"solstices" poems
The Sun & Earth
23.5 tilted degrees
North Pole & South Pole
Equator
Tropic of Cancer
Tropic of Capricorn
and Meridians
North/South/East/West
Hemispheres
Equinoxes
Solstices
Four seasons
Astronomical phenomena
Today at where I live——
On northern hemisphere
The Garden of Eden
A local Home Depot
The Sun will directly hit
The Tropic of Capricorn
giving us the longest night
and abandoning the North Pole
All it has remembered
is the pole on the other end
Where penguins, whale seals,
and albatrosses will bathe
whole day in full brightness
at -15 degrees Fahrenheit
What a chilling exhilaration!
Could I run away from
this so called winter solstice
this unbearable darkness
this senselessness of
obscurity and wickedness
Could I go to the South Pole
and dance with the penguins?
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know:
I am too dumbly in my being pent.
The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.
The malady of the quotidian . . .
Perhaps if summer ever came to rest
And lengthened, deepened, comforted, caressed
Through days like oceans in obsidian
Horizons, full of night's midsummer blaze;
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze;
One might in turn become less diffident,
Out of such mildew plucking neater mould
And spouting new orations of the cold.
One might. One might. But time will not relent.
1.7k
Je festine ici et là
Je festine dans l’au delà
Je festine indécemment
Ma sauvage est de retour.
Je m’accouple aux vents boucs
Je m’accouple aux pluies vipères
Je m’accouple diaboliquement
Ma sage-femme est de retour.
Je sodomise les mares crapauds
Je sodomise les fleuves lézards
Je sodomise exécrablement
Ma guérisseuse est de retour.
Je blasphème aux solstices
Je blasphème aux équinoxes
Je blasphème scandaleusement
Mon infirmière est de retour.
Je me venge en la noyant
Je me venge en la brûlant
Je me venge insidieusement
Mon hérétique est de retour
Je cours après tous onguents
Je cours après tous poisons
Je cours brutalement
Ma dénaturée est de retour.
J’aime sa danse surnaturelle
J’aime ses pas diaboliques
J’aime ardemment
Ma forcluse est de retour.
Je caresse le soufre de son âme
Je caresse son pied gauche
Je caresse amoureusement
Ma Maligne est de retour.
Je m’accointe à sa lumière
Je m’accointe à son derrière
Je m’accointe horriblement
Ma pécheresse est de retour.
Je badine avec la lune
Je badine avec les étoiles
Je badine imprudemment
Ma prêtresse est de retour.
Je pèche des poissons capitaux
Je pèche des poissons capiteux
Je pèche lubriquement
Ma catin est de retour.
Je vénère les toisons
Je vénère les vipères
Je vénère précieusement
Mon dragon est de retour.
Je me frictionne l’entre-deux-jambes
Je me frictionne entre deux outre-tombes
Je me frictionne inlassablement
Mon ombre est de retour.
Je tremble de peur
Je tremble de joie
Je tremble frénétiquement
Ma sorcière est de retour.
Je décharge à tous vents
Je décharge à tout va
Je décharge instantanément
Ma bougresse est de retour.
Je danse en bégayant
Je danse en babillant
Je danse ordement jusqu'au chant du coq
Ma muse est de retour
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 1:55 AM UTC
All the roads are closed. Silence metastasizes through the stretch of EDSA. Cold seeps in bone. Sun still flagellates.
Oscillate through sound space and whitewashed walls. Seismic grunt of jeepney awakens the signs: no avatars, yet. The night was as deep as any lover, a fine blistering moon glares through lit rivers.
Nothing exists except heads of tacks and maimed populace ambulating across roads sequined with ermine light. The disquiet approximates the lightness of
buildings in repair. Scaffolds, ubiquitous lovers,
clouds explode into white, and everything else like pain, pales in comparison with the slow twitch of everything.
Today there will be no siren nor
simultaneous joust of cyclists in perpetual motion— just you contending
against hues of all graffiti:
Cataract of anguish. News of killing.
Incarnadine trees netted with aureoles burning bright in solstices. Penumbral undulation of
forethought and afterthought.
Dislimned – all; you, left
in polaroid taken in solitary shutter,
in pursuit of light.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
The time has come forth to ponder and think,
about the spiritual planes that are reluctantly unforeseen.
Of the dimensions that are surreal to those who use emotion and feel.
The mind creates an undeniable creation that disguises itself to be real.
Enduring and speculating on the thought of consciousness and love;
one will realize the reality of our minds perception defying the dogmatic breeding brawl.
Although our minds potential is finite and cleverly obscured;
we will begin to witness the marching of shooting stars so pure.
Imminently clear, we begin to reach a higher plane of degree.
Meditating to the point where we become one with the universe without plea.
Encompassing the ethereal and uncovering half-truths,
perceiving the ultimate correspondence intelligently and shrewd.
Where will one travel amidst the taunt of death and fear?
To a place that is all well too known, a herd of aimless tears.
Lacrimation will enlighten those when they have fallen in the solstices peak.
To experience a world that was previously known as a philosophical creation by the streams.
Metaphysical questions will mark its toll to the soul who learns to decipher no more.
Otherwise, contentions will cause despair and half truths will then have to bear.
Inducing a different consciousness to a degree not explored before;
one will embark on a alchemic journey of the mental transmutation to the inner soul.
Mental creation spurs the ****** of the universal degree of spirit and mind.
An illusion so concurrent to the law depicted within our eyes alter-mind.
Deception will avail to those who blindly believe they have prevailed;
when attempting to solve the riddle behind the creator of the tale.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Long before Christianity,
and, Prehistoric times,
in existence that,
doesn't flee,
celebrated equinoxes,
and, the solstices
"sacred times"
Goddess of Springtime,
Ostara, Eostre or Eastre,
as referred, Lent her name,
you will of heard
© 2021 Carol Natasha Diviney
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 4:37 AM UTC
do you ever think about
crystallized heartbeats?
and capricorn fists holding
winter solstices within each crease,
palms like mountains
with riverbends and valleys,
cliffdiving into an ocean
of crimson skin?
the lullaby that plays over
and over
in my head is the sound
of your voice
cracking as you said,
"please don't go."
that three-word phrase
sings me to sleep
every single night.
i didn't ask for this,
you know.
i didn't ask for blown-out candles
smoke twirling into tendrils of grey
and ashy piles.
i never asked for your blank stare
when your memory was erased
by people in white coats with long needles.
i didn't ask for your arms
to become my stronghold
and my shelter against the night.
i didn't want this but now i'm addicted.
(a.m.c.)
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
torrential inky blackness
an anti-equinox
over cobblestone
lamp post arcs perching
on 5 lanes
streets wear orange halogen light
concrete and water
his tires scream
on asphalt
the popsicle stains
on khaki
mix with downpour
of cloudbursts
sky is lost
in a darkened prism
scarlet solstices
passed long ago
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
Some are fearful of opening boxes
closed and sealed long ago,
scared of the stream which,
freed from its prison of oblivion,
may leave them wet of feelings.
Some are afraid of solstices and equinoxes,
of the time when the sun touches the
ground,
of the different shades of the nightsky
in cyclic and never-ending succession...
of the sound of sand against the glass.
Like a vessel weathering
the rising and falling mountains
of a tempestuous sea,
whose captain roars, wrathful,
though never yearns for blue skies,
do not ever shrink back at this metamorphic existence!
And you, my friend, oh be brave!
Do not cry the losses,
not in excess,
do not ever feel sorrow for that old past!
Live like water,
whom gravity forces to sinuously descend,
yet it beats all its enemies in the way
to the restful sea of joy.
But you, oh my friend, be brave!
Do not be fearful of change...
...because change is what we call life.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
But considering Solstices and Equinoxes,
Life can be full of paradoxes,
The future left in the past,
Or time, a function, of dies cast.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
Winters folly does in spring create
in essences a dire, wily fool
who, speaking truth- a noble trait-
can make the blooms anew seem cruel
In temperate waters, the ocean blue
bind you to me as I to you
Youthful solstices in equal parsimony
bring hushed utterings, the listless creed
of breaking hopes, the terrible fragility
that lifts desire, want, dream and need
Before this schism, our great undo
bind you to me as I to you
Stars never see the light of day,
or feel the warm stroke of the sun,
but each is at peace, in its own way
before and after it’s burning is done
With sunfire and ice, kiss me imbued
bind you to me as I to you
The hollowness of my voice that fails
and falters belies the nature of my love
and defines more than the tale
of young souls in the greater above
Let our hearts, that simple truth
bind you to me as I to you
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
“I like natural holidays like equinoxes and solstices and moon phases, because they happen even if no one’s there to acknowledge it.”
Like the curve of your cheek bracketing a smile
and the elongated hum of your first consonant.
The gait of us takes a fluid shape and the tiny,
joyful bursts of your footfall fill up the
quiet between the words we offer.
You feel like old tradition and new thought
made up to bring the rest of us forward into ourselves.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
I'm a bottle filled up with purity. Soul punctured faced many defeats in my life that's why my soul leaks from this bottle.
Thoughts are instilled in me so below my mind drowns previous tragedies... I'm just a casualty of Pain . Life of shame. Quick to blame but I survived through all of this...
So many tears hides under the skin. but my spirit leaks the pain. Simple jokes. simple laughter hides the sadness beneath this mask. The darkness I hide in reminds me in sadness in a capsule add water and end it all. overdose on life . Had me by my neck on a leash . no pup by I suffocated from happiness I had a love deficit my heart was DEFINITE (DEATH -IN-IT) .
My Soul became frozen. like winter solstices. tears frozen with every cry I became lonely. Every mistake . every heartbreak missed opportunity hits me like melting Iceburgs on south poles.. Now you see how my soul was buried with frost bites. it overcame me like termites pain terrorized me.
Stress cause my health to take a dive but mental struggle forced me to hit ice head first. A head on collision to naive decisions the hurt me like incisions with precision.
Every Cry. Every pain. Every tear I've ever felt. Every give up. Every sin every addiction can cure that soul for once it once was. I had a a moment of clarity I had a calling to read the bible to read a scripture my testimony my teaching as I read scriptures my leaking soul cries no longer I'm a bottle I leak pains. God unthaws my pain defrost my frozen heart. picks me up from drowning. no longer I'm suffocated. eyes open up to sunny days wind breeze.. with purpose of life with amnesia to my past
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
But considering Solstices and Equinoxes,
Life can be full of paradoxes,
The future left in the past,
Or time, a function, of dies cast.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
It was many days
then moons
triple the bottles
turning to months
solstices passed
3 sweethearts later
still drowning
because he needed her
but you don't unearth the hollow ground
the only entrance
is to follow down
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Why does the Moon seem angry tonight?
All red she has gotten.
A moment ago she was pale and serene,
As the poets describe her to be.
But now she resembles Mars's twin,
Only crescent not quite round like him.
The sky is a blend of black and blue,
Not many stars in sight.
Is it why Selene is unhappy,
'Cause the stars were late and sloppy?
Or did she quarrel with the Sun at dusk,
'Bout solstices and equinox?
Or maybe she is annoyed at the clouds,
Who her pretty face did shroud.
Can it be that she is cold?
'Tis after all a December's night.
Or it might be that she is blushing,
Thinking of meeting her sleeping Valentine.
Oh no it can't that,
For she surely seems bitter.
Is it something I've done?
If only I knew what, I could make amends.
But I pray that ain't the cause.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 11:13 AM UTC
The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know:
I am too dumbly in my being pent.
The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.
The malady of the quotidian . . .
Perhaps if summer ever came to rest
And lengthened, deepened, comforted, caressed
Through days like oceans in obsidian
Horizons, full of night's midsummer blaze;
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze;
One might in turn become less diffident,
Out of such mildew plucking neater mould
And spouting new orations of the cold.
One might. One might. But time will not relent.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC