The Therapy Poetry Podcast

John:
For some, at Christmas, it means happiness and cheer.
For others, at Christmas, it brings chaos and tears.
As drinking increases and the booze becomes king,
You watch your loved ones destroy the day, and you can’t do a thing.
You wrestle with the powerlessness and have to sit with the shame,
You must not upset the alcoholic— that’s just the rules of the game.
You finally get to bed in one piece. Thank you, God, and Amen.
But Boxing Day is tomorrow, and the madness starts again.

Ricky:
For some, it’s a memory of those no longer here,
A reminder of the loved ones that we hold so dear.
Happiness and laughter quickly followed by a tear,
Questions of “If only” or “What if?” may well appear,
Continuing to smile as making others sad is the fear.
Please be gentle and kind with us as we try our best to persevere
And hold up a glass with me in their memory.
Cheers.

Lisa:
For some, Christmas is a 24-hour shift,
So I call out to all those who protect us:
Our forces, our nurses, our carers, and our police,
With hearts full of hope, intent, and respect,
You strive to care for our loved ones at risk.
So, on this crisp winter’s night,
I light a white candle to thank our unsung heroes
And hope tomorrow you get some rest.

Sarah:
For some, the lights are too bright to behold,
A glittering wonder that feels too cold.
For some, the carols, when sharp in the ear,
Each note, a tremor, each sound unclear.
For some, the bustle is a world out of tune,
Seeking calm beneath the winter’s cocoon.
Yet, within the mayhem, stillness can grow,
A solace in hearts where gentleness flows.

Hayley:
For some, Christmas is saying goodbye to those we love,
A passing from this world to the next,
A time of grieving relationships that once were,
Family and friends apart, leaving us feeling sad, lonely, empty—
Too much effort and way too much fuss.

Maria:
For some, Christmas is about the birth of Christ,
The manger, a shining star, angels, shepherds, wise men—
A holy, religious time: singing carols, church services,
Children’s parties, nativity plays,
Enjoying the festive cheer, the sausage rolls, mince pies,
And, of course, the taste of warm mulled wine.

I hear my heart chakras vibrate with the sound of church bells,
A temple for my soul, not polished nor believed,
Not sparkly nor dull,
The bells of our birthing of a life waiting to be lived.
Stirrings of grace,
Of inner radiance—be that bell,
Surrender to your birthing on the tree of life.