Christmas fiction pieces from my monthly drop in creative writing group which I teach at the Craft House… have yourself a merry little Christmas read….

Light on Baildon Moor by Kath Wharton

Christmas passed like a ghost,

snow bones sidled

on moor’s open road.

Carols echo – choir to a cross,

red berry baubles

warm winter’s cold stare.

Evergreens whisper a prayer

on the skyline,

submerged in a Silent Night.

Lost voice in a dream,

mist surfs in air –

a first breath crept in

through stars open window.

Silhouettes following white light.

He passed like a ghost.

Image result for snow on baildon moor

or Gillian’s comic take with a spiritual serious note in the last line.

Christmas Eve by Gillian Wright

“Christmas Eve! I’m done with shopping,”

Congested traffic, people pushing,

The list gets smaller, but I’m still worrying.

Father Christmas, the children wanting.


Eligible male cousin who owns a salon,

Reached his apex at just twenty-one.

Designer label on a shirt made of chiffon.

Better than last year when I bought him a baton!


So no more ugly trips will I be making,

Instead the call of church bells ringing.

Listening to the choirs singing,

I wonder though when Christ went missing?


Bingley Poetess Kate’s humorous take on a salon trip with a difference:-


An ugly mop hung from

the apex of his crown.

Congestion of matted silky strands

lurked behind his ears

around his neck

down his shoulders

and who knows elsewhere.

A worried look seeped into

sad brown eyes

as dexterous digits removed

the collar with the label.

Warm water penetrated

dripped brown onto

the white slab

as gentle hands massaged.

Steel combs tufted

prickly brushes smoothed

shiny scissors snipped

clipped and coiffured.

All done now Deefa.

Quite eligible for Crufts!

Katharine Nicholas Dec 2018

mistletoe image

THE DUNG TWIG by Hannah Silcock

Parasite of
light and water,
poisonous healer,
shower of truths,
there she sits,
awaiting the
festive joy
of a stolen

poinsettia image


by Carrie Canning

Dark myth of toxic wolf sap

Hidden deep in sullied bracts

Ding Dong merrily your high

Rich mocking those who vilify

Black as pitch, pretty blood red star

Legend belies what you really are

Copyright remains with the authors who kindly allowed me to post their work on my blog.




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