#solstice poem

[mournfulroses]

Margaret Atwood, from The Selected Poems of Margaret Atwood; "Solstice Poem,"

[coldphantompoetry]

"Explain" they said.

And so I tried.

The meaning lost within furrowed brows of misunderstanding.

So I showed them.

Outside.

Showed them the sky, pink with clouds.

Showed them that fiery orange orb that is the Sun.

And the sky was theirs alone.

Candy floss haze and golden glow.

"Did you ever see such beauty?"

Silence. Loudly mocking.

Cocktail party smiles carefully fixed.

Tainted vision cannot perceive the magic of a summer's night.

What profit to be made from splendour?

And that great star slipped earthwards;

A bow to end the Solstice show.

Lights dimmed in preparation for the final player;

Soft shadows kneel to mark their entrance,

As darkness sweeps across the stage;

Resplendent in their summer cloak of darkest blues.

Cannot yet twinkle little star;

Await your cue.

And yet I cannot make them see any more than 'night' and 'day'

And it makes me cry.

[iambrillyant]

“your new era begins when you choose yourself unapologetically and release the weight of who you were yesterday, it begins when you decide that you’re deserving of a life better than the one you’re leaving behind, it begins when you start to believe in your own worthiness.”

— billy chapata

[nodoveisacovenant]

Every season contains the seeds of the next

Solstice

For the tide of winter 

the stars alone

darkened from the moon,

haloes of profusion

penetrating the branches

Animal bellows

the fresh earth

the cold gust

a twinkle through oaks

a brutal breath

delivered promptly

Like rain

the remote aurora 

lifting first one veil

and then another

Image: Unknown

[headlightsforever]

Gary Young

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

We got two minutes of sunlight back today. I wanted that to be enough. Last night, I filled my room with light for the solstice. Yellow glowed against green walls, a ghost of spring I conjured up carefully. It was not a rite, but a promise. I will make my own light when I need it. I will make a lantern out of my voice. The light will spill out of me when I choose.

[words-and-coffee]

Nothing’s broken, nevertheless I’m skinless, the gentlest touch would gut me.

Margaret Atwood, True Stories: Small Poems For The Winter Solstice

[worldbuildingwanderlust]

Winter Solstice

On the shortest day

We cherish the brevity

Of the Light

On the longest night

We dive deep

Into darkness

To find Truth

Within ourselves

[mournfulroses]

Margaret Atwood, from True Stories: Poems; "Small Poem for the Winter Solstice," originally published in 1981

[agrownupgeekgirl]

Nature is forever arriving

and forever departing,

forever approaching,

forever vanishing;

but in her vanishings

there seems to be ever the waving of a hand,

in all her partings

a promise of meetings farther along the road.

- Richard Le Gallienne

[soulinkpoetry]

Minutes and hours and days they seem to go by so quickly.

.

.

[derangedrhythms]

[...] dark and witchy,

Ted Hughes, Collected Poems: Uncollected (1977-78); from ‘A Solstice’

[dzgrizzle]

[elycwinters]

Children of the Skies

When I say that we have stardust in our veins, in our hearts I mean that there is something deeply magical that beats inside of our hearts.

But, come closer and let me tell you a secret: There are some whose blood is silver.

There are children who are of celestial blood – children who can claim a star or even the moon herself as their most beloved parent.

But do not let that bring you down, you are just as special as they are.

For once upon a time, when you were young and could not sleep, the moon made herself a cradle for you and the stars sung you a lullaby. You are their child too.

So raise your eyes to the nocturnal skies and greet your family with an open heart.

- Ely C. Winters. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

This is one of the oldest depictions of Stonehenge in existence, and the first to have been drawn on site :: (with thanks to britishlibrary)

* * * *

The Solstice

They say the sun will come back at midnight after all my one love

but we know how the minutes fly out into the dark trees and vanish

like the great ʻōhiʻas and honey creepers and we know how the weeks walk into the shadows at midday

at the thought of the months I reach for your hand it is not something one is supposed to say

we watch the bright birds in the morning we hope for the quiet daytime together the year turns into air

but we are together in the whole night with the sun still going away and the year coming back

~ W.S. Merwin, from his book The Rain in the Trees, (Alfred Knopf, 1988). © 2017 by W. S. Merwin (with thanks to the merwinconservancy)

[headlightsforever]

Mary Oliver, “Snowy Night”