Sunday, 25 December 2011

A Winter Poem

Winter Poem
It is early winter
Autumn has flounced away
For another year
In a swirl of red leaves
And perfumed apples

Each day the daylight
Shrinks by minutes
Hostage to the ecliptic
Waiting for the solstice

The forest memories of Yule
Still pulse beneath the
Egregious telly feast of

Wolfdark mosshushed groves
Shelter the nameless
Ancestors who wait for the
Priest king to wake the sun

The golden sickle strips
The mistletoe from the oak
And reaps a bloodier harvest
At the bluestone altar

Today the tribe stare
Transfixed by the flickering
Cathodic emanations
Traduced by false gods

The pine tree
Drops its needles

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