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  • Writer's pictureLouisa MF

Poems for Winter Solstice

It's approaching. I can see it in the dark sky and I can feel it in my weary bones. Stillness is demanding to be honoured.


In celebration of the solstice, here are some poems for moments of reflection:


The Most Important Thing | Julia Fahrenbacher


I am making a home inside myself. A shelter

of kindness where everything

is forgiven, everything allowed—a quiet patch

of sunlight to stretch out without hurry,

where all that has been banished

and buried is welcomed, spoken, listened to—released.

A fiercely friendly place I can claim as my very own.

I am throwing arms open

to the whole of myself—especially the fearful,

fault-finding, falling apart, unfinished parts, knowing

every seed and weed, every drop

of rain, has made the soil richer.

I will light a candle, pour a hot cup of tea, gather

around the warmth of my own blazing fire. I will howl

if I want to, knowing this flame can burn through

any perceived problem, any prescribed perfectionism,

any lying limitation, every heavy thing.

I am making a home inside myself

where grace blooms in grand and glorious

abundance, a shelter of kindness that grows

all the truest things.

I whisper hallelujah to the friendly

sky. Watch now as I burst into blossom


White-Eyes | Mary Oliver


In winter

all the singing is in

the tops of the trees

where the wind-bird

with its white eyes

shoves and pushes

among the branches.

Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,

but he's restless—

he has an idea,

and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings

as long as he stays awake.

But his big, round music, after all,

is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.

In the pine-crown

he makes his nest,

he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,

I only imagine his glittering beak

tucked in a white wing

while the clouds—

which he has summoned

from the north—

which he has taught

to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall

into the world below

like stars, or the feathers

of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,

that is asleep now, and silent—

that has turned itself

into snow.


To Know the Dark | Wendell Berry


To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark.

Go without sight,and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.



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