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Lawrence Hall Dec 2018
The winter solstice is the year withdrawing
From all the busy-ness of being-ness,
And life in all its transfigurations
Seems lost beyond this cold, mist-haunted world

Time almost stops. Low-orbiting, the sun
Drifts dimly, drably through Orion’s realm
Morning becomes deep dusk; there is no noon
Four candles are the guardians of failing light

Until that Night when they too disappear
Beneath a Star, before a greater Light



Lawrence Hall
Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go
Available from amazon.com on Kindle and as bits of dead trees
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.


Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Jesse stillwater Dec 2018
In a distance an emptiness echoes,
another lonesome dove's sigh
is carried away with the leaves

silence annulled by tempest gusts
as late autumn winds
belatedly lay bare the trees;

the sad song in the wind
repined for golden days
bowing sun ripened amber fields
dancing with the moment's sway

now windswept wild feathers  
chase after the waning sunlight
bucking prevailing headwinds
just beneath heaven's glow

sail away! — sail away!
way up on high!
O' birds of a feather
sail away!

begone — bygones — begone
homeward bound
from north and south
on  an algid heavenward flight


Jesse Stillwater ... winter solstice ... 2018
lynnia hans Jun 2018
fairies dancing in the midsummer night
flying to the nearest height
making magic and beautiful giggles
shimmering their love in beautiful sprinkles
live to the breath of mother earth
giving her new life forever first
Breon Apr 2018
Let's bask atop this spinning stone
Where sun-glow sears the soles and skin
Until it reaches bleaching bone
And kisses it 'til wearing thin.
Let's savor summer's coming-home
As if it never will again.
The heatwave scorches off our fears
And sets us free. Scream joy and tears.

The blacktop, lapping at your heels
Like hellhounds barking out dog days;
The noonday shadows' faint appeals
All stifled in the phoenix blaze;
The April blossoms wilt and peel.
Their season's passed. They cannot stay,
Not while the sun is in its power,
We'll watch them die within the hour.
I hate summer. Spring may be the kindest season, but autumn seems more honest.
Dawnstar Dec 2017
I ride through the birkwood,
Passing snowbanks on every corner.
Day's end light blinds me.
Holiday joy turns bittersweet in my eyes,
And my lips are as dry as the air.
A fellow stranger sits by me....
Does he know he shares my name?
...Oh well, I hear a cawing:
From the window I see a hundred crows,
Circling the frozen river....
Friends laugh in the courtyard,
But I will be lonely tomorrow.
Paul Butters Dec 2017
In this quiet corner of Cleethorpes
Serene somnolence soothes my soul.
Growling dark clouds make it feel like night
Lying above the whispering mists
On this dank dreary day,
Though mild this year.

The sun rose at eight fourteen
And will fall at three forty two.
For it is indeed the shortest day
Of 2017.

Tomorrow will be
A whole Two Seconds
Longer.

So by around the twenty fifth
Of this December month
We’ll reach that time
When the Ancients saw it getting lighter
And chose to Celebrate
Big Time.
For so the Festive Season
Began
All to Enjoy.

Many a religion has latched onto this
Annual Event.
So it’s Party Time
All over the World.
Time to reflect
And turn our eyes
Towards the Future.
Hoping again for Peace and Love
To Everyone.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\12\2017.
On a dark, dreary (cloudy) day..... (This time I went straight to my "poems" then "drafts" to find and post this after that wretched warning).
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