Some wonderfully atmospheric seasonal poetry from Simon Lilly. Enjoy!
WHITE SUN
A white sun
Drags low its cloak
Of long shadows.
The whispered song is
Fierce starlight,
Bitter winds.
Fast, small life,
This little wren
Dives into ivy,
Chiding sudden rain.
Standing still
To watch
An old pause
In time,
A breath
Caught, held,
Witnessed.
The dance melancholic,
A glory retained.
Satin, smoothed,
It slips
So swiftly by:
Shortest day.
—-
TEETER, THE BRINK
Now is the dark time.
What shall we do but sleep
Or light a lamp.
Illuminate, dream.
Mould our visions,
Plant good seeds
In hope.
The fast bleak grasp
Throttles sense,
Extinguishes
Simple warmth.
Small goodnesses
Are left us only,
And so they must suffice.
Trust in a return,
Slow or sweeping.
What is unlooked for
Yet remains.
To become unswayed,
To cherish, to succour.
Each one to their own dance,
A trace of footsteps
Leading back
From the cliff’s edge,
A whisper, a hand,
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