Day 22: Remembering the Lights

Sarah writes poems

Winter holds its secrets tightly bound and buried deep
in frozen ground where daffodils sleep, waiting,

I remember the light, shining bright, on those nights,
the moon’s silver midnight shimmer, glimmering

above, where candles had flamed, enframed
in windowpanes, as my heart, proclaimed

miracles happen, here and there. So stark
the season’s dark, but for the glow and gleaming

of sparkly lights and menorahs beaming, latkes, mulled wine–
symbols and signs of wonders, staying

in memory, like spring bulbs weighing when to bloom
and then do, flowering to lift winter’s gloom.

Merril D. Smith is a historian and poet who writes from southern New Jersey. She’s had poems and short fiction published recently in Black Bough Poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic, Twist in Time, Nightingale and Sparrow, and Wellington Street Review. Web site: merridsmith.com Twitter: @merril_mds Instagram: mdsmithnj

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Day 17: A Snow Day

Sarah writes poems

Today the track is impassable,
a windfall of time blesses my hands.
I watch my small world unfold
in newspaper tones of ink and snow.
In the field crows squabble
over bruised stubbles of barley,
an astonishment of hares nibble at frost,
search for the spectre of spring.

Lynn Valentine lives on the Black Isle in the Scottish Highlands. Her work is widely
published and appears in places like Northwords Now, The Blue Nib and Ink, Sweat & Tears.
She had a poem commissioned by the Scottish Poetry Library this year as part of their
Champions project. She is organising her first poetry pamphlet under the mentorship of
Cinnamon Press after winning a place on their Pencil Mentoring competition for 2020.
Lynn can be found on Twitter @dizzylynn

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Day 18: Ode to Dying Moon

Sarah writes poems

Waning moon in an ice blue sky did you breathe a weary sigh
When frosty winter solstice moved you
As you shined your brightest light that night,
Did you hear the angel trumpets on high
Blaring Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

When you share wintry dawn with a dazzling white sun
Do you still hear sweet angelic music
And as you die your lonely death in a fading grey sky
Do the aurora clouds mourn your good-bye
Crooning Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

This beautiful poem comes from Linda Lee Lyburg, a dVerse host and a fine poet. I’m so pleased to share her work with you.

LindaLee Lyberg is a wife, mother, artist, published poet and author. She resides in Mesa, AZ with her husband Pete (aka The Big Viking) of 24 years, and her dog, Ricky Bobby.Lindawrites various forms of poetry, as well as short stories.You can read more of her works…

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Day 19: At the Midden

Sarah writes poems

In the week before Christmas I leave the shopping malls behind and go instead to a lonely clifftop track where ancient shells lie sun bleached on an old Aboriginal midden. Wandering along the sandy trails I hear young men hollering to each other. Walking closer to the cliffs I see they have scrambled down and are exploring the rock pools that have been exposed by the retreating tide.

I leave them to it and walk on to the midden.Not wanting to disturb the fragile remains I skirt around them and sit on a rock at the edge. It is a hot day and the light is bright. The boys have quietened down and the bush around me slumbers in the early afternoon heat. Sitting there I have a sense that people have interacted with the place for thousands of years. The scattered shells are evidence of meals eaten long ago…

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Day 20: Dancing the Paradigm

Sarah writes poems

On the cusp of Samhain,
the time when the veils between the worlds
grows thin, can you hear the Ancestors
urging us to expand our perspective
wide enough to change
the earth’s music
to a brand new song?
To breathe an evolution,
a revolution, an expansive flowering
of every good intention,
dancing the edge of
a new paradigm?
A shift is happening
on Planet Earth.
Our souls rise to meet it
with joy.

Come, let’s trip the light fantastic,
prancing and cavorting like giddy reindeer
under a waxing polar moon,
conga into winter sunshine with hopeful feathers
all aloft and glistening,
caper into the dawn, vibrant and smiling
and never so alive!

Join me. We’ll pull on the moss
like sweet little socks,
and tiptoe through the forest
like sprites, dip our tippy-toes
into the Pond of Peace,
set all our dreams alight
with the shine of sunset
over the…

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Day 21: Semi-Tropical

Sarah writes poems

Window is how we frame seasons,
a pane of coolness, a sash
of leafage, we collect
ourselves in color, door
wreaths of pine and holly.

Having abandoned my place
of birth, riding the bus as far
north as it would take me,
coral, whelk and olive
in my pocket,
arriving to frozen water rigid
in broad daylight, snow everywhere.

There was no drinking away
the taste of guava, grits
or fried mullet, mangoes
and avocados populated
my dreams, a longing of sand.

Once we went to the sea
all stone and coldness,
that was winter, my blood
burned, ice filled my eyes,
words jagged as ice, gulls
mournful, wind of exile.

Returning home with the thaw,
wet season and the tilt
that flowers the great storms
out upon the waters, names
recited, catalogued by destruction.

Eventually dry season settles in,
not something to call winter,
wind off the Gulf, windows

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THE RED INK INTERVIEW – DAVID RAPLH LEWIS — Deuxiemepeau Poetry by Damien B. Donnelly

Last week I was interviewed by fellow poet David Ralph Lewis, author of the poetry collections Our Voices in the Chaos and Refraction, for his interview series Red Ink which goes behind a poem to ask questions about its birth and appearance. Below is the link to the interview about my Pushcart Prize nominated poem…

THE RED INK INTERVIEW – DAVID RAPLH LEWIS — Deuxiemepeau Poetry by Damien B. Donnelly

Winter Solstice, Light Again

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Monday Morning Afternoon Musings:

Crystalline sky turns grey, and again,
the sun holds sway, briefly a queen,
till retiring her light in longest night,

John Heinz Wildlife Refuge Center, ©️Merril D. Smith 2020

Sunrise on the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield, December. ©️Merril D. Smith 2020

thoughts flit in shadows, reappear
to soar on broad heron wings
toward faint morning’s misty glow, and slow

the brightening, diffused through pink-tipped clouds. But–
do you hear the river’s tongue, lapping up the shore,
waking the day? Watch, stay

there, from a tree a cardinal chirps and robins sing,
remember spring. And here, amidst festive red and green,
we recall summer bright

and keep its flames burning in candlelight, reflecting out
across the miles, ever fainter, like the stars
that gleam, while

the moon hums a…

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#WinterSolstice and #jupiterandsaturnconjunction #Greatconjunction artwork and writing challenge. Have you made artworks about either of these events? Have you written unpublished/published about either of these events? Please DM me, or tweet me so I can DM you, or message me via my WordPress site.

Approaching Solstice by Margaret RoyallApproaching Winter Solstice by Margaret Royall

-Photo of her silk painting and poem by Margaret Royall

ONCE SOLSTICE

Shamans tales
worn smooth and sweet
by the telling years.

Before gnostic midwinter,
as Jupiter and Saturn
nearly kissed.
The oral lore spoke
of this shy love.

Huddled deep within,
our dwellings to welcome
the ghosts of sleep.

In times of fire,
leather and wool
The evergreen
holly guards our door
Sweet pine promises
a fecund return.

For we will be here
when spring is restored,
to see the baby lambs
jumping for joy
in our green fields.

© Dai Fry 21st December 2020

December Lake Manvers