A Christmas poem

I set myself a challenge to pen one Christmas poem a day.

There was a time when those mistletoe clusters hung like icicles.

Each berry, ripe, sung winter’s song deep into the night.

Its melody flew on ancient wings to soar across a snow-capped mountain.

There, eagles circled,

twisting and soaring.

A dance amid the white flakes and chill wind.

Now we bring the berries in,

to hang in cozy homes.

The fireside crackles,

and mulled wine warms,

as lips meet beneath the druid’s magic chimes.

Xmas poetry

I set myself a challenge to write one festive poem a day until Christmas.

The swoop of ancient wings amid the branch and leaf cover:

That shiver song inside the coal-chill and ice white gleam,

accompanies the far-off jingle,

the hoof clatter,

and Christmas songs sung beneath the tree.

Owl breathes in notes of cheer from a chorus.

Those melodies of old cling and jostle.

They bounce from twig to pinecone.

And the night bird peeks out to watch the music dance

as goodwill lights the depths.

There’s still magic between the snowflakes

I recall that Christmas magic –

being six and the long wait beneath the covers.

listening for the reindeer’s clip-clop atop the roof –

and,

once again,

I sink back to childhood,

far along the memory tunnel,

to find the spark,

the warm heart,

close to bursting at the seams.

I note the bubbling up of that gasp at snowflakes falling through the dark,

the scamper to the window,

and parting the curtains.

The stocking check,

ten times an hour,

(at least)

to see if Santa’s been yet,

and my breath amid the concentration of it all.

And,

though now,

old enough to be a…

Little Christmas poem

I set myself a challenge to write one festive poem a day until Christmas.

That lithe reindeer prances far into the night
under the star-blanket and over the moon.

His trail sparkles through the dark.
It lights the way for the woodland creatures to scurry in the garden.

They navigate by cosmos gems,
diamonds, rubies, and pearls until they reach the Christmas tree decked in emerald and sapphire treasure.

Even the badger throws off her winter quilt to dance and make merry under the magic moon.

A short tale under the moon

This little countryside valley is aglow. Christmas lights twinkle in windows far earlier than usual. Villagers say “bring on the festive cheer.” They adorn their gardens with wicker reindeer and cast walls alight with Santa stencils.

Sleighs take off into the night. They pass inflated snowmen on their way to the cosmos, and Copernicus, my canine companion, is thoughtful about the situation.

“Do you imagine,” he woofs, “people need to find that inner warmth. You know. The kind that comes from carols, tinsel, and eggnog?”

We stare at our neighbor’s Christmas tree. I look for the star at the top. …

A poem

Those days when the fog won’t lift light a candle.

Let it blaze warmth into your bones,

casting demons from their shelter.

If they should dance before you,

hellbent to cause mayhem,

whisper love songs through the haze.

They’ll shrink as pink flowers,

scattering sweet fragrance at your feet.

She casts her spell as the day ebbs

To wrestle with the edge of each dark day serves no one. Yet, as the evening dips behind a shroud, I sigh. My footsteps gather dusk. They skirt across the leaf-path, a shuffle into the slow night.

As light fades, I scour the horizon and note rook-lined tree silhouettes. My mind expunges greyness and replaces it with sunbeams. Cleansed of nightfall, the woodland glows. But the gleam is silver, like the moon.

At last, a star blanket spreads across the sky. It is rich with bright embers strewn on deep caerulean. …

Meditating among gentle nature

I meditate this afternoon, late, under a line of beeches and oaks. Their canopies sway in the breeze. My velvet cushion, a gold and auburn leaf-carpet underfoot, is soft and warm. Even Copernicus, my canine companion, slows to a steady trot rather than engage in his usual scurry and bounce. He admires nature and breathes in the day.

I breathe out troubles — those tiny worries that seem huge, yet mean little when the sun shines through the branches. They swim, bone-surface, out into the chirp and forage, the busyness of wildlife behind the calm exterior.

Forest-bathed, I glide, light now after the immersion, and note the sounds of the natural world gather speed as I am still. The wind rustles copper autumn leaves. The horses in a nearby field gallop and whinny, and squirrels’ scamper. …