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Ander Stone Jan 23
I went down those stairs,
And through that door,
Between the ancient columns
Of old and forgotten stone.

The air was made of crystals.

Hope danced above,
And around,
Flickering golden and silver
In the cold winter lights.

The air was made of crystals.

I could feel again,
As if the numbness thawed
In that single moment
Spent by the fireplace
Of someone willing to

The air was made of crystals.

And I went down those stairs,
And through that iron door,
And past those frost covered columns.

And the air was made of crystals.
neth jones Dec 2022
a glint
then, in love
a grenade of sunlight
the morning is sharply taken
bathing off of shots    from the reflective snow
17/11/21 - 1st version
Zywa Dec 2021
Please, Santa Claus, come

to me in Salvador, come --

on your camel-sledge.
"Santa in Savanna" (2019, Jesse Sambulo Nyakurwa Mhlanga)

Collection "SoulSenseSun"
Mark Toney Dec 2021
winter solstice comes
bare trees, long hibernation
~ don’t risk bleeding lips

gardens lie fallow
field mice attempting entry
~ long dark frigid nights

Mark Toney © 2021
Poetry form: Haiku (for you) - Winter solstice—Tuesday, December 21, 2021
The December solstice marks the start of winter, when the South Pole is tilted closest to the Sun, and the Sun’s rays are directly overhead at the Tropic of Capricorn. (The seasons are reversed in the Southern Hemisphere.) The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year.
Walking thru my new old suburbia
on this quiet June eve, it's in the air and
I'm at ease. Its chill frisson has me so captive;
A sunset vespers some comfortable views,
I feel it fade as peaceful night sets in.
I am wandering the streets again.
I scope about these estates.
That indigo hue
in the sky
calms me.
Ema Jun 2021
the snail shells lie empty
they dried up and burnt
on the longest day
while limestone bathing lovers
chipped by fleshy hands
with great intention
don’t miss slimy snails

they are still in embrace
in stony waves
stopped and gazing
the light empties even
on the longest day
lovers and shells alike
eventually take storms
on their cheeks
Dear Venus of my Heart,

The Solstice of blue, once flourishing with fiery flowers red, the petals of our garden froze. The chimney of our cabin of dreams, ambitious as Alexander's attainments, pops with the fog of the remnants of heat. We used to defy the now frozen roaring raging river of time and drink from the abstract notion of forever. For me, it felt like years embracing the elation of our entangled hearts, despite the days that went by. But reality is a grey mirror, and, in a hoard of wretched ways, I wronged you. Our Ecstasy, even extremely enlivening, was fleeting in behalf of my secret despair.

Imagine I a long-lasting love, a motto that guards me of any break. An unpierceable vowel, a couple for life, to live like lions loyal, bold and courageous yet entwined. So, to pour my emotions akin to the biblical flood and undergo an Ophelia, or even a Mimì, to subversion it distresses me. The motivations of mine may map me as an adamant, but I am a romantic, a believer of one true love. I just worry my machine shall yield to the snap of the edge and the ever yearly youthful yearning of restless consummation repels me. While passion is the feeling of the flesh, love is the feeling of the soul; one mate shall be fate. And my soul longs for you in spite of the lonely length that loosens our bonds.

Thus, out of my outrageous offense, I repent. I lament my vanity, this vividly voracious scruple of kissing way before and tragically after the priest's last words without a care for the bride. I apologize for this erroneous early enamor and the ceaseless insistence to the raw departure, leaving echoes of you in pictures of us. But now alas is time for my final parting, to let go because move on I shall. Heart breaks for heart's sake.

Forever and always,

PS: The fog shrouded our cabin of dreams. I feared going back to our place. But doubt no longer clouds my view, so I cleared the mist. Still, the chimney's black stains cannot be cleaned. Hope for this house rests on its grave. However, a new home is just around the corner. It is up to you to build it with me. I will be waiting.
This poem is a love letter to the person the previous two pieces were written for. It establishes that I finally found a way to move on and ends the first chapter of the anthology. From all the poems in it, this was actually the last one I wrote. Luckily, I actually got to reconnect with the recipient, yet I have not shared my poems with her.
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