honor so willing to fight. But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure, said “Carry on, Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all secure.” One look at my watch and I knew he was right, Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.
  4. Michael Rielly

    A Song For A Christmas Tree

    Born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, Louisa May Alcott (1832 –1888) was an American novelist and poet who authored over 30 books and short-story collections. She is best known as the author of the novel Little Women (1868). Alcott’s career as an author began with poetry and short stories that appeared in popular magazines, often under the nom de plume, A.M. Barnard. A Song For A Christmas Tree by Louisa May Alcott Cold and wintry is the sky, Bitter winds go whistling by, Orchard boughs are bare and dry, Yet here stands a faithful tree. Household fairies kind and dear, With loving magic none need fear, Bade it rise and blossom here, Little friends, for you and me. Come and gather as they fall, Shining gifts for great and small; Santa Claus remembers all When he comes with goodies piled. Corn and candy, apples red, Sugar horses, gingerbread, Babies who are never fed, Are handing here for every child. Shake the boughs and down they come, Better fruit than peach or plum, 'T is our little harvest home; For though frosts the flowers kill, Though birds depart and squirrels sleep, Though snows may gather cold and deep, Little folks their sunshine keep, And mother-love makes summer still. Gathered in a smiling ring, Lightly dance and gayly sing, Still at heart remembering The sweet story all should know, Of the little Child whose birth Has made this day throughout the earth A festival for childish mirth, Since the first Christmas long ago.
  5. Carlo Klemm

    Has Christmas come early?

    Has Christmas come early? The Coca Cola has been spotted ahead of its UK tour September 26, 2017 By JAMIE BULLEN, ABBIE BRAY - Devon Live Excerpt: Devon, UK - It appears the holidays are coming. The Christmas countdown has seemingly kicked off after the iconic Coca-Cola truck has been spotted, 12 weeks before Christmas. The illuminated lorry adorned with the image of Santa Claus tours the UK in the run-up to Christmas. Stewart Power, who filmed the truck in Dagenham, East London wrote online: "Just seen the Coca Cola truck on the A406, does this mean it’s offically ok to talk about Christmas now? "This truck gives everybody that warm feeling inside from when they where younger." The bright red lorry made 44 stops across the UK over the holidays last year with children handed free sugary drinks. The drinks giant was accused of promoting an unhealthy lifestyle as experts called for an end to the whistle-stop tour. A letter signed by five public health directors and members of the Faculty of Public Health, said: “We can celebrate without allowing Coca-Cola to hijack Christmas by bringing false gifts of bad teeth and weight problems to our children.” SOURCE:
  6. Michael Rielly

    Little Tree

    Edward Estlin (E. E.) Cummings (1894 – 1962) was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He is best known for his typographically creative poetry which are seemingly placed at random, slicing up individual words as well as sentences, but Cummings was also a painter, essayist, author, and playwright. He wrote approximately 2,900 poems; two autobiographical novels; four plays and several essays. Little Tree by E. E. Cummings little tree little silent Christmas tree you are so little you are more like a flower who found you in the green forest and were you very sorry to come away? see i will comfort you because you smell so sweetly i will kiss your cool bark and hug you safe and tight just as your mother would, only don't be afraid look the spangles that sleep all the year in a dark box dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine, the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads, put up your little arms and i'll give them all to you to hold every finger shall have its ring and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy then when you're quite dressed you'll stand in the window for everyone to see and how they'll stare! oh but you'll be very proud and my little sister and i will take hands and looking up at our beautiful tree we'll dance and sing "Noel Noel"
  7. Santa John Gable

    The Empty Workshop

    The Empty Workshop by John Gable What’s in Santa’s workshop? Let’s take a look around. They should be busy making toys, But no elves can be found. One should hear tiny hammers, See bouncing balls and bears, But all the shelves are empty, The tables and the chairs. There’s not a doll or train in sight. No jump ropes or toy cars. No Jack-in-boxes, building blocks, Toy drums or toy guitars. Perhaps we should be worried At this toy making reprieve, But for tonight we’ll worry not For this is Christmas Eve! The toys are packed and ready Up there on Santa’s sleigh. Tonight we rest , and then start work For next year’s Christmas Day!
  8. Michael Rielly

    The Littlest Christmas Tree

    The Littlest Christmas Tree by Amy Peterson The littlest Christmas tree lived in a meadow of green, among a family, of tall evergreens. He learned how to whisper the evergreen song, with the slightest of wind, that came gently along. He watched as the birds made a home out of twigs, and couldn't wait till he, too, was big. For all of the trees offered a home, the maple, the pine, and the oak, who's so strong. "I hate being little," the little tree said, "I can't even turn colors like the maple turns red. I can't help the animals like the mighty old oak. He shelters them all in his wide mighty cloak." The older tree said, "Why, little tree, you don't know? The story of a mighty king from the land with no snow?" Little tree questioned, "A land with no snow?" "Yes!" said old tree, "A very old story, from so long ago". "A star appeared, giving great light over a manger, on long winter's night. A baby was born, a king of all kings, and with him comes love, over all things." "He lived in a country all covered in sand, and laid down his life to save all of man." Little tree thought of the gift given by him, then the big tree said with the happiest grin, "We're not just trees, but a reminder of that day There's a much bigger part, of a role that we play!" "For on Christmas eve, my life I'll lay down, in exchange for a happier, loving ground. And as I stand dying, they'll adorn me in trim. This all will be done, in memory of him." "Among a warm fire, with family and friends, in the sweet songs of Christmas, I'll find my great end. then ever so gently, He'll come down to see and take me to heaven, Jesus and me." "So you see, little tree, we are not like the oak who shelters all things beneath his great cloak. Nor are we like the maple in fall, who's colors leave many standing in awe." "The gift that we give is ourselves, limb for limb, the greatest of honor, in memory of him." The little tree bowed, his head down and cried, and thought of the king who willingly died. For what kind of gift can anyone give? Than to lay down your life when you wanted to live? A swelling of pride came over the tree. Can all of this happen Because of just me? Can I really bring honor? By adorning a home? By reminding mankind that he's never alone? With this thought, little tree began singing with glee. Happy and proud to be a true Christmas tree. You can still hear them singing even the smallest in height, singing of Christmas and that one holy night. © Amy Peterson
  9. Michael Rielly

    The Boy Who Laughed At Santa Claus

    The Boy Who Laughed At Santa Claus by Ogden Nash, 1957 In Baltimore there lived a boy. He wasn't anybody's joy. Although his name was Jabez Dawes, His character was full of flaws. In school he never led his classes, He hid old ladies' reading glasses, His mouth was open when he chewed, And elbows to the table glued. He stole the milk of hungry kittens, And walked through doors marked No Admittance. He said he acted thus because There wasn't any Santa Claus. Another trick that tickled Jabez Was crying 'Boo' at little babies. He brushed his teeth, they said in town, Sideways instead of up and down. Yet people pardoned every sin, And viewed his antics with a grin, Till they were told by Jabez Dawes, 'There isn't any Santa Claus!' Deploring how he did behave, His parents swiftly sought their grave. They hurried through the portals pearly, And Jabez left the funeral early. Like whooping cough, from child to child, He sped to spread the rumor wild: 'Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes There isn't any Santa Claus!' Slunk like a weasel of a marten Through nursery and kindergarten, Whispering low to every tot, 'There isn't any, no there's not!' The children wept all Christmas eve And Jabez chortled up his sleeve. No infant dared hang up his stocking For fear of Jabez' ribald mocking. He sprawled on his untidy bed, Fresh malice dancing in his head, When presently with scalp-a-tingling, Jabez heard a distant jingling; He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof Crisply alighting on the roof. What good to rise and bar the door? A shower of soot was on the floor. What was beheld by Jabez Dawes? The fireplace full of Santa Claus! Then Jabez fell upon his knees With cries of 'Don't,' and 'Pretty Please.' He howled, 'I don't know where you read it, But anyhow, I never said it!' 'Jabez' replied the angry saint, 'It isn't I, it's you that ain't. Although there is a Santa Claus, There isn't any Jabez Dawes!' Said Jabez then with impudent vim, 'Oh, yes there is, and I am him! Your magic don't scare me, it doesn't' And suddenly he found he wasn't! From grimy feet to grimy locks, Jabez became a Jack-in-the-box, An ugly toy with springs unsprung, Forever sticking out his tongue. The neighbors heard his mournful squeal; They searched for him, but not with zeal. No trace was found of Jabez Dawes, Which led to thunderous applause, And people drank a loving cup And went and hung their stockings up. All you who sneer at Santa Claus, Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes, The saucy boy who mocked the saint. Donner and Blitzen licked off his paint.
  10. Michael Rielly

    A Toast to Santa Claus

    Authored by American humorist, John Kendrick Bangs in 1912, A Little Book of Christmas is a collection Christmas short stories and poems. A Toast to Santa Claus, is one of three heart-warming poems included in the book. A Toast to Santa Claus by John Kendrick Bangs Whene'er I find a man who don't Believe in Santa Claus, And spite of all remonstrance won't Yield up to logic's laws, And see in things that lie about The proof by no means dim, I straightway cut that fellow out, And don't believe in him. The good old Saint is everywhere Along life's busy way. We find him in the very air We breathe day after day— Where courtesy and kindliness And love are joined together, To give to sorrow and distress A touch of sunny weather. We find him in the maiden's eyes Beneath the mistletoe, A-sparkling as the star-lit skies All golden in their glow. We find him in the pressure of The hand of sympathy, And where there's any thought of love He's mighty sure to be. So here's to good old Kindliheart! The best bet of them all, Who never fails to do his part In life's high festival; The worthy bearer of the crown With which we top the Saint. A bumper to his health, and down With them that say he ain't!
  11. Name: The Night Before Christmas read by Keith Morrison Category: Christmas History and Traditions Date Added: 2015-11-06 Submitter: Michael Rielly Keith Morrison Reads "The Night Before Christmas" | NBC News The Night Before Christmas read by Keith Morrison
  12. Keith Morrison Reads "The Night Before Christmas" | NBC News
  13. Michael Rielly

    Cowboy Christmas

    A Cowboy's Christmas Prayer by S. Omar Barker (1895-1985) I ain't much good at prayin', and You may not know me, Lord -- For I ain't much seen in churches, where they preach Thy Holy Word. But you may have observed me out here on the lonely plains, A-lookin' after cattle, feelin' thankful when it rains. Admirin' Thy great handiwork. the miracle of the grass, Aware of Thy kind Spirit, in the way it comes to pass That hired men on horseback and the livestock that we tend Can look up at the stars at night, and know we've got a Friend. So here's ol' Christmas comin' on, remindin' us again Of Him whose coming brought good will into the hearts of men. A cowboy ain't a preacher, Lord, but if You'll hear my prayer, I'll ask as good as we have got for all men everywhere. Don't let no hearts be bitter, Lord. Don't let no child be cold. Make easy the beds for them that's sick and them that's weak and old. Let kindness bless the trail we ride, no matter what we're after, And sorter keep us on Your side, in tears as well as laughter. I've seen ol' cows a-starvin' - and it ain't no happy sight; Please don't leave no one hungry, Lord, on Thy Good Christmas Night -- No man, no child, no woman, and no critter on four feet I'll do my doggone best to help you find 'em chuck to eat. I'm just a sinful cowpoke, Lord -- ain't got no business prayin' But still I hope you'll ketch a word or two, of what I'm sayin': We speak of Merry Christmas, Lord-- I reckon You'll agree -- There ain't no Merry Christmas for nobody that ain't free! So one thing more I ask You, Lord: just help us what You can To save some seeds of freedom for the future Sons of Man! © S. Omar Barker In December, 2013 the S. Omar Barker estate announced this poem is now considered in the public domain.
  14. Old Sante Claus

    Republic of Kosovo's Independance Day

    Republic of Kosova declared its Independance on the 17 of February in 2008. Tomorrow, the Republic will celebrate as they move forward. I wish to contratulate them with this poem I have written for my many friends, and aquaintences throughout Kosovo. Respectfully, Baba Demeri Kosovo’s Independance By James E. Webber 16 Feb. 2010 They are singing in the streets tonight, And chanting old time songs. Shooting fireworks everywhere, And proud that they belong, To a Republic new and free That they have waited for so long. They are waving flags and marching, To the beat of ancient drums. Waving torches of new light With hope of what they can become United by a common plight. Celebrate with gladness Let your heart lead the way Kosovo is very young, But old so many say. Move in to the future, It is a brand new day. Wave the flags and light the lights, Its Independance Day today!
  15. Old Sante Claus

    St. Valentine's Day

    My Valentine By James E. Webber I’d like to give a box of chocolates to you on this day, To tell you how I Love You in a very special way. I’d like to take you out to dine on most splendid fare, All of these would let you know just how much I care. I would like to send you flowers in a special tied bouquet, Or take you on an ocean cruse to places far away. I’d like to give you everything your heart is longing for, Many things to say that you’re the one that I adore. You are the rarest of the pearls that anyone could find. I’d like to share my life with you, My Love, My Valentine.
  16. Old Sante Claus

    A Tiny Lump of Coal

    A Tiny Lump of Coal I would like to fill your stocking, But the bad news I’ve been told. That you have been kinda naughty, So all you get is Coal. If I use the honor system, And you choose to share your soul, Your Bear can be your witness, That you’ve been good as gold. When eating at the table, Don’t let your meal get cold. Mind your table manners, Sit straight, don’t tip the bowl. Just listen to your Mother, Let goodness be your goal. Always share with others, And do what you‘ve been told. Just hang your biggest stocking, Secured so it can hold. A lot of Christmas goodies, And a tiny lump of coal. by James E. Webber Old Sante'Claus
  17. Old Sante Claus

    Deep South Pole

    Deep South Pole By James E. Webber Sante Claus is moving south The weather he loves best, So many years out in the cold He thinks he needs a rest. Delivering the packages He won’t mind in the rain. Instead of using reindeer He now will take the train. He hates to leave the Arctic North But deep down in his soul, He knows it’s better for his health, Or so he has been told. He can wear a thinner suit, And never wear a vest. Instead of wearing leather boots, Galoshes will be best. The reindeer can just run and play And dance upon the sand. They will not have to worry, If they cannot see to land. Making rounds upon the train Should surely make it better, Instead of wearing lots of fur, He can wear a sweater. If the weather starts to change, Should the fog get thicker, He can keep his sweater dry With his red rain slicker. So hang your stocking by the gate, And do not tell a soul, Sante’s coming very soon, From the Deep South Pole.
  18. Old Sante Claus

    Planting Time

    Planting Time By James E. Webber 04 Feb 2010 The Ground Hog Saw his Shadow Six more weeks, he said, Spring time will be coming soon, And flowers start to spread. So till the soil, and rest it, Set some new bulbs out. Springs just round the corner, And seeds will start to sprout. Plant some yellow pansies, Some tulips in a row. And they will pop their heads up, Just before you know! So fill your heart with laughter, And just don’t mind the snow. That melts to add the water, That makes the flowers grow. OSC James E. Webber
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