Colors

Autumn's Colors

Red like stop signs

Like roasting hot dogs

Like holly berries and Christmas coming

Orange like fire

Like falling leaves

Like sun that sets the sky aflame

Brown like harvest

Like muddy waters

Like earth not quite covered by snow

Winter's Colors

Gray like clouds

Like curling smoke

Like runners on a shiny sled

White like snow

Like tops of stockings

Like sugar on a ginger cookie

Black like coal

Like dark, wet trees

Like the stove that keeps us toasty warm

Summer's Colors

Blue like sky

Like sparkling water

Like cornflowers and butterfly wings

Yellow like sunlight

Like fireflies dancing

Like picnic blankets spread in shade

Silver like stars

Like a glowing full moon

Like a sleeping bag spread under the sky

Spring's Colors

Pink like petals

like budding young roses

Like smiling faces on children fair

Purple like sunrise

Like full flowered violets

Like vestments at Lent in Grandmother's church

Green like hope

Like newborn leaves

Like springy grass newly unfurled

The Danger of Snow

Runner up in the Holy Worlds Christmas Contest. Originally appeared on the HW blog: http://www.holyworlds.org/blog/?p=433

***

White snow against the darkness. The taste of fear is in your mouth. The white cloud obscures the danger. It is the danger. Cold presses like knives into your skin. The wind speaks fearful things into the night. It howls and whines through the whiteness. It whispers of despair Your enemy. Ice waits to kill. Wind laughs at your attempts to escape. Snow falls; silent and deadly. White against the black. Stars are hidden, tracks obscured. Alone and panicking, surrounded by snow. Your shouts are muffled, your footsteps covered, your passing obscured by relentless snow. White snow, against the darkness.

Wind-child

Evanescence

Sometimes pictures reach out to you, grab hold, and don't let go. Evanescence, by Dieki Noordhoek is one of those pictures. After staring at it for two or three days I finally began to grasp the essence of what the picture was saying to me and began to write. First a poem, and then a short-short.

***

Wind-child

Standing lonely

Staring at the distant shore

Longs for freedom

Longs for beauty

Longs for what she had before

Wind-child

Lift your face up

Watch the clouds go sailing past

Weep for freedom

Weep for beauty

Weep for what can never last

Wind-child

In the darkness

Watch the rain fall at your feet

Dream of freedom

Dream of beauty

Dream of ending your defeat

Wind-child

Keep your promise

Keep your feet here on the ground

Remember freedom

Remember beauty

Remember all the things you’ve found

Wind-child

Storms pass over

Thickly comes the falling rain

Strive for freedom

Strive for beauty

Strive for what won’t be again.

Wind-child…

Freedom…

Beauty…

She is gone. 

***

She stood alone in the ruins.

The wind blew stronger as the storm closed in. The dark clouds sped threateningly overhead but she was not afraid of them. Slowly she climbed the stair, holding her hands out to catch as much of the wind as possible. She lifted her face to the sky as the heavens opened and the rain began to fall.

The large drops fell harder, splashing on the stone around her, drenching her clothes and hair. She let the water run down her face and smiled, letting it run into her mouth. She laughed as the wind tugged at her wet clothes and turned with it, letting it catch her from all sides.

Inside she felt herself begin to let go of reality. Her soul began to tug away from her physical body. Her love of wind and rain became the physical; her sense of wet and cold became a mere spiritual knowledge. The lines between two worlds blurred and for a moment time seemed to stand still. Then the wind pulled her into itself.

She did not fight or struggle against it, letting herself slip away instinctively. She faded from one dimension into the other until she ran with the clouds in the sky, sharing in the wonder, reveling in the power, delighting in the elements around her as she twisted and twirled, one with the wind and rain… freed at last from her mortal form. 

Snow on the Winter Solstice

This is neither poetry, nor drabble. It an attempt at an entry for the Holy Worlds Christmas Contest, one of many so far. It is 145 words of whimsical wintriness. Please enjoy it, and give it a purpose for it's writing.

***

Your footsteps crunch on the new fallen snow. A wet branch hits you in the face, and you giggle. Snow covers your hair and shoulders. Evergreen trees contrast sharply with the white, but everywhere else is black and brown.

Where are you going, little one? Don’t you know what day it is? It is the first day of winter, the shortest day of the year. Are you afraid that the sun won’t come back after tonight?

Don’t be. The snow is a gift, and the darkness is a gift too. The sunshine will come in the morning, the snow will melt away, and there will be only brown and dullness.
But spring will come, bringing more green leaves to join the evergreens, and you will laugh again. You enjoy the snow, don’t you? Just don’t stay out too long, and don’t come in all wet.

Carol of the Bells

Hark how the bells.

Chiming, calling, pleading, begging
Speaking sharply through the night
Speaking secrets never answered
Into ever dimming light

Sweet silv’ry bells.

Shining, swinging, clanging, ringing
Echoing o’er the empty city
Dimming, swelling, growing, singing
Speaking words of joy so free

All seem to say,

Fear not, know not, dare not answer
Leave me, know me, love me,
Ever ringing,
Ever calling,
Ever trusting to forever…

Throw cares away,

Hark to bells that ever call,
Across the city. Listen all
To chimes and peals and songs of might
They ring out old and ring in light

Christmas is here.

Silent Night

Silent night
A child’s voice
Cuts through the stillness.

I lift my head
And listen
In wonder

The tears dry on my face
The wind plays with my hair.
The stars shine cold and merciless.

The voice stops.
I shiver in the silence.
For a moment I forgot,
Who I am and what I’ve done.

Then I remember.
And I weep again.

The wind is gentle,
But it cannot speak the words I need to hear.

The stars are silent witnesses,
Stern judges.

They condemn me.
There is no mercy for one such as I.

The voice sings again.

Forgiveness.

Sunrise

Silence. Silver frost covers the rolling landscape. The sky is pale with unseen light. You leave wet footprints as you climb the hillside. You pause, looking across the valley, and kneel on the frozen grass. You wait. Ice melts and soaks your skin. You do not notice. All around is quietness, stillness; all is waiting in the ethereal silence of unborn morning. Across the valley you sense a glimmer. The sky lightens gradually; you scarcely notice. A bird trills lightly as deep violet gives way to rose. Golden rays peek over the rims of the valley. It has come. Sunrise.