Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Winter's eve


quiet fall

of snow

whitens night's field

unwritten, sandlike

upon tomorrow's shore.

Tomorrow is the blessed eve

Lords and Ladies, leaping,

dancing, holy abandon, ecstatic rites.

In dense, secret forest, legends gambol, rise

honorably to masters, age in inebriates.

Spirits imbue damp, fresh scent.

Words melt, evaporate, flavor brew

of ancient melodies, renewed

each Winter's Eve.


Picture each animated creature enlightened
Each candle warmly, brilliantly ignited
Animated faces dance with excitement
Creature comfort gifts encircle trees
Enlightened pleasures whirled in peace


 Winter's doorway

The magick of night

The clearness of cold

Stars glittering tales so old

Cradle, caress, with blessing

Saints, sages, wizards, mages

Message writ on high, in constellations

we stop to see, to read.

Cold is slowness, a force

of inertia, a space,

a pause in time.

Dark carries reflection -- any

fancied face or fortune

could be in reach.

Seasons speak

call in hues, in moods.

We praise passages, echo rites.

Children chasing Moonbeams

to believe in hope, joy, love

because we need the light,

the warmth, the colours.


Joyful Season to all ~


Karina Fabian said...

Lovely. Merry Christmas!

Salvatore Buttaci said...

Lovely poetry!

Salvatore Buttaci,
Editor of The Word Place

Dale said...

Yes. Merry Christmas!

Kenneth said...

Happy Healthy New Year to all.